Alison Kent's Blog, page 8

G is for Gang

And that's the Dalton Gang, of course!! One of my favorite things about writing these cowboys has been the cowboys themselves. Just like when I was writing my SG-5 books for Brava, I loved writing those guys. I've been told by more than a few readers that my guys REALLY come across as guys, and I hope they do. I honestly have more fun getting into the heads and beneath the skin of my heroes as I write them than I do my heroines. Makes sense, I suppose, since I know how girls work. ;) But writing guy speak and guy think is just a hoot. I love love LOVE men. Can you tell? ;)

Here's an excerpt from UNDENIABLE with just the guys, Dax, Boone and Casper. Enjoy!

###

Throwing rooster tails of gravel as he braked in front of the bunkhouse, Dax steeled for the ass chewing he knew he'd be walking into—and knew he deserved. It was a week day. It was a work day. He'd gone to town to pick up an order at Lasko's, and come back to the ranch sex drunk and needing a five hour nap.

The burgers and six pack he'd brought with him were as much an apology as lunch, but judging by the scowl on Boone's face and the shake of Casper's head, buying his way off their shit list was going to take more than Angus beef and imported beer.

His friends had spent the morning pulling his share of the workload along with their own, having only a couple of part time hands for help. That after ironing out a legal three way split just last week. The ass chewing would only begin to cover his sins. He had every bit of whatever hell they threw at him coming.

Squinting into the heat waves shimmering off the hood of his truck, he held up the longnecks and booted his door closed. "I come bearing gifts."

Making his careful way down the building's rickety stairs, Boone shoved back his hat, wiped his forehead with his sleeve, then rolled a bottle of ice water over his skin before tugging down the brim to shade his eyes. "Those bite marks on your neck? I'd say that's not all the coming you've been doing."

"What can I tell you—" It was all Dax got out before Casper grabbed the grocery bag out of his arm and headed toward the rear of his truck.

Peering inside, he said, "You can tell me you got the spool of wire else you're gonna be the one chasing down the next runaway calf."

"I did," Dax said, though Casper had seen it by now, lowering the tailgate to use as a lunch counter. The kitchen in the bunkhouse had two chairs, no table, yet none of the three felt right moving into the main house. It still belonged to the Daltons. Thinking otherwise hadn't settled in and might never.

Figuring it best not to press his luck, Dax ran a thumb over the bruise Arwen had given him, leaving off the part about having to stop by Lasko's a second time since he'd kinda lost his way the first. "And I would've gone after this morning's calf. You just got there first, being an early bird and all."

"Not an early bird." Casper tossed him a burger wrapped in yellow waxed paper. "An insomniac. Wondering if we'll be able to make this thing work."

Boone caught the second package. "Insomnia comes with the territory. Hard to think about letting down Tess and Dave. Still getting used to their trusting we wouldn't."

They were here, they were doing all they could to keep the ranch afloat. If they failed, Dax would move on. He'd done it before. "Tess and Dave knew this wasn't going to be easy for whoever took over. And Dave in particular knew how far an extra hour spent catching up on sleep could go toward making a success of a long day."

Thoughts of the Daltons settled between them as they ate. The responsibility they'd been given. The belief the older couple had shown in three trouble teens. The very real possibility they'd fuck this up like they had so many other things in their lives.

It wasn't easy being weighted with a reputation that had an entire town wagering how long they'd last.

Wouldn't surprise Dax a bit to learn his father had bet his forfeited share of the Campbell estate that he, wouldn't make it to summer's end.

"Is that what that bite mark is?" Casper asked between chews. "Catching up?"

Dax bit into the burger that was as good as Arwen promised, and tried to block out the picture of her tits. "Either of you ever know Arwen Poole? From high school?"

Boone held his beer in front of his mouth. "She the one whose dad lost it after her mom was killed in that rollover on ten? Out near Luling?"

"Yeah." Dax nodded. "He went on disability or something because of the accident. Had to raise Arwen himself."

"He did a lot of it in the Buck Off Bar, if I'm remembering things right," Boone added before guzzling down a long swallow.

Dax remembered things the same way. Hard not to with it being beat into his head by his mother. "She owns it now. Though she calls it a saloon. That's where the burgers came from."

"Must be the place Faith was talking about. Where the girls dance on the bar." At the glaring look from Boone, Casper stopped. "What? The other day at the bank. You were there. Unless you giving me the evil eye kept you from hearing anything she said."

Dax was leaving this one alone. Like Arwen, Boone's little sister had grown up while they'd been away, and though Casper had toed Boone's hands-off line in high school, Faith no longer needed her big brother's protection.

Boone wasn't of a mind to agree. Faith being their loan officer at the First National Bank would be putting her in Casper's path too often for Boone's liking. But at least the other two butting heads over Faith took the heat off of Dax.

He finished his burger, tossed the ball of waxed paper into the grocery bag, and thumbed the top from a second beer. Closing his eyes against the sun's blinding light, he brought it to his mouth. The heat returned before he'd managed even a sip.

"Is Arwen Poole the one who bit you?" The tailgate rattled as Casper boosted up to sit, a dust cloud rising from the seat of his jeans.

"I ran into her at Lasko's." A noncommittal answer. "She was delivering lunch to Bubba Taylor."

Boone snorted. "He smell any better than he did in high school?"

"Nope. Doesn't look any better either."

"Fuck Bubba Taylor," Casper said, using his shoulder as a napkin to wipe the grease and the drought's sandy grit from his mouth. "I want to hear more about Arwen. You two play vampire in the kitchen while she cooked?"

"She doesn't do the cooking. She's got a couple of girls flipping burgers." Girls who probably earned more than the part time hands here on the ranch. Dax frowned, staring at his longneck and deciding how much more to spill. "She lives behind the saloon. Little house used to belong to Buck Akers when he owned the bar."

Another snort from Boone. "That piece of shit shack?"

Dax thought of the flowers, of the cat. Of the black and white kitchen floor that brought to mind old movies. "It's not a shack anymore. Surprised her water bill hasn't bankrupted her. The grass is so green it looks like she doused it with a bucket of paint."

That brought silence as all three looked around the place they'd inherited. They were living piecemeal per Faith's budget, buying supplies as they needed them and only the supplies they couldn't do without. The spool of galvanized steel barbed wire in the bed of his truck an example. As far as anything on the spread being green … South central Texas had been so long without rain that nothing held color for miles.

Brown was everywhere. Dirt, dead grass. Paint chipped from the bunkhouse to expose the wood beneath. The hay they were having to pay for and truck in since the end of Dave Dalton's days hadn't left him with the health or the money to bale his own. The cows and the horses, though they were born that way and Dax couldn't hold it against them. Still, they added to the dull and lifeless landscape.

If he was going to stay in this place for the extended length of time he'd signed on for, he needed more reason than the view from here. What he needed was green grass and yellow flowers. An orange tabby. Sweet creamsicle tits and hair that shone like campfire coffee lit by the light of the moon. Yep, those would do nicely. Nicely enough he thought he could put off sampling more of the local wares awhile longer.

What he couldn't put off another minute was work. He screwed up again, he wouldn't get off this lightly. He downed the rest of his beer, backhanded the moisture from his mouth, and dropped the bottle in the bag. He might've fucked things up with his family, but he wasn't going to do the same with the people in his life who mattered. The people who accepted—and respected—the choices he'd made.

Hopping into the truck bed for the spool of wire, he made a gimme motion Casper's direction. "Toss me your gloves."

Head shaking, Casper tugged them from his belt and pulled them on. "Uh-uh. You and your damn bite marks got the only break you're gonna get today."

Or not so lightly. "Hope that doesn't mean I have to restring the south pasture fence on my own."

"Nope, but we gotta wait for Diego to get back with the flatbed since he's got the stretcher and staple driver."

And because we can't afford more than one of either, Dax mused with an irritation he directed at the spool, shoving it with his boot to where Casper waited.

Boone got the lunch trash out of the way, crimping the top of the bag and tossing it to the bunkhouse porch where it landed with a breaking glass clatter. "Wonder what possessed Arwen Poole to hang out her shingle in Crow Hill. Figured she would've left not long after we did, what with her situation being as craptastic as it was."

Dax couldn't say but was curious about the same. "We didn't spend a lot of time talking, but I'll find out what I can."

"That mean you're seeing her again?" Casper asked, hefting the wire to the ground and giving Dax the side eye from beneath the brim of his beat-up straw hat.

Laughing, Dax held up both hands. "From here on, after hours only. I swear on every almighty dollar I left behind at the mansion on the hill."

"You know those dollars would come in handy right about now," Boone said. "I don't think Faith was kidding when she said we could do with picking up pennies and collecting aluminum cans."

"Then sign me up for the picking and collecting. I'm too old and worn out for law school. Even if I had any interest in going. Which I don't." He jumped to the ground, slammed the tailgate shut. "The family firm will just have to grind to an end without me."

"I don't know. Hear tell Darcy's doing all she can to stake her claim to the throne."

Except Boone knew as well as Dax that his father would never crown a female successor. A pang of guilt punched the center of Dax's chest and he struggled to draw breath. If nothing else, he needed to see Darcy. And soon. His sister didn't deserve to be left to fight the good as well as the bad Campbell fights alone.

Yeah. This had to be done. "Why don't I ride out and find Diego, get him to help me with the fence? You two can get back to whatever else needs doing."

"And why would you volunteer to do that?" Boone asked from where he leaned both forearms on the bed of Dax's truck.

"I was thinking of heading into town early in the morning. Having breakfast with Darcy." When his partners both started in with the loud and colorful words, he cut them off. "Hey. I've been back a week. I need to see her."

Casper nodded, though still had to ask, "You gotta do it on company time?"

"It's Darcy, man. And I won't be long." But wanting to be all above board and honest since he needed his friends at his back, he added, "Arwen, I'll see on my own."

[image error]

F is for Fear

"I must not fear. Fear is the mind killer. Fear is the little death that brings total oblivion. I must allow it to pass over me and through me, and where it has gone I must turn the inner eye. Only I will remain." Frank Hebert "Dune"

(I have no idea whose tat this is. It was posted to Twitter last year and was so cool, I saved it!)

If I were ever to get a tat, I'd have this inked on my shoulder. Writing is a no fear gig. Only way to survive. Can't fear success. Can't fear failure. Can't fear the industry. Can't fear where the winds take us. Can't fear the scope of the ideas or the struggle for the words or the unknown.

That, most of all.

[image error]

E is for Elephants

Mr. Ellie Pooh, actually, because these are indeed partially made out of elephant dung. And since I do a LOT of writing, note jotting, plotting in notebooks, I had to buy these after learning about them on Twitter. I love the paper. It's rough, and soaks up ink, but it's very very cool. I've got a thing for cool paper. Two of my favorite notebooks are made by Clairefontaine & Cambridge.

But I have also been known to write in these.

[image error]

D is for Dalton Gang

(Originally it was for my loathing of Daylight Savings Time, then I realized I was missing a perfect promo opportunity and a chance to introduce you all to my boys!)

Here we go again with the cowboy and his gorgeous chest hair. And his abs. And his chaps. And his abs. (Click the photo for a REALLY big cover version!)

This is Dax Campbell, the hero of my October 2 release from Berkley Heat, UNDENIABLE. And here's the back cover blurb for that one.

THE DALTON BOYS ARE COMING, ONE BY ONE…

There was a time when Crow Hill, Texas's notorious Dalton Gang ran wild. Now, as owners of the Dalton Ranch, their partnership in the rundown operation leaves little time for raising hell—except for the right women who can turn on the heat…

It's been sixteen years since Dax Campbell set foot in Crow Hill—and sixteen years since Arwen Poole had a crush on him in high school. Unfortunately, setting her sights on this irresistible man again has stirred up a lot of unfulfilled desires in Arwen. A few nights in bed with Dax should get him out of her system once and for all. That's all she wants. And for now, that's all she needs.

But Dax is looking for something deeper in a woman. So they agree to an unconventional affair: for every no-strings sexual encounter Arwen craves, Dax gets to take her out for a night of romance. While both manage to hold up their end of the bargain, they're growing closer than either of them can afford. Because Dax has a family secret that could drive him out of Crow Hill for good, and Arwen's not letting him go without a fight…

What follows is the recap of the series. This was the introduction to the proposal we submitted last spring. The second book, coming out next February, is Casper Jayne's. It's the one I just turned in on Sunday. I sold these two books May 31, 2011 but the submission that went in included synopses for three stories. The funny part is that the three synopses were for novellas, as we were proposing an anthology, but Berkley wanted two full length books instead…and you can see on the left sidebar that this newest one was almost 100K words long, meaning it includes 60K words worth of plot NOT in the synopsis! In fact, I'm going back in to fix a scene I've realized since turning in isn't working, so it will probably go over 100K by the time I get it all worked out.

Summers in Crow Hill, Texas belonged for years to the Dalton Gang—three hellraising teens who spent weekends and vacations working on Tess and Dave Dalton's ranch. Dax Campbell, Boone Mitchell, and Casper Jayne were friends as well as enemies. They drank too much, took half the care shooting off their mouths they took with their guns, and never met a saddle they couldn't talk their way into. A decade after graduation, the three inherit from the childless Daltons equal shares of the ranch. They return to Crow Hill to revisit the past, stir pots long settled, and cause more trouble than ever for the women in town.

Click through for an excerpt from UNDENIABLE!

Naturally the one day Arwen decided to make the feed store run, it was Bubba Taylor and his goon squad who'd placed the order. If she'd thought to check the ticket before her spur of the moment decision, she would've gone after Dax another time.

The problem with working the wild wild west were the predators that hovered at watering holes. And Arwen hated feeling like prey.

A quick scan of the parking lot failed to turn up a truck door sporting a D hooked over a T that was the Dalton ranch brand. What she did see—and sense crawling all over her—were a half dozen pair of shifty eyes, Bubba Taylor's being the beadiest.

She hefted the bag higher, holding it directly in front of her as she climbed the wooden steps to the porch. Both creaked beneath her weight, but neither was as loud as the hinges groaning when Bubba pushed open the screen door.

"Hey, Arwen." He winked, taking up space she needed to get by. He kept his hand on the wooden frame, the torn away sleeves of his plaid shirt revealing a thick tuft of hair and his disregard of deodorant. "Long time no see. Thought Amy might be delivering today."

Arwen shoved the bag into his hands, causing him to step back and out of her way. Only then did she take another breath. "Sorry, Bubba. You're stuck with me."

"I don't mind." He looked her up and down, settling his gaze in her cleavage, and then he actually licked his lips. "As long as you don't mind getting what's coming to you."

Because, of course, that's why she was here. To be sexually harassed by Bubba Taylor. "Money, Bubba. Cash. Preferably before you eat."

Bubba sneered. "Ah, well. If that's all you want, then lemme pass the hat for donations."

Rolling her eyes with a muttered, "Lord save me," Arwen headed for the register, fresh air, and the safety of Josh Lasko. He was leaning into his forearms where they were crossed on the counter, and he smiled as she got close.

"How're things, Josh? Your daddy doing okay?"

"He's getting there. Doc's put him on enough meds to choke a bull. Cut him back to one rib-eye a month."

A cowman facing a beef-restricted diet was not a pretty thing. Arwen sympathized. "Sorry to hear that. We've got a mean veggie burger on the menu if he wants to stop in and give it a try."

But Josh wasn't having it. "I'm afraid he's made his last trip to the saloon. At least for awhile. Dad's not a heathen like Bubba Taylor, but he's still got an eye for the gals, and that ticker of his might not stand the strain of your hellcats."

She laughed at Josh's sidestepping effort not to call his father a dirty old man. "Tell you what. Next time he's in town, let me know and I'll bring one over." When Josh briefly eyed the fit of her shirt, she added, "I'll even find something less heart-stopping to wear."

"Well, it's not that I really want to see that happen, but for his sake, I appreciate it." His face coloring, he looked quickly away, nodding over her shoulder. "Looks like Bubba's collected enough to pay you, though I hope you weren't counting on anything like a tip."

"It's Bubba Taylor," she said, resigned to this trip being more hassle than mission accomplished. "I'm not even counting on getting out of here with my virtue intact."

"I'm happy to help you run that gauntlet."

The voice came from the shadows. It was a voice Arwen knew well, though it was seasoned now, deeper and rich as if hung up to age. She tried to swallow, found her throat had swelled. Tried to breathe, found her lungs fighting her heart for the room.

Was he leaner? Rougher? Hard-edged and worth all the years she'd waited?

He'd never been soft, but his body had matured, his build less a cocky teen learning the fit of things and more the cowboy he was now. His was a long rangy strength defined by lean hips and a purposeful swagger, by a narrow waist and wide shoulders and the sharp relief of tendons and veins. He needed every bit of the weight he carried, and she wondered if he'd outgrown his love of excess.

But then she met his gaze, and she was taken back to eighteen when she'd lusted after the things he'd made her feel as much as she'd lusted after him. And, oh, oh, but the lust was grand, her pulse ticking wildly, her skin tingling, her sex anticipating and growing damp. There were so many things she wanted him to do.

Beneath his hat, his hair was shaggy, a darker blond than she remembered, and as careless as was the scruff of whiskers he hadn't bothered to shave. His jaw was square, bold, his mouth wide and wicked as he smiled. His eyes were the intense blue of high summer skies, and hot. Texas sun hot.

"Dax." It was all she could say. Her mouth was bone dry.

"Arwen." His voice rolled over her, the one word, her name.

She didn't know if she'd ever heard him say it. She didn't know if getting him out of her system was going to be as easy as she'd thought. She did know if she let him walk her to her truck, she wouldn't be driving away alone.

Sounded like a hell of a plan. "I'd better get Bubba's money before he finds something else to spend it on."

Dax came closer. He didn't speak. He just smiled, his dimples cutting crescents in the stubble covering his cheeks. He didn't ask when he took hold of her upper arm and turned her toward the door, or say anything as Bubba silently paid her.

On the way out, he moved his hand to the small of her back. He kept it there as they crossed the porch and walked down the steps, side by side. Once in the parking lot, they turned toward the long row of pickups along the side of the store, and that's when his hand drifted lower, his thumb inching under the hem of her shirt, his fingers slipping beneath the waistband of her jeans.

She glanced up, wondered if his eyes would give away what he was thinking, if hers would tell him that he was why she was here. This was what she wanted, but he didn't have to know that, and she didn't have to make it so easy on either of them. Yet, she didn't dislodge his hand. And she didn't pretend his presumption put her off.

All she did was cut her gaze over his shoulder toward the window, asking as she looked back, "Are you invading my personal space for the benefit of Bubba and his boys, or for your own?"

He paid no attention to their audience, his gaze holding hers, a rope pulling tight, choking. "You left out the third option."

He'd lassoed her. If not for the onlookers fogging up the store's window, she would've stripped to her skin then and there. But he didn't have to know that either. "Which is?"

"I'm doing it for you."

"That so."

He nodded, his gaze sliding from her eyes to her mouth before moving lower, lingering along her scooped neckline as if he had all the time in the world. As if he would take all the time in the world. She couldn't wait to find out if he would, but he didn't have to know that most of all.

He reached for his hat brim, pulled it low. "I figure … sixteen years? It's about time."

Oh, who was she kidding? He knew. He knew everything. And he'd known it all along. That left her with only one thing to say.

"My truck, or yours?"

[image error]

C is for Cats

Anyone following me on Twitter or Facebook knows we are a dog family. We have three, all rescue dogs. Snickers is our 45# pointer beagle mix. Takumi is our 60# chow shepherd mix. Duke is our 85# lab mix. Try walking that pack all at once. ;)

But here is the story of the cats. About a year, eighteen months ago, our neighbor's teen daughter found a black kitten in her backyard and kept it. Then said neighbor's teen daughter left home, and left the cat. Intact. In the backyard. Fast forward to last December, and one of the offspring from that original kitten (because there had been several litters, but all stayed next door) had her litter in our front hedge. Four kittens, two of whom are no more. One we THINK we may have recently seen. One was carried off by a hawk.



Anyhow, last December 23 we took the two remaining boys, Bold and Brutus, to the vet for neutering and vaccinations. We found out they were about four months old at that time. Since we had no idea how long the mama had been hiding them in our holly bush, we had no idea of their ages. Not long after, more of the older cats started hanging out in our hedge, this due to the fact that we started feeding the mama so she wouldn't leave the kittens for long periods to find food, and we wouldn't have dead kittens in the street.

Something had to be done, and we talked to our neighbor, and she had talked to a shelter about trapping them, but they needed her to provide the traps, and pay for the spays/neuters/vaccines. I told her we could start trapping them for her and get them fixed. I did not tell her we would pay for it but that was the plan. Her husband is a laborer and she a teacher at a small religious school, so there's not a lot of disposable income there. Not that we have tons to dispose of, but I was making some extra money through my self-publishing efforts.



Flirty was the first cat we spayed. She was easy. No one was yet wise to our ways. Next came Rocky, Flirty's sister, and the cat we named Satan. She tried to dig through the cardboard litter box we set up in the metal dog crate where we kept her post-op. Next, we actually managed to catch two of the cats who were again in heat, Nancy and Mama, the mother of our hedge kittens who were still hanging around. They were followed by Billie, another of Rocky's and Flirty's sisters, and then Chloe, who doesn't look like any of the colony. She just happened by at the wrong time for her! Finally we caught the original mother cat, Lil.



Then we started in on the boys. Brother has been living in our hedge with the kittens for months. We originally called him Sister because, well, who can tell. Dan was unlucky enough to get trapped when we next put out the cage. As of this writing, we know of two more pregnant females, yet both are wily and crafty and we may not be able to catch them before they give birth, though we are not giving up. Or I should say, #1 Girl and the husband are not giving up. They even caught one of the cats in a fishing net.

Calculating just the females we've had spayed, if each had given birth to five kittens, we would now have another THIRTY-FIVE unwanted cats in the neighborhood. We've got another tom to de-nut this next weekend, one who's not as feral as some we've seen. He lets us pet, hold and brush him, so he's next on the list. We call him Fat Daddy and are pretty sure he's the father of Bold and Brutus. Mostly likely, he's also their grandfather …

The message of this post? SPAY or NEUTER your pets!!!!!!!!!!!!

[image error]

Readers: A question about excerpts

Remember this guy? He releases into the wild six months from today, and I'm planning to start sharing some excerpts to wet your whistle, as it were.

Here is my question:

Note: There is a poll embedded within this post, please visit the site to participate in this post's poll.

B is for Books

As if B could be for anything else! I started off the year with a bang, reading five books by early February. The first four were thrillers, which is my favorite genre to read, and the fifth was the Joshilyn Jackson title on the right sidebar. All I have to say is READ THAT BOOK. Oh Em Gee is it AMAZEBALLS.

Then I got busy writing. And I KNOW Stephen King in ON WRITING says: "Can I be blunt on this subject? If you don't have time to read, you don't have the time (or the tools) to write. Simple as that. Reading is the creative center of a writer's life." But sometimes I just can't make it happen. I can watch TV and not lose my story, but if I get caught up in another author's world, it throws me out of my own.

Some writers solve this problem by reading nonfiction while writing, or reading a different genre than what they write. I actually (BIG CONFESSION TIME) don't read romance much. I write romance, I love romance, but for me reading what I write is like homework. I don't do this with other genres because I'm not as fluent in the constructs.

Now, this doesn't stop me from buying romances. Oh, the buying of the romances, especially with the easy instant digital download options offered to me by my Kindle Fire, my Kindle app on my iPod, and my Kindle app on my Blackberry. So, yes. There is much MUCH buying going on. And now that I've turned in yesterday's deadline manuscript, it's time to dive in and read some of what I've been amassing. After seeing The Hunger Games movie, I actually have an urge to read those again – and I never NEVER read books more than once. The only one I ever have is The Thorn Birds!

You? Do you read while you're writing? Do you read what you write? Do you re-read?

What good reads am I missing?

[image error]

A is for Amish

Greetings to those of you who have arrived via the Blogging from A-Z Challenge. I am a writer, so I talk a lot about writing, and about reading, and about the publishing industry, and about cats and dogs and gardening in Texas because those things take up a lot of my time.

Oh, also TV.

I am a big fan of GOOD TV, shows with plot twists and character arcs and emotional resonance. You know. That thing called STORY.

I've been offline (sorta) for two months as I finished a book due today. Meaning, while you're reading this, I'm reading that so I can email it to my editor before 11:59 p.m.

It is, btw, my FORTY-SIXTH published work.

About being Amish. This is how a friend of mine and I refer to the internet hiatuses we take to keep our minds clear of what's out THERE so we can give proper due to what's in HERE, our heads, our hearts. That place where story seeds take root and grow.

Writers work in imaginary places, relying on thoughts and thin air to create worlds where our story people are as real to us as if they lived in the house next door. And when we let in the barrage of social media clutter, not to mention the barrage of media crap, there's less room for the thoughts we rely on to keep our stories on track.

If we – or if *I* – spend too much energy on taking in what the media deems we must know (which we usually don't need to), we're left distracted, our focus torn, with less energy to spend on crafting stories free of cliche, written with evocative language. We have to work harder at keeping our characters true to life, true to themselves, giving them believable motivations for their every decision and corresponding action than we would if we were completely engaged, immersed in their, to us, very real lives.

At least that's how it works for me. And I'm not the only one.

But we're also social animals, and we want to keep up with our friends, stay on top of our industry. The first keeps us sane. The second makes good business sense. It's when being social begins to get in the way of creating that we need to evaluate if we're doing a disservice to our work by being OUT THERE instead of in here.

So what did I do in preparation to go Amish, you ask?

1) I used Freedom to disconnect my work computer from the Internet. Yes, a simple reboot is all that's required to reconnect, but any time I was tempted, I stopped. A mental game? Maybe, but it kept me in the scene, the place most deserving my time.

2) I took my email off my phone and iPod. Email is a HUGE distraction for me. I did set up a forwarder for my editor and agent and my closest friends. If they emailed, I'd get the note, could quickly read it, then respond next time I was online. And if something was urgent, I could get to it then. No one would be waiting a day for a response.

3) I took my Twitter app off my phone, my iPod, and my Kindle Fire. I love Twitter. Love it more than Facebook. Almost as much as email. Twitter IS my water cooler. I tweeted in the mornings, read a bit in my stream, but that was it. Gone until tomorrow.

4) I put my blog on hiatus.

Now, I did not go completely Amish. A month into my experiment, I was checking Twitter, Facebook, and email several times a day. It's hard working in a bubble, no lunch breaks spent with co-workers, talking about family and books read and movies seen. But it's even harder to get BACK into a scene after popping onto Twitter to see what I might be missing because I love having my nose in everyone's biz. ;)

Did going Amish work?

In a word, yes. And going completely off the grid would no doubt result in an even more complete involvement. I stayed in my story world. I did not get sucked into online skirmishes or any other goings-on. And even knowing things were happening, I didn't feel that I was missing out on anything, except more time spent talking to friends!

Will I do it again?

Absolutely. I plan to schedule my days around my writing, fitting in time online only when the words are done. Limiting my social media activity has allowed me to be more present in MY world. It's kept me on task, which has reduced my stress, which has freed the flow of words. I don't stop and think, "I should post that to Facebook or Twitter." Instead I think, "Which park should I take the dogs to today?" Or, "Do I have all the ingredients for the cooking effort that is Cook's Illustrated's Chicken Pot Pie?"

Do I enjoy talking to readers?

Of course I do, but I'm pretty sure readers would rather read the books I've written than tweets or Facebook updates or blog posts about my three rescue dogs and the feral cat colony we have somehow found ourselves taking on! And it's not like I'll never do any of that. I will because it's who I am. But if you are a regular follower and you realize I've been silent, keep this post in mind because THIS is why.

[image error]

The Great Sixty Days Unplugged Experiment

I'll be back on 4/1/2012 to explain.

My love of love triangles

I'm an unabashed lover of love triangles. I know this breaks the heart of many romance readers, but there you have it. Two of the stories I'm working on now have three main characters and choices must be made. No, I have three stories in the works with this set up. When they're finally available, I'll be sure and post a warning. I have no idea why I love love triangles, when this love started or what inspired it in the first place. I'd have to think back to books and movies from my past, but a quick perusal of my memory banks shows them to be as faulty as ever. That said, I do know the scene below from the 1985 movie FANDANGO had a really big impact on me. Kevin Costner's character was named Gardner Barnes, and if you've read my backlist, you know where you can find that name. This particular scene is my favorite from the movie. And it's the inspiration for a scene I'm writing now in my 2nd Berkley Heat, UNBREAKABLE – though don't worry. There is no triangle in this one, unless you count my hero and his two ranching partners!

(YouTube link because the vid doesn't seem to want to play nice with Chrome)