Alison Kent's Blog
August 25, 2014
I’m a sucker for workshops and writing tips. Yes, I’ve been published in novel-length fiction for over 20 years. Yes, in those twenty years I’ve had published over 50+ works of various lengths. Yes, most of the time I question everything I do. But there’s one thing I never ever EVER question, and it’s one thing I see over and over and OVER again on these tip lists as something writers shouldn’t do. Here it is. Ready?
I edit as I go.
Whew. I feel better. That’s a load off my chest.
I was writing No Limits when I first heard of fast-drafting. All sorts of life crap was happening at that time and I was behind on the book and I needed to get it done so I could write With Extreme Pleasure. (Note: Needing to get something done FAST is rarely the time to try a new method of doing it.) I thought this is what I need! Head down, words on the page, GO!
Uh. Not so much.
Oh, I went. Almost to the looney bin. You see, the rules for fast drafting are as follows: Vomit the words onto the page and don’t look back until the project is done. Or something like that. Stopping to edit is not allowed. Editing while writing is anathema. No editing. Period. Just the vomit. Words, words, words.
I’m no more able to leave vomit on the page than on the floor. And we have nine animals, ergo, there is vomit on the floor needing to be cleaned up more often than I care to think about.
That was the absolute worst writing experience of my life. I got to the end of the book and almost every bit of it had to be changed. What I wrote in later chapters contradicted what I’d written in the beginning. Which is why drafting doesn’t work for me. (As an aside: When I participate in the #1k1hr writing sprints on Twitter? 1) I never get 1K, and 2) I edit as I go.)
It’s in the editing, not the writing, that I find my story.
Let me say that again.
It’s in the EDITING, not the writing, that I find my story.
Of course it is, you say! That’s why getting the draft done then editing and revising works so well. No. That’s not what I mean.
I find my story by going back to edit what I’ve written every day. Sometimes I find what needs to come next by going back to edit what I wrote two hours earlier. It doesn’t matter how much pre-planning I do, how many acronyms I employ (GMC, BICHOK, WTFBBQ, etc.), the story and the characters come alive with the words. The right words. The words that have been carefully edited to find the truth. The only words that will work for that scene, that situation, that conflict. Words in the point of view character’s voice.
I need that truth to continue the forward motion, to keep the story on track and off tangents. I am writing contracted work to deadlines. I don’t have time to go back and rewrite once I’ve reached The End. Which is why I rewrite as I go. Because when I get to The End, I’m done. Save for the obvious tweaking, line and copy and developmental editing. When I’ve done my job right? Those edits are minimal. (Unfortunately, I haven’t done my job right the last few times and the edits have nearly caused me to throw in the towel.)
Let me tell you a story. My husband and I are writing a book together. Well, actually, we’ve written a book together. It’s the first act of a trilogy, so we have two to go to get the whole story told. The first major brainstorming we did on the story was during a day-long drive from Florida to Texas in 2011.
My husband works contract in the oil and gas industry, so last December he took a sabbatical. He’s back at work now, but during the eight months he was off, we got the book done. It’s in the final clean-up stages now. But no matter how much of the book we brainstormed on road trips and nights in the hot tub with margaritas (and there were a LOT of those), the book didn’t come together until there were words on the page we could edit and play with and dig into to find the REST of the story. We had the luxury of time on this one. And since there were/are two people working on it, there was some fast-drafting done.
But not by me.
I wasn’t on deadline during those months, so I wasn’t working twelve-hour days like I am now. And it pretty much drove my husband nuts that I couldn’t help him on future scenes he was writing because I hadn’t yet found what I needed in the scenes already written but not yet edited. While he was working in the third act, I was back in the first act FIXING and TWEAKING and CUTTING and REWORDING, and you know what? We did find more of the story in those early pages I couldn’t let go of until they were right. The book is nothing now like it was when we sent it to beta readers. And that includes the TRUTH of who the main character is.
And now the drafted part of the book is in the process of being rewritten because of it.
Here’s the thing. There ARE some people who can draft a novel, get to the end, go back and revise pages and gut pages and toss pages and write new pages. I just wish the rest of us got some recognition, not to mention respect, because here’s a truth: THERE ARE SOME PEOPLE WHO CAN’T. Period. End of story.
The words I am writing AT THIS MOMENT determine the very words that come next. And by words, in this case, I mean action, and reaction, cause and effect. Stories have structure for a reason. One thing happens, one choice is made, and what follows is a result. If I don’t know that choice, how can I move forward.
Moving forward is DETERMINED by all that has come before.
It would be easier for me to write a new novel from scratch than to revise one I’ve finished. I can do it.
I have done it, but my brain is not wired for rewriting. It’s wired to edit as I go, to get to The End and tell those characters goodbye. And that’s the thing. When I’m done, I’ve written that story. Revising means new situations, new conflicts, new motivations, and that means A DIFFERENT STORY THAN THE ONE I WROTE. Right now, in fact, I’m adding a story element that is going to give my book a greater emotional complication for one of my characters, but doing so when I’m 40K words in means a whole lot of tweaking of things that’s going to make getting to 90K hell. But at least I figured this out now!
We all have to do what works for us when it comes to writing.
Editing will always be a part of writing.
How it works for each individual author is a which came first chicken and egg thing.
In the end, all that matters is BREAKFAST!
June 4, 2014
Welcome to Hope Springs, Texas, where redemption grows…and where love blooms.
Dark-haired beauty Indiana Keller buys a property in Hope Springs, Texas, for three reasons: to expand her vegetable business, to harvest and sell delicious honey from the property’s established bee colony, and to reunite with her estranged siblings. But her older brother Tennessee keeps his distance, even after Indiana hires his construction crew to fix up her cottage. It’s almost as if he shares her guilt over the disappearance of Dakota, their missing brother…
While Indiana tries to reconnect with Ten and find Dakota, two local men begin vying for her heart. Handsome, laid-back Will Bowman has a checkered past, but now he’s determined to get what he wants out of life…and he wants Indiana. Meanwhile, refined Oliver Gatlin can’t fight his own attraction to Indiana, especially since his brother also fell victim to tragic circumstances. Amid the raw natural beauty of Hope Springs, can Indiana’s broken heart finally heal enough to love?
“Emotionally intense, The Sweetness of Honey is a poignant tale of a woman who must come to terms with her past in order to embrace the future. A tender, affecting read.” ~ Megan Mulry, USAToday bestselling author
The Sweetness of Honey
October 7, 2014
March 16, 2014
If you’ve never read PLAYING LOVE’S ODDS, LOVE ME TENDER, or LOVE IN BLOOM and would like to, they’re all now available in this digital boxed set. The title links above will take you to a page with an excerpt, and below you can read the letter I included in the set.
March 1, 2014
Twenty-five years have passed since I first put pen to paper, or fingers to typewriter (yes, typewriter) keys, as it were, to write. A quarter of a century spent giving couples in love a happy ending means a lot of changes in technology, the industry, even reader expectations: typewriter to laptop, print to digital, closed bedroom doors to doors flung wide. As I write this letter, in fact, my 50th published work is three days from release. And if you count short online reads, it’s my 53rd, with my 54th release scheduled for October of this year. Not a bad career milestone!
Twenty-five years also means a change in an author’s way of writing, her way of looking at the world and relationships, her way of putting words together to convey her meaning. In other words, an author’s voice changes over time, and mine most definitely has. If you’ve come to this collection after reading my recent titles, you will probably notice a different tone and rhythm.
The three stories in this collection were written early in my career. PLAYING LOVE’S ODDS, my very first book, was originally published by Meteor Kismet in August 1993. (Trivia: My book was #167 out of one-hundred-sixty-eight titles in the short lived imprint, and #168 belonged to Suzanne Brockmann!) LOVE ME TENDER and LOVE IN BLOOM were written around the same time, but were published in 1999 and 2000 respectively by Kensington Bouquet.
I love all of these romances for many reasons, and I was reminded of that when I read through them again when preparing the digital files. I do see the flaws, ouch, but the core of each story remains, for me, as compelling as the day the idea arrived. Please enjoy THREE TIMES LOVE.
March 7, 2014
I’ve missed blogging. Many times when I have something I want to say on Twitter, it requires a string of tweets to get it all in, and who knows if anyone ever sees the entire thought. I realize blogging has lost its luster, but I’m going to revive mine. It feels like home. I thought today I’d mention that I have not been 100% true to my vow to give up social media. I still haven’t read my Twitter tweet stream or my Facebook news feed, but I have checked for mentions. I keep up with my kids and other family goings-on on FB, so I do check my “family” tab once a day. And if I have responses or tags there, I’ll take a look. That’s my personal profile, but I do the same with my author page, and it’s easy to check Twitter mentions.
But having been gone for most of two days now, I have finished a complicated synopsis that I’d been dallying with for weeks, and sent it off to my agent for input. It doesn’t matter that I have 50+ books under my belt, I still get a little thrill when I send something off. My career has bounced between so many publishing houses over the years, that I don’t have a long-time home, so no guarantee what I’ll be writing next, or for whom! I do have ideas for two more Hope Springs books.
But, honestly, whether I write those depends on how Luna and Indiana sell. Like I said 50+ books under my belt, and the industry shifting so quickly… Sometimes it seems like it’s hard to find a solid foundation. And I like writing so many different things. Right now, I’m working on a HUGE project with my husband, and having a ton of fun with it. We’ll eventually have a website, and we do have a Twitter account already. We’re just determined to focus on the writing, and to not talk about the specifics of the writing until we have the bulk of the story drafted. And it is SO AMAZINGLY COOL I can’t WAIT to talk about it!
But what’s equally cool is the co-writing process. I don’t know how other author teams work together, but it took us some fits and starts to get into a routine that still has flaws. Like someone deleting someone else’s words ::SOB:: without making a copy for future reference. (I’m over that now. Almost.) I stopped writing in Word a couple of years ago. I now write solely in Scrivener. The license allows for use on more than one machine, so we started out there. It quickly got too hard to manage because there was no easy way to work at the same time. So I kept using Scrivener, while the husband began working in Google Docs. Soon, I joined him.
What’s so amazing about Google Docs is we can both be writing on the same scene at the same time. We can delete or rewrite each others words, and we can both see it. We rarely do this. We’re usually writing in two different spots in the story, having already worked out what happens in each of the three acts. We’re deep into act two at the moment, and every day we figure out more and more things that we can add down the road.
The coolest thing of all, though, is how much reality is going into this work of fiction. Reality SHOULD be in fiction, I hear you saying, and I agree. But this is different, and I can’t explain without…explaining. The husband susses out the most amazing news and science articles, medicine, technology and the facts are dovetailing so perfectly with our make-believe world. And there ya go. I’ve told you the big truth. This is all made up. ;) Which is why he’s taking the storytelling lead, and I’m following behind with my editorial whip.
I’m writing, too. And he’s also editing. But the closest I’ve come to working with another writer was when sharing worlds for various mini-series. Men To Do. For A Good Time Call. From 0-60. Red Letter Nights. Do Not Disturb. In those cases, however, my story was mine. And I wasn’t in the next room from the other authors. This marital co-authoring venture is a true collaboration. And if we survive the year and the 225K or so words we have planned, I’ll probably say it was the most fun writing I’ve ever had!
March 6, 2014
You want to hear some hard truth? Do you promise not to get mad at me? Promise?
Okay then. Here it is. Your social networking habit? It’s hurting you.
The above quote is from this thought-provoking post by JT Ellison. So much of it echoes conversations I’ve been having recently with a couple of writer friends. It’s such a conundrum writers find ourselves in with this social media thing. I can’t even put into words how much I love Twitter. I LOVE TWITTER. There. I said it. I’m less a fan of Facebook. I just don’t like the interface, while I love the way Twitter invites conversation. Not to mention ALL the LINKS to so many amazing and inspiring articles! It is truly the best place I’ve found to keep up with the publishing industry. And yet …
Because here’s the heart of the matter. Writers? Our job is to write. And I don’t mean pithy status updates and 140 character gems that astonish the world. I mean create. I mean writing stories. I mean taking all that energy and time you’re spending online playing and refocusing it into your work.
Yes social media and other publicity vehicles have become integral to our jobs, but if we don’t write, we have no job, nothing to promote, and being social is just about the fun. Twitter tells me I’ve made over 33K tweets since joining in 2007. I know that typing out 140 characters unrelated to other sets of 140 characters isn’t comparable to writing a book, but those 140 characters 33K times means distraction. In other words, my brain was elsewhere being thoughtful and witty instead of putting that creativity into my book. Of course the very fact that I’ve made over 33K tweets proves that I have a bit of an addiction to the service. But I think that’s what makes it most effective as a promotional tool. I get to know readers and other writers. I don’t just broadcast out my book information, but I engage and share all manner of things that have nothing to do with the work. That’s why it’s called being social. And why us hermit types find it so addictive.
At the end of the six weeks, I added things up. I wrote 60,000 words during my enforced social media vacation. That was enough of an indicator to me that it was taking time away from my job, which is to write.
Of course on day one of my hiatus, I didn’t count my words. I was working between projects, snipping and nipping here and there, moving text from Google Docs (where the husband and I are writing together) into Scrivener for better formatting and editing. But imagine 60,000 extra words in 6 weeks just by typing story instead of posts and tweets. I don’t plan to hit that number. Ten thousand a week is beyond me most of the time anyway. But if I could use my social internet hiatus to write a 25,000 word novella for my readers, well… I could be wrong, but I’m thinking you guys might like reading that more than my tweets?
March 4, 2014
Beneath the Patchwork Moon
Back in the day, we wrote uphill both ways through rain and snow and sleet and hail. We did not have social media. Romantic Times was a newspaper. There were no online communities because the Internet had not yet reached every man. I exchanged snail mail letters, cassettes, and manuscript pages with my earliest mentors: Dee Holmes and Sandra Canfield. Dee wrote the fabulous Silhouette Intimate Moments BLACK HORSE ISLAND, and Sandra, writing as Karen Keast, my favorite Silhouette Special Edition ever, A TENDER SILENCE. I learned about RWA through Nikki Benjamin. And I learned about Nikki Benjamin through a newspaper article hanging up in the first new/used bookstore I found after our move. Without that new/used bookstore, and Nikki Benjamin, and RWA, I might never have continued to write. I did not journal as a child, or tell stories. I was a mother of three elementary school aged children before I ever thought I might have a book in me. No, I was a reader.
There is so much about those days I never want to see again, but there is a lot I miss. I can’t remember an RWA meeting that wasn’t focused on craft. Critique group meetings were focused on craft. No one talked promo or publicity. Bookmarks had only just become a thing. (Anyone remember Brenda Joyce’s scandalous bare-chested men?) Writers talked writing: how to deepen conflict, how to best use point of view, how to build sexual tension through subtext. How to write dialogue that sounded like real people talking. How to show through action, not tell through narrative. How to know when telling was needed. How not to info dump backstory.
You should’ve seen the first chapter of my first effort and the monstrous backstory dump. I didn’t understand how the reader was supposed to know what was happening – or why – without me spelling it out right up front. I was not and have never been a natural storyteller. I am a writer, a wordsmith. I love words. I spend way too much time looking for the only one that will work. Then I need there to be a rhythm to the sentences when they’re read, and a balance, a flow, a purpose. All the things that make up voice.
Twenty-five years of writing and 50+ published novels/novellas/short stories and I still struggle with all that makes up voice. Sometimes I find voice a hindrance; I sound out beats of a sentence as I’m writing, and I can’t read a book that doesn’t make me love the words on the page as much as the characters and their journey. Because I started writing so late in life, I know it was always this way for me as a reader. I remember talking books with a co-worker years ago, figuring out between us why the viewpoint wasn’t working, where the author’s choices had gone wrong for the reading experience. So when I see remarks like this one below from the comment section of this post it makes the creative part of me very sad.
What’s really noticeable on KBoards is how little discussion there is about writing. It’s all marketing, pricing, and discoverability. Product quality is only discussed in terms of cover design, formatting and proof-reading. Editing is thought to be synonymous with grammar and spell checking. The main obstacle to becoming a successful author is always assumed to be some problem in the business plan.
Don’t get me wrong. I love that authors have so many choices these days for getting their work in front of readers. But when did the craft of writing become an afterthought, and promotion take center stage? This is where I’m struck with nostalgia for the early days, and where I love the close writer friends I have with whom I can talk about theme and viewpoint choices and what a character most wants in life.
I hope you enjoy Luna and Angelo’s story in BENEATH THE PATCHWORK MOON. Book three in the Hope Springs series, THE SWEETNESS OF HONEY, is set to release October 14, and will wrap up the current trilogy with Indiana Keller’s story. I do have ideas for more books, so we’ll see what happens!
February 14, 2014
When I was around twelve years old, 1970 or so, a family in our church gave us an upright piano. Their youngest son played, and they were buying a new one for him. I knew how to read music; back in the day, they taught these things in school. Also, we had music lessons at church with one of our song leaders.
I learned early to peck out Eleanor Rigby, This Land Is Mine (from the movie Exodus), Chopsticks, and Heart and Soul (of course), and Baby Elephant Walk (from the movie Hatari). My parents moved from Texas to Oregon when I was 21, and left the piano with me. Until recently, we knew next to nothing about it, but research tells us it’s at least seventy years old. The Bogart Piano Company ceased operation during WWII.
Over the next 34 years, we moved the piano at least a half dozen times. Here’s a picture I took last July while we were moving (again) to our current home. We talked seriously then about finally getting rid of it.
My sister had teethed off many of the ivories when she was two.
There were dead keys on the high-end. The thing was terribly out of tune, the wood terribly scarred, and it was terribly dirty inside. Outside, too, a lot of the time. We’d left it on a dolly in the corner of our living room for years, and the only playing it saw was from the grandkids banging, or the occasional strolling cat.
About this same time, my husband saw this post on Reddit, which linked to this post describing the conversion of a similarly old piano to a desk, and this photo below of the completed project. I emailed the women who owned the piano, wanting to find out more about the process, but never heard back.
Still, I was all MUST HAVE MUST HAVE MUST HAVE MUST HAVE MUST HAVE MUST HAVE MUST HAVE!
I posted an ad on Craigslist for a woodworker, and had several responses, and got quotes, though none of the responders had ever done such a conversion. I talked with one guy seriously during July before we moved. He showed me some portfolio work, but then I Googled him and found some not so complimentary reviews. About that same time, he fell off the face of the earth, which I now count as a blessing.
Then one day, my husband stopped by a furniture store that does a lot of custom work to look at some sofas donated to my daughter’s dog rescue group. While there, he asked the owner if she knew of anyone who could do such a conversion, and she sent him to The Tinderbox. Which was closed that day.
I pulled up the website and emailed, and the contact there put me in touch with Greenwood Bay. Bob, the owner, and his colleague Jeff came out to see the piano which was now in the garage at our new house. We discussed ideas, and cost, and a couple of weeks later, they sent a truck to pick it up.
Yesterday, they brought it back from the shop.
And this is my new piano desk, worth all the months and all the flails!!!
Click through for more pics!
Coming in from the truck without the desktop.
Bob installing the desktop.
Left side view with desktop and glass installed.
Left side view from beneath desktop.
Ready to get to work!
January 5, 2014
March 31, 2013
Shortly after the husband left this morning to log his third oil well of the week, I started thinking about Easter food, and how our family historically has eaten barbecue. Which got me to thinking about the Easter scene in THE SECOND CHANCE CAFÉ. I made sure to time the book around it’s actual release date (I do that a lot) so Kaylie and Ten (and Luna and Mitch and Will) are all in the Easter barbecue scene at Meadows Land, the Meadows’ family sheep farm near Hope Springs. Here’s a snippet from that scene! Enjoy!
Shaking off the strangeness of the moment, she saw Ten walking toward her, a sugar cookie frosted with thick yellow icing in his hand. Flutters of unexpected delight tickled her as she breathed in, then worked their way lower to coil in her belly and burn. They made the next breaths she took a struggle, yet she held on to them anyway, digging her nails into her palms, letting the flutters fill her.
Ten said nothing as he stopped beside her, watching with her as the kids lined up at Luna’s command. She raised one hand overhead until all eyes were on her. Then with a flourishing sweep of a scarf, she brought her arm down to signal the race was on, jumping and clapping as the kids nearly mowed her down.
Kaylie was pretty sure the other woman was having more fun than the children. She bumped her elbow against Ten’s. Accidentally, she told herself, though she wasn’t sure that was the case. “Did you ever hunt Easter eggs when you were a boy? You and your brother and sister?”
He grunted. “Is this your way of getting me to talk about them? Or to find out why I don’t talk about them? Except, it seems, to you.”
“Either. Both.” It had actually been neither. She’d only been asking about eggs. But to know that he felt free to talk of them to her… Her heart tumbled at that, the honor, the privilege. She felt flushed with a satisfaction almost too intimate to bear.
Ten popped the rest of the cookie into his mouth, talked around it. “How ’bout I just say yes? My brother and sister and I hunted Easter eggs as kids.”
“That’s it?” she asked, looking up.
Brows furrowed, he looked down. “What more do you need?”
She was hungry for everything about him. His hair in the sun. His eyes on hers. His tongue flicking out to catch cookie crumbs. His Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. “Did you hunt them at home? After Sunday school? With the other children in the neighborhood?”
“Again. All of the above,” he said, and turned back to watch the kids as if having changed his mind about sharing things about his family with her.
Fine, but he was the one who’d opened the door. “If you don’t talk to your sister, why did you ask her to come by?”
“Because you wanted to put in a garden,” he said, shrugging as if it were obvious. “And no one knows gardens like Indy.”
He’d done it for her. Put what she needed for her café above his desire for the separation from his family even Indy wasn’t clear on—a thought that had her returning to Winton and May and the way each looked to the other’s needs first.
“Thank you,” she said, asking, “What?” when he responded with a weighty sigh.
“Nothing,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re welcome.”
She reached for his arm, tugged him to face her. “No, it’s not nothing. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” He puffed out his cheeks, then puffed out a gust of air. “I just don’t want you to think it was a tit for tat thing. I’m not expecting anything in return.”
“Anything?” Oh. “Like another kiss?”
“I’m not expecting another kiss, no.”
But the way he said it… “Do you want to kiss me again?”
She raised her chin, looked up at him, shading her eyes from the sun when it got in the way of her drinking him in…the way he ground his jaw, the stubble of beard he hadn’t bothered to shave, the curl of hair that cupped his ear because it wasn’t as long as the rest hanging over his collar.
She remembered the feel of it in her hands, the strands coarser than corn silk, and textured, like raffia, or hemp. She remembered his scent, and caught hints of it now, spicy and fresh and of the woods. His mouth had been fresh, too, wet and warm and sure. And the discoveries she’d made of his body…
She used the hand at her eyes to push her hair from her face, catching back strands stuck on her lips where she’d slicked them with her tongue. “I want you to kiss me again,” she said into the moment bubbled around them, close and fragile. “I want to kiss you.”
He said nothing as he lifted one hand, hooking a flyaway lock of her hair behind her ear. She leaned into his touch, the bubble tightening, the holiday crowd and noise and watercolor eggs fading into the watercolor distance.
She nuzzled her cheek to his hand, and he swallowed hard, his throat working around the words caught there. “You’re making it hard to say no.”
“Then don’t say it,” she said, wondering what he had done to her, because she was not herself at all.
“Time and place, sweetheart,” he finally said, as if it had taken him longer than he’d expected to find a response. “Do you think either is right?”
“No.” But that didn’t change any of what she was feeling.
“Later,” he said softly, leaning closer to whisper, “Promise,” against the shell of her ear. “You and me. No distractions.”
March 27, 2013
I was so super excited to see Amazon Publishing’s Montlake Romance imprint show so well in the 2013 RITA contest though honestly, anyone who doesn’t think Montlake titles can’t compete hasn’t been reading them. The editorial team is top-notch, whipping us into shape. ;) I have the ongoing scars to prove it, heh.
Anyhow, I thought to celebrate, I’d give away one Kindle copy of each of the four titles. To be eligible to win, just leave a comment telling me which book you’d like to have – and there should be something to interest everyone as several categories are represented. You can see the four books below, and you can click on the authors’ names to learn more about them!
Post by Sunday, March 31, 2013, 11:59 p.m. CDT. I’ll draw the winners sometime on Monday, April 1, 2013.
Best First Book Finalists
Crazy Little Thing by Tracy Brogan
Amazon Publishing, Montlake Romance
Kelli Martin, editor
Forged in Fire by Trish McCallan
Amazon Publishing, Montlake Romance
Lindsay Guzzardo, editor
Contemporary Romance Single Title Finalists
Sugar Springs by Kim Law
Amazon Publishing, Montlake Romance
Kelli Martin, editor
Paranormal Romance Finalists
Edge of Oblivion by J.T. Geissinger
Amazon Publishing, Montlake Romance
Eleni Caminis, editor
Romantic Suspense Finalists
Forged in Fire by Trish McCallan
Amazon Publishing, Montlake Romance
Lindsay Guzzardo, editor