Delilah Devlin's Blog, page 483

Guest Blogger: Anne Rainey

Little Ideas

Writers find ideas everywhere. At the supermarket, while watching commercials, even when we’re doing laundry. It can be the littlest thing to spark off a plot for a book. Or even people in our life that we decide would make great characters in a book.

This time, I got an idea for a series while listening to my daughter tell me about some kids she knew at school. Katilyn, my oldest, came home one day talking about a couple of guys in her math class. As she started to explain about these five brothers that were all adopted, I couldn’t help but become intrigued. I had to wonder what sort of person or persons would take on five boys to raise. I mean, one boy is a lot to handle, much less five! I just knew that anyone with that much love to give would be someone very special. I needed to write about that, you know? That wonderful couple who would take five boys into their home and give them something they never knew before, unconditional love.

That was how the Blackwater series came about. The idea took root and I realized I had a rather emotional start to a series here. Thus, the Jennings brothers were created.

You have Sam, the oldest. He carries the weight of the world on his shoulders. He feels responsible for his brothers and an overwhelming protectiveness for Wanda, the woman who gave him his first taste of what it’s like to be a family.

Next up is Vance. He’s been burned by a woman once and swears to never get that close to anyone again. He’s tough on the outside, but all warm and gooey on the inside.

Brodix is the brainy one. He likes order and numbers. In his mind, every problem has a solution—you just need to crunch the right figures.

Reilly and River are the youngest, and twins. These two have had a bit more than their fair share of hard knocks and they have the emotional scars to prove it too.

Anyway, in Blackwater, Ohio, when the Jennings brothers come home for Thanksgiving to find the family business heading toward bankruptcy, they all step in to make things right. Along the way, their slightly meddlesome mom Wanda starts playing matchmaker. She wants to see her boys happy, and Wanda can be pretty fierce when she wants something!

As you can imagine with a family like the Jennings nothing is simple and things are definitely not perfect. They argue and fight, but that’s all part of the fun, right? I grew up with three brothers and we had our ups and downs, but I wouldn’t change a single second of it!

What about you? Do you have brothers and sisters? 

For a look at the first book in the series, Sam’s Promise, check out this page. And you can read more about Vance’s Rules, book two, here.

Now, onto the newest release in the series, Breaking Brodix. In this scene you get a taste of Wanda as she attempts to play matchmaker.

She wants to get all up in his business? She’ll have to get real personal.

Blackwater, Book 3

Brodix Jennings has a head for business, but his skills are put to the test when his brothers call on him to bring the family restaurant back into the black. With the grand reopening only days away, it’ll damn near take a miracle to keep the doors from closing for good.

Reporter Sarah Greer knows exactly what Brodix needs—free publicity on the front page of the town’s only newspaper. All she wants in exchange is the Jennings brothers’ rags-to-riches story. Except none of them are talking. And Brodix, who cuts a blazing path through her body with just a smile, is the most tight-lipped of the lot.

Brodix wouldn’t think twice about seducing prissy, buttoned-up Sarah into his bed, if her lousy profession didn’t leave him cold to the bone. A second look at the bar’s books, though, makes him think twice about saying no. But if he’s going to open the floodgates, it’ll be on his terms.

When Brodix asks her out, Sarah agrees, confident she can keep personal at arm’s length from professional. Until physical attraction melts their emotional barriers…and Sarah gets way more than she bargained for.

Product Warnings

Expect an annoying ex-husband, a slightly pushy reporter, a fiercely protective hero, and some meddling family members. Of course there’s also a whole lot of naughty sex, and in numerous positions too. Possible overheating of various electronic devices could occur.

 

“Look who I ran into at the supermarket!” his mother exclaimed. “Sarah Greer from the Gazette. Can you believe it?” The way his mom stared at Sarah, one would think they were in the presence of a celebrity.

It was Brodix’s bad luck that after spending the last several minutes convincing his brothers Sarah wouldn’t be a nuisance, the woman showed up carrying his mom’s groceries. Jesus H.

“I thought we agreed to meet at your place at seven, or was I mistaken?” he asked as he moved to take the bag from her. When he put it on the counter, he saw River moving closer to their mom. River took the grocery bag from her, but he never took his gaze from Sarah, as if she were a big bad wolf about to have lunch. Brodix wanted his brother to move past his reservations about reporters, to see that Sarah wasn’t cut from the same cloth as Larry. But wanting something didn’t necessarily mean it was going to happen. He was at least grateful that River hadn’t picked her up and tossed her out onto the front lawn. Judging by Reilly’s expression, the jury was still out on the possibility of that happening.

“Thank you,” Sarah replied when Brodix pulled a chair out for her at the table. As she looked up at him, her cheeks turned rosy. God, she was cute when she blushed. “I hope I’m not intruding. I told Wanda I didn’t really have to have a slice of her peach pie, but she insisted.”

“I did sort of twist her arm, Brodix,” his mom said, completely oblivious to the turmoil brewing in the room because of Sarah’s presence. “When I spied her checking out the frozen dinners, I couldn’t resist introducing myself.” His mom looked at Sarah, a sparkle in her eyes. “I’m such a fan of your news stories, it’s not even funny.”

Sarah waved the words away. “Oh, please. I’m a small-town reporter. Most of what I write gets buried so deep that you’d have to have a magnifying glass to find it.” She shrugged. “Every once in a while, I write something that people want to read.”

Brodix stayed standing, not sure if he should usher her out of the house, or wait and see what she was up to. When Vance propped an elbow on the table and smiled at Sarah, Brodix was shocked to see Sarah smiling right back. He decided to hang back and watch the show unfold. If she thought charming her way into their lives would work, then she definitely hadn’t done her research as thoroughly as she thought she had.

“I read your articles too,” Vance said. “I like them.”

“Thank you,” she replied as she cocked her head to the side. “You’re Vance, right?”

“Yep.”

“Oh lordy,” his mom muttered as she slapped a palm against her forehead. “I didn’t even think to introduce you. Where are my manners?” She pointed to Sammy first and smiled. “That’s Sam; he’s my oldest. He recently found the love of his life, Julie.” His mom winked at Sarah. “You’ll meet her at the grand opening. She’s a terrific woman. You two are going to get along great.” His mom’s words had Brodix smelling a setup. Was the woman attempting to play matchmaker with him and Sarah? Scary thought, considering how tenacious his mother could be when she set her sights on something. As she moved closer to Reilly and patted him on the shoulder, Brodix braced himself for battle. “As you can see, these are my twins. This is Reilly, and the quiet one there is River.”

“We’ve met,” Reilly bit out, clearly irritated.

“Yes, it’s nice to see you again, Reilly,” Sarah said, her smile a little stiffer than before. Brodix noticed the way she kept darting nervous glances at River, then back at Reilly. She definitely wasn’t feeling the love, Brodix thought. Hell, the tension in the room was thick enough to cut.

Brodix stiffened when he saw Sarah slowly get to her feet, then scoot her chair in. “I think I’ll take a rain check on the pie, Wanda.” She made a point to check her watch before adding, “I really do need to be getting home.”

That same protective instinct that he’d felt earlier came rushing to the surface again. Brodix moved up beside Sarah and smiled down at her. “You should stay for Mom’s peach pie.” He placed a hand at the small of her back and said, “You won’t regret it, I promise.” When he looked over her head, he noticed Reilly frowning at him. Brodix narrowed his eyes and kept his hand on Sarah. A silent battle ensued as they stared at each other, neither of them backing down. When Sarah took a step toward the doorway to leave, Brodix saw Reilly’s lips curve upward, clearly satisfied.

“Maybe you can bring me a slice when you pick me up tonight,” Sarah said, reminding him they’d be seeing each other in a few hours. His blood heated at the thought.

“Let me walk you out,” he said as he caught up to her. “I forgot to give you my cell phone number anyway.”

When they reached Sarah’s little silver coupe, Brodix flattened a hand against the door to prevent her from leaving. “Why’d you really come here, Sarah?”

She sighed. “Your mom wasn’t lying. She saw me at the supermarket and invited me over.” She flung her hands up in the air. “It’s honestly as simple as that.”

“So, you’re totally innocent?”

Sarah looked away.

Guest Blogger: Cathryn Fox

I’d just finished visiting the quaint town of Lunenburg, Nova Scotia, a town steeped in tradition yet bustling with a mix of industry, shops and services, when I started thinking about how much I’d like to live there.  Lunenburg is not only known for its hard working fishing vessels, it’s a place where many Stephen King movies were shot, including Deloris Claiborne, and where the television series Haven is filmed.

Later that day upon returning home I was chatting on line with the talented and very sweet Nikki Duncan. Before we knew it we were talking about doing an anthology together. We knew we wanted a third author, and both instantly agreed that we’d love to have our very good friend, Mackenzie McKade – another Samhain writer, and one of the wicked writers from our chat loop – on board.

Much to our delight Mac agreed and we set a time for brainstorming. We all agreed to do a reunion story with overlapping characters. This was fun, but challenging to keep time lines and characters consistent. Next came location and since we wanted a small town I couldn’t think of a better one than a coastal fishing village I’d just finished visiting. (Hey, I might not be able to pack up and move there but it doesn’t mean I can’t live there through my characters!) I shared my Lunenburg pictures and we all agreed to model our fictitious Maine town after this quaint little fishing village in Nova Scotia. Here are some pictures to give you a feel for our town and characters.

I hope you enjoy Lunenburg, or as we like to call it, Whispering Cove as much as we do!

Enjoy the stories we created: Wild, Wet and Wicked in Whispering Cove AND Burned, Bold and Brazen in Whispering Cove!

This is the house where one of Stephen King’s movies was shot.

Beautiful city street below, with bright colored houses.

Here is an aerial view of the ocean. Note the red buildings. Years ago all the buildings were painted red to help the fishermen find their way home.

I love this picture of the wharf and ocean.

I had to add this one with the Lobster! I picture the Seafarer, the lobster house in our stories, having a sign just like this.

Here are a few of the locals. Well…not really. My son on left and daughter on right, just hanging out with one of the fishermen.

This is a store today, but note the top window. A lookout over the ocean to watch the fishermen come home.

St. John’s Anglican Church. The first settlers of the area erected this small church in 1754. It is the oldest church in Lunenburg and the second-oldest non-Roman Catholic church in British North America.

Guest Blogger: Joey W. Hill (Contest!)

Movie Moments of Stillness – A Creative Necessity

Movie references tend to creep into my stories a lot; in my most recent paranormal release, In the Company of Witches, my heroine Raina (half-succubus, all witch) is a big fan of the movie Titanic, and she and Mikhael, my hero (a Dark Guardian, something like a cop/sorcerer), end up necking in a theater where they’re showing New Moon (I’m not ashamed to admit it – I LOVE the Twilight movies!). Anyhow, though I’m a bit of a movie addict…(ahem – 500+ DVD library and counting!), the movies serve a creative purpose, as any source of good storytelling does. In fact, this week they helped me turn a flat, ugly scene into something worth reading. To make that happen, I employed what I call the “Moment of Stillness” exercise. Let me explain, with a few less parentheses (lol).

There’s an amazing movie called The Legend of Bagger Vance, with Matt Damon and Will Smith. It centers around a golf game between Matt Damon’s relatively unknown character, Junuh, and golf legends Bobby Jones and Walter Hagen. During the movie, there’s a part where Bagger (Will Smith) tells Junuh to watch Bobby Jones when he steps up to the ball to take his swing. Once Bobby arrives at the tee, everything else disappears. He clears his mind completely, and when he does, a synergy of instinct and experience happen—and so does a great shot. It’s as Bagger tells Junuh: “All we got to do is get ourselves outta it’s way.”

I have noticed this theme in other movies. In Finding Neverland, Johnny Depp portrays playwright J.M. Barrie, who wrote Peter Pan. Caught in writer’s block, he strikes up a friendship with a widow and her children. As he gets lost in the enjoyment of being with them (rather than worrying about his stale play), he starts “seeing” a new story, Peter Pan. There’s an extraordinary scene where the boys are jumping on their beds but, in J.M.’s imagination, he sees them bounce, bounce, and then begin to fly through the air, finally soaring out the window, just as will eventually happen in the Peter Pan story.

In Star Trek – Insurrection, Captain Picard meets a people who have slowed down the aging process. In a lovely moment with one of the female leaders of the community, he is sitting by a stream with her where she helps him “stay in this moment”. We see a hummingbird’s wingbeats get so slow we can see the delicate wing structure, everything in slow motion.

Final example – Sherlock Holmes with Robert Downey, Jr and Jude Law. In both the first and second installment of these incredible movies, there are times Sherlock, with his amazing ability to anticipate action and reaction, shows in slow motion what will unfold and plans his response to it, all before it happens. Though in reality, it all happens very quickly, it is slow and steady in his head, the rest of the world tuned out.

Anyhow, this process of slowing down the mind, opening it up, “getting out of its way” is vital in almost every creative endeavor. It becomes absolutely essential to find this method when you evolve from doing something you love merely because you love it, and doing it professionally. Business and creativity have always had an uneasy relationship. For instance, the athlete who is pure poetry on the broken asphalt of the inner city basketball court, must learn to hold onto that craftsmanship when playing for a million dollar contract, with the demands of team owner, fans, etc piled on his back.

On the same note, writers have to make the transition from scribbling away in their glorious solitude, where getting published is no more than a distant pipe dream, to being an author who writes on deadline, meeting promo requirements, answering copious amounts of email, social networking, etc… Yet every subsequent story must be a creative and fresh as the ones they created in the beginning, in their little private cubbyhole.

Impossible? Nope. Not with that moment of stillness. At the beginning of this post, I claimed that “moment of silence” had really helped me this week. I was working on the latest book in my Vampire Queen Series, Taken by a Vampire, which features a threesome—Evan, my vampire hero, his Scottish servant Niall, and Alanna, the rigidly trained Inherited Servant who has come under their protection until her treasonous Master is apprehended.  My editor needs a partial sooner than expected, so over the past several weeks I’ve been typing furiously, getting that first draft vomited out onto the pages (yeah, no better way to put it than that). But now I’m in the first edit. I can do the “barf to meet deadline” for only so long before my soul shrivels up into a husk.

So I take a deep breath, slow it all down. Surround myself with that creative stillness, and tap deeper into who and what my characters are, where they are, etc. As such, what was a pretty bland, bare-bones section became the following, which I like much better, even though this is still only a rough first draft. I’m too proud to give you the first version for comparison; just imagine blah blah blah, vomit, vomit, vomit, and you’ll have the essence of it – grin.

Background: Alanna is meeting Evan for the first time in the root cellar of a mountain cabin, which he also uses as a dark room to develop film – he’s an artist/photographer:

Turning away from the ladder, she faced her new Master. She was five-four in height, so the tilt of her head to view his face suggested he was just at six feet. Evan Miller, a common enough name, but he had the absorbing features and piercing eyes of a handsome Jewish man, the charisma obvious even without the vampire enhancement. He didn’t have Niall’s height or breadth—she didn’t imagine many men did—but his shoulders were broad, despite a rangy body type, lean and knotted. He had a long face with straight slash cheekbones, his mouth a firm, thin line. His straight nose was the dividing marker for wide-spaced eyes that were gray and heavy lidded, with dark fine brows beneath a straight fall of dark hair.

She was wrong. She had seen his face at some point, because she remembered his eyes.  How long had he and Niall stayed at her bedside when Stephen was torturing her through their mindlink? Evan’s painting on her bare skin, the touch of Niall’s hands on her face…it had seemed to go on a long time, hell’s minions howling at the door but unable to get through while they were there.

“Just as impossibly beautiful as I expected,” Evan murmured. Without permission, her body swayed toward his at the recollection of that voice. He put a hand on her shoulder, steadying her. “Though a little dizzy. Niall didn’t feed you.”

“No, he did, Master. My apologies. I…” It wasn’t dizziness, not that kind, but she couldn’t explain it to herself, let alone him. She knew now they’d been real, the both of them. While learning more about them should be putting her feet more solidly on the ground, she was so outside her normal milieu, they seemed even more fantastic.

He touched a loose lock of her hair at her temple, apparently considering the red-gold color that had always made her more noticeable than most servants. His fingers were truly extraordinary. Elegant but capable, the hands of a master artisan. She remembered a greeting card her brother had sent her. The stained glass style painting had shown an oak tree coming to life, the branches turning into male arms, wrapping around the body of a human woman, who was kissing the face surfacing through the bark, the powerful, graceful tree spirit that shared life with the oak. Evan’s hands reminded her of that. He also smelled like the forest.

She had to fight the urge to turn into that touch. InhServs could show pleasure at a Master’s attention, when the time was appropriate. This didn’t feel like that time. He’d think her a fool.

“Was your trip a pleasant experience?” he asked. “ I expect the opportunity to skewer Niall was one of the highlights.”

She blinked. “Yes… I mean, the trip was fine, Master.”

Evan chuckled. Brushing her cheek with his fingertips, he kept his other hand on her waist, but it didn’t feel like a casual touch. She was practically vibrating beneath it. By the flicker in those heavy-lidded eyes, she could tell he was aware of it, but now he’d shifted his regard from her hair to her face.

It felt different from how she’d been studied by vampires in the past. It was a full exploration, as if he was trying to determine what emotions and experiences radiating from her soul made her face what it was. It was disconcerting, but she held still. She was on firm ground as long as she relied on her training.

Evan glanced toward the ladder. Niall was leaning against it, the trap door closed above him. She hadn’t heard him come down. He moved like a hunter, even more silently than she was used to thirdmark servants moving. His eyes were darker in the dim light, the broad planes of his face even more rugged. “She didn’t have any questions, except how best to serve you.”

“I’m sure Niall told you he was not the best person to answer that,” Evan noted dryly. “You know that I call our gorgeous mountain view the Atheist Test, but did Niall tell you his response, when I first called it that?”

“No, sir.”

“I told him all it proves is God likes to pick up a paintbrush,” Niall said, shifting his gaze to her, then back to the vampire. “Just like Evan, He may not be good for much else than pretty pictures.”

She blinked, astonished at the rudeness to his Master, but Evan merely bared his fangs at his servant, a feral smile. “But you didn’t refute the theory. Whether you think He’s an inept deity or not, you don’t deny His presence in your life.”

“No more than I deny when there’s a thorn stuck in my arse,” Niall said mildly.

Evan lifted a brow, but shifted his attention back to Alanna. “It’s my understanding that you are an exceptionally intelligent woman, Alanna. A very accomplished one. As such, you’ve already realized we’re a far cry from the formality and etiquette of high echelon vampires.” His gaze intensified on her face. “Much of your training may not apply here.”

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So did this intrigue you, or does it need more work? Yeah, I know, it’s a first draft, so it needs more work, but now that I’m more in tune with the characters, I think there’s some solid stuff there, enough to engage my creative interest and make me pursue it as much for the sake of the story as that looming deadline. And that’s the key to keeping it fresh (wink).

Leave a comment or question (if you have one!) and your EMAIL ADDRESS, and in a couple days I’ll choose a random winner for one of my book-of-your-choice giveaways. You can have whatever book you like from my current titles! Thanks for letting me be here today. :>

Where to find me:

Website: www.storywitch.com

Fan forum: www.jwhconnection.com (free novella downloads revisiting the characters, graphics inspired by the books, giveaways and much more!)

Facebook: www.facebook.com/JoeyWHillAuthor

Twitter: @JoeyWHill

App: Joey W. Hill for Apple or Android – search your app library!

Sunday Report Card

Yesterday’s Winner

Yesterday’s winner, chosen by random number generator is…Suzanne! Congratulations, Suzanne! Be sure to email me and let me know which email address you’d like your download of Cowboy sent to!

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Sunday Report Card

This week was all about refining. I worked on the first round of edits for Laying Down the Law, which my editor loves by the way. She adores my hero and heroine. I had fun with a suspenseful plot which included a bank robbery in the opening scene. Can’t wait for y’all to read it! It releases in September.

Then I turned my attention to Smokin’ Hot Firmen, a new anthology for Cleis Press that will release at the start of next summer. There are some super yummy stories including my homage to Magic Mike in the form of “Johnny Blaze.” I was busy swapping out stories, editing and taking a look at story order again. Did you know story order is important to an anthology? I have an amazing lineup for that book, but can’t announce it just yet. I need final approval from Cleis first.

Then I kinda lost focus. Might have been because I had TWO blog tours going on at the same time. One for Fournicopia and one for She Shifters. It wasn’t so bad at the start of the week, but by the end of the week, I had more and more sites to follow up with and comment on… Thanks to everyone who came by! I’ll be busy contacting winners today.

So no new pages at all this week. That scares me. I have so much on my plate. Guess I’ll spend today trying to figure out the best approach for getting the most work done over the next month. I have to finish the sequel to Fournicopia, A Perfect Trifecta, by mid-August. And I have to be half way through the full length novel I owe Grand Central shortly after that.  Right now, the only solution that comes to mind is a clone.

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Guests this Week

I have a stellar list of guests coming this week, so be sure to drop by and see what’s happening: Joey Hill, Nikki Duncan, Anne Rainey, and Melanie Atkins. I don’t usually schedule that many guests during a week unless I’m going to be out of town, but I kinda sorta screwed up. Hang in there. I think I get to pop in mid-week. I’ll bring a brand new contest and the winner to The Fugly Bottle Contest.

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Speaking of which…

The Fugly Bottle Contest continues! The bottle is truly hideous, something you can use as a gag gift, scare children with, or something you might want to give your mother-in-law (if she has a sense of humor!). And you know I’ll send along some fun stuff in the package you’ll actually want to keep!

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Upcoming Books

Just a heads up for those of you looking for a book fix!

August 14 is the official release date for Cowboy Lust! You can hit the Cowboy Lust website for more information about the book and the awesome lineup of authors! Amazon is already shipping the book if you can’t wait for your local bookstore to stock it.

I plan to release my indie-published novella, Dragon’s Desire on August 24th! If you’d like to read an excerpt, click on the cover!

Saturday Snippet: First Cowboy

Thanks so much to everyone who followed me around the blogosphere this week!

Winners should be named shortly! ~DD

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I wrote my very first cowboy story in 2007. It was a short story and my first attempt at writing in first person. Something I wrote for a friend who was starting up a new publishing company. I loved this cowboy so much, I wrote another and another…

Post a comment here today and you can win a free download of COWBOY.

Caught in a sudden thunderstorm on a lonely stretch of Texas highway, I pull into a dingy little diner to wait out the rain, never dreaming the cowboy of my dreams would follow me inside. Now I have a couple of choices, play it coy and safe? Or go for the big brass buckle…

Lightning clawed the dark like a crow’s foot, illuminating thick thunderheads that glowed yellow-green and ominous. The color of the sky before a tornado twisted its nasty tail.

Glad to be out of the rain and safe from the jagged, streaking light, I shivered against the cool vinyl booth as another flash lashed out like the end of a whip, lighting the horizon so intensely that for a moment the darkened parking lot was bright as high noon.

That was when I saw the large pickup roll in, pulling a horse trailer. It ground to a halt beside the diner’s plateglass window. The driver wasn’t going to bother trying to park it in the flooded lot.

I heard the muffled slam of the truck door, but the end of the lightning strike flickered out, plunging the parking lot back into darkness. The driver would be soaked before he even hit the door. Only twelve feet, but the rain was coming down in sheets. I’d been lucky, arriving before the worst of the storm struck. Mostly dry, I’d peered through the window at the deepening night, waiting for a lull.

I’d read the clouds as well as any West Texas native and headed to the nearest shelter. The tiny diner with its 70’s style brick façade, split vinyl bench seats, and peeling, laminated counter tops was a welcome haven.

The attached string of motel rooms was part of Plan B if the storm didn’t wane before midnight.

My arrival had been nearly forty minutes ago. Except for a bored waitress smoking a cigarette at a far table, I was the only occupant. Until now.

The door squeaked open, and a cowboy strode inside.

He pulled off his cream-colored hat and shook dark brown hair like a dog, sending droplets of water lashing against the glass door. His white T-shirt, soaked almost to transparency, clung to the hills and hollows of sharply defined muscles along his chest and abdomen.

Setting his cowboy hat on the table, he sank into a booth near the door, his expression a study in irritation. Dark brows drawn in a fierce frown, his lips crimped in a thin line.

The man needed a reason to smile.

I pursed my lips and let out a low whistle.

His green gaze sliced my way, taking away my breath. One dark eyebrow rose, his gaze sharpening, giving my face and chest a quick sweep.

When his glance locked with mine again, I figured I didn’t look exactly Coyote Ugly. Feeling brazen as hell, I smiled. “‘Fraid you’ll melt?”

The corner of his mouth curled—just a slight easing of tension I found promising. “I’m not that fragile,” he drawled.

“Seeing as we’re the only ones here, wanna join me?”

With a nod, he gripped the top edge of the bench seat to haul himself up, giving me an interesting view of flexing biceps. He set his cowboy hat back on his head and sauntered my way. The easy roll of his hips and the dull clap of his boots on the tiled floor heightened the little flame of awareness growing inside me. The man certainly filled out a pair of blue jeans.

My gaze dipped only a moment, taking in the oversized belt buckle and the equally impressive bulge at the front of his pants before sliding up to cling to his mossy-green eyes.

Something about him seemed familiar, like maybe we’d met once a long time ago. Only I knew I’d never forget someone like him.

His eyelids lowered then widened, a subtle once-over that left my breasts tingling and my thighs tightening.

He nodded toward the window. “Storm catch you, too?”

I never considered myself especially easy, but I was quick to make up my mind when I saw something I wanted. Something I had to have—and this cowboy, I definitely had to have. “I needed a break anyway,” I said, trying to keep our conversation light.

He continued to stare—at my hair and my breasts—until I warmed past the need to be cool. “You change your mind? Or you gonna have a seat?”

His soft snort, so typically male, plucked at my nipples. But he slid into the bench opposite me, stretching his bare arms wide across the top of the vinyl. All that lovely muscle and the shadows of his small male nipples came into prominence with the stretch of thin, opaque cotton. “Travel far?”

“From Atlanta,” I murmured.

“Much farther to go?”

“Home’s just down the road a piece.”

He cleared his throat. “My name’s Da—”

“Cowboy,” I interrupted him, setting the rules of this game.

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Be sure to check out the snippets on these other authors’ blogs:

Megan Hart:Read in bed!

Leah Braemel

Jody Wallace

Eliza Gayle

Mandy M Roth

Lissa Matthews

Mari Carr

McKenna Jeffries

Myla Jackson

Taige Crenshaw

Shiloh Walker

HelenKay Dimon

Lauren Dane

Shelli Stevens

Guest Blogger: Kate Hill

Tea and Romance

One of my favorite ways to relax is to sit down with a book and a cup of tea. Though I usually drink plain black tea, I enjoy different flavors as well. Some of my favorites are orange, blueberry, mint and lemon. If I’m feeling stressed and I can find the time, I’ll have a cup of tea and read a favorite book.

I remember when I first became obsessed with romance novels. I was in my late teens and I couldn’t get enough of historical romance novels–the bodice rippers. One of my favorite memories is of drinking orange tea on a Saturday afternoon in the summer while reading a romance novel set during the civil war.

Now over twenty-five years later I still love romance novels and I still love tea. Some things never change and in this case that’s a good thing. When I’m depressed or stressed a good book, whether it’s romance, horror, fantasy or sci-fi, can help lift my spirits.

My love for tea has sometimes influenced my characters. Many of them prefer tea to coffee. In my novel, Back to Haunt You, the main couple first meet in a tearoom.

What are some of your favorite ways to relax or some of your favorite pastimes? If you’re a writer, do your favorites sometimes appear in your books?

The following excerpt is from one of my older titles, Back to Haunt You. It focuses on the first time the hero and heroine cross paths. Hope you enjoy it!

Back to Haunt You

(paranormal)

Ellora’s Cave (Blush)

Morgan playfully shoved Uma’s shoulder before they left the car and headed for the tearoom’s entrance.

They walked up three steps and opened the door to the soft tinkle of bells.

“Morgan! Uma!” Deb, thin and dressed in a flowered print dress, hurried from behind a glass case filled with delicious-looking cookies and pastries. Her thick-soled leather sandals thudded on the floor before she stopped in front of the mother and daughter. “I’m so glad you finally came. It’s really quiet this morning, so for now you’ve got the room to yourselves.”

They followed her through a door to a room decorated in pastel colors. Five charming little tables were set up, three in the center of the room and two by the picture window overlooking the park in the town square. Across the room, two cushioned high-backed chairs with round end tables flanked each side of glass double doors leading to the porch.

Deb guided the mother and daughter to a window seat.

“I’ll be right back with your tea. You’ll have to excuse me for darting back and forth, but my employee called in sick this morning, so I’m on my own.”

“No problem,” Morgan said.

Several moments later, the two were enjoying tea and cookies while discussing their favorite movies, a subject that rarely incited arguments between them.

Morgan was suddenly distracted by the arrival of another patron. A man, strangely enough.

A compelling man garbed in black, with dark hair streaked with gray and bound at his nape. His gaze swept the room before he walked to one of the chairs by the glass doors and sat. His posture was almost military and his legs parted in a masculine pose that seemed at odds with his uncommonly refined attire. While he wasn’t exactly goth, he certainly wasn’t a normal. Unique was the only word that suited him.

Morgan turned toward the window and discreetly studied the man’s reflection. His great taste in clothing aside, she couldn’t quite determine whether he was ugly or handsome.

Beneath the table, Uma kicked Morgan’s leg to gain her mother’s attention. She shifted her gaze in the man’s direction.

“What?” Morgan mouthed the word.

“Cute,” Uma mouthed back.

Way too old for you, Morgan thought, hoping Uma would have the common sense to use her telepathic gift so their companion wouldn’t suspect he was the subject of their conversation.

“I meant for you,” Uma whispered. “And I do have common sense.”

“I told you, Uma, I’ve given up on roller skating,” Morgan said, alluding to her rules regarding the opposite sex. “I’ve had too many falls.”

“Because you were wearing badly fitting skates, Mum,” Uma said, then lowered her voice. “I’m going to check him out.”

Morgan sighed, a smile flirting with her lips. It wasn’t ethical for Uma to use her telepathic powers to scope out dates for her mother, especially when Morgan had no intention of wasting her time on men. She had her jobs and her kid. That was more than enough for any woman.

Uma’s brow furrowed and she turned back to her tea. “That’s weird.”

“What?”

Uma reached into her pocket book and found a pen. She scribbled a note on her napkin.

I can’t read his mind.

They glanced across the room and found the man staring at them with slanted green eyes. Morgan felt her face flush.

“Let’s get out of here, kid.”

“Good idea.” Uma picked up the last cookie, broke it and handed half to Morgan.

The man’s lips twitched in an amused smile before he turned and glanced out the window.

About Kate Hill

Always a fan of romance and the paranormal, Kate Hill started writing over twenty years ago for pleasure. Her first story, a short erotic vampire tale, was accepted for publication in 1996. Since then she has sold over one hundred short stories, novellas and novels.

When she’s not working on her books, Kate enjoys reading, working out and spending time with her family and pets.

She enjoys hearing from readers and she can be contacted at katehill@sprintmail.com.

Visit her online at http://www.kate-hill.com.

Sneak Peek at Dragon’s Desire

If you missed the blog tours announcements on my HOME page, here’s where I’ll be today:

*  Guilty Indulgence

*  Delighted Reader

*  Black Hippie Chick’s View on Books and the World

Tons of prizes are at stake! If you’ve missed a few stops, be sure to circle back to all the links on the HOME page. No prizes have been awarded yet!

* * * * *

I have so many irons in the fire right now. I won’t list them now. You’d be bored, and I’d start to feel panicked. So instead, I’ll share a little excerpt from something coming your way in August. It’s been ready for release for a while, but there hasn’t been a good time for me to upload, so I’ll wait a few weeks. Enjoy the excerpt. This is the only glimpse into the past. The rest of the book takes place in the present.

Dragon’s Desire

Ragged wisps of clouds crawled across the face of the full moon, lightening then darkening the barren precipice. Local villagers called it The Dragon’s Atoll. The bürgermeister had given him directions, told him when to begin the climb, warning him the atoll only existed during the full moon before it disappeared for another hundred years.

An hour earlier, the knight had climbed the rocky precipice and now hid behind a stone pillar, sword drawn. He listened to the soft sobs of the girl the villagers had chained to the pillar according to rules handed down for a millennium, or so the elders had said. She was their sacrifice, their gift to the winged demon to pacify its hunger and spare them its wrath.

The knight had silently scoffed at their fear. He didn’t believe in dragons or demons. At least, not mythical beasts. He’d seen enough in his travels to Palestine and back to know evil existed. True evil resided in the hearts of greedy, bloodthirsty men.

Still, the purse filled with gold the villagers offered him to slay the dragon and rid them of their curse convinced him to remain where he was.

“I shall die,” the girl whispered, “savaged by the beast.”

“You won’t die,” he whispered, casting her a sideways glance. “’Tis only a tale.”

“You weren’t raised on tales of the horror. Do you think they are only stories told to frighten children?” she said, her voice rising toward the end.

She was a comely thing with golden hair and gentle curves. He’d fought shock and disgust when the old men had cut her clothing from her body to leave her nude. The night was chilly and the sound of her teeth clacking as her body shivered had him reaching for his cape. If they were bound to wait together, she needn’t freeze.

Come morning, he’d lead her from the mountain and deliver her to her father, the bürgermeister who’d hired him, safe and sound. He stepped around the pillar and bent over to slip the cloak around her.

Instead, she shook her head. “You mustn’t.”

“You are cold.”

“I’ll not be the reason my village suffers.”

He sighed and dropped the cloak, trying not to let his gaze slide down her naked frame but failing. Her nipples were ruched, the tips drawn into tight buds on her round, firm mounds. “How were you so unlucky to be chosen?” he asked quietly, leaning his back against the gray granite rock so he looked out across the atoll rather than at her.

“A lottery of maidens is held. All our names are entered.”

His lips twitched and he shot her a glance. “And how do the villagers know you are truly virgin?”

A frown drew her pretty brows together. “The midwife examines all the women.”

“If you knew you risked this fate, why did you not lie with a man to render yourself unfit?”

“Because as awful as this fate is, ‘tis worse to cheat the dragon. Every family guards the virtue of their daughters to spare the village a terrible fate.” Her eyelids closed for a moment. When she opened them again, tears threatened to overflow the lower lids. “You shouldn’t be here. My father was wrong to try to end the curse.”

“You would sacrifice yourself willingly?”

“I have a younger brother, cousins, friends.” She shook her head. “I wouldn’t want to see them harmed.”

“What exactly happens when this beast appears?”

She swallowed hard. “He devours the virgin.”

The knight grunted, disbelieving. Why did fairy tale monsters always seek a virgin’s flesh? “It’s likely only feral pigs or wolves you should fear.”

“No wolf or pig would devour a woman whole.”

“How do you know this?”

Her indrawn breath shook. “There is never bone nor blood, hair nor flesh remaining. The creature opens his mouth and swallows his offering in a single gulp.”

Compassion rose and he grasped her cold hand. “I will protect you, whether from dragon or pig. No harm shall come to you.”

“I wish I could believe your vow.” Her eyelids drifted closed.

A sound came from above them. At first, he thought the fluttering must be the wings of a large owl. As the flapping drew close, his heartbeat slowed and pounded louder, a steady thumping to match the beat of the large wings stirring the air.

“Hide!” she whispered, staring upward, her expression tightening with fear.

Body tensing, he ducked behind the pillar, tightened his grip on his sword, and searched the air above. Again, the clouds masked the moon, sending everything into pitch darkness.

A deep, resonant thud shook the ground as a large shadow settled onto the atoll.

The girl whimpered, and her chains rattled against stone. “No, no.”

The knight sprang from around the rock to stand in front of her, sword raised.

A loud, angry roar pierced the silence, hot breath gusting in the knight’s face. The clouds cleared and moonlight shone on a large elongated head, silvered the scales covering the creature he faced—a dragon indeed—with a wingspan that eclipsed the width of the atoll. Those wings flapped, producing gusts of wind so strong he was pushed back against the girl whose chilled body leaned into his as she sobbed. Sweet Mother Mary, his sword seemed a puny weapon against the great beast.

Another roar rent the air. The knight recovered from his shock and struck out with his sword arm, stabbing toward the creature’s chest. A tree-trunk thick limb batted it away with a clatter, and then another limb, fisted, slammed against his chest, toppling him to the side.

Breath whooshed out with the hard thud, and he landed on his back. Before he could regain his breath and think to roll away, a heavy foot pressed against his belly, holding him to the hard ground. For a moment, fear froze his mind.

With the knight helplessly restrained, the dragon turned his head to the girl. He sniffed the air around her. Its tongue flickered out and licked her breast, her belly, then flickered out again to stroke between her legs before retracting between jaws filled with ragged, gnashing teeth. Thrashing her head, the girl screamed and flattened herself against the pillar, but to no avail. The creature moved closer and lowered its head. She shut her eyes, but the dragon nuzzled her cheek. Her eyes opened to peek at the beast then widened. The pair stared for a long moment. Slowly, her body grew lax, her eyes vacant, and then she whimpered and craned her neck to rub a cheek against the dragon’s head.

If there were dragons, there must also be magic at work because the woman’s expression warmed, her eyelids dreamily drifted downward as her head fell back.

Again, the thick tongue struck out and licked her cheek, her neck, then trailed lower until it disappeared between her legs, which she willingly parted. Her body bowed, shuddering as the tongue pushed upward, disappearing as his large snout burrowed between her legs.

The knight shook his head, grabbed the hard-scaled leg, and tried to shove it away. He’d promised he’d save her. Like other promises he’d made, to children cowering under beds as crusaders pillaged their houses, he was helpless to halt what was happening.

But what was happening? No violence occurred, no rending of flesh, and from the way the woman moaned and undulated, she felt only pleasure.

The woman shuddered then gave a faint cry and slumped against the rock, held upright only by the iron manacles encircling her wrists.

The dragon snorted, retracted his tongue, then leaned away from the woman to gaze down at the knight.

The former Templar who’d rejected the pope’s edicts, who’d decried God for the horrors he’d witnessed and participated in, realized in that moment, he’d been wrong all along. Real devils walked this earth.

If he’d had breath, he’d have prayed for his soul, because he was sure he was about to meet his death.

However, the dragon trembled. The foot clamped to the knight’s belly lifted and fell away. In a slow move, the dragon curled inward and the scales began to fall like shards of glass to shatter into dust on the ground around him.

The knight froze, knowing he could reach for his sword, but curious now to understand what was happening to the creature, because the beast diminished in size. Wings flung upward then melted down into shoulders clothed in skin. The large crenellated head bowed between smooth shoulders, then reshaped.

At last, a man, naked as the woman hanging on the pillar, rested on his hands and knees, gasping for breath. Turning his head slowly, he looked to the knight. “Are you harmed?”

Against a dry throat, the knight swallowed. “I am not.”

The man lurched upward, toward the woman. “We must remove her. Have you something to cover her body?”

“A cloak,” the knight said softly. “You do not mean her harm?”

“I required her virgin blood. But not her death.” He flung out an arm, pointing toward the sword lying on the ground. “You’ve a sword. I am defenseless. Do you mean to kill me?”

“Is that what you wish?” he asked, surprised. The creature could have killed him in his former form, and yet now, seemed defeated.

“If it means that I will never cause another fear, then yes, it is what I wish.”

“The woman showed no fear once you…licked her.”

“She saw me as I am now. Not the beast. It was just a bit of magic to soothe her.”

The knight climbed slowly to his feet and gazed down at the man, fully human so far as he could tell. “Are you man or demon?”

“I am cursed,” the man ground out, lips curving downward in disgust.

The knight, who had weathered horrific battles, felt a pang of recognition for the guilt shining in the other man’s eyes. Something in the tenor of the dragon-man’s voice touched his heart. Instead of bending to retrieve his sword, he reached down his hand—not to slay the dragon, but to help him to his feet.

Guest Blogger: Lynda Kaye Frazier

A Quick Note: The She Shifters Blog Tour and Fournicopia Blog Blitz continue!

Up for grab are a ton of great prizes. Be sure to hit Megan Slayer’s blog

and Seductive Musing today for yet more chances to win! ~DD

* * * * *
What Robs You of Your Time to Write

My intentions to stay on track are great or that’s what I like to tell myself. Time management is a balance. A precise schedule that holds everything together. But there are days when no matter what I did nothing worked out and these days would run into weeks. I had to find out what was robbing me of my time so I made a list.

What took up time in my day.

Work, eating, cleaning, feeding animals, laundry, e-mail, blogs and sleep. By the time I got home, cleaned up, ate and worked on e-mails I was exhausted. In my head I had hours during the day to write. Why wasn’t it working out in my real life?

I found an article and it talked about writing out a time log. Spend a few days and jot down everything you do.  It worked out great and showed me how I was wasting so much time.  So I decided to share.

Preparing and writing your time log

You don’t need to keep writing a time log permanently. It is sufficient to do it for 3-7 days.  When you write a time log, make sure you don’t miss even the minor activities. Don’t let your time wasters hide there. Take a sheet of paper and divide it into columns listed below.

Time
Activities
Scheduled
Interrupted
Urgent
People (involved)

Then continue with activities you would normally do that day. On the way, update your time log. Do it either every time you switch to a new activity or at some short time intervals, like 10-20 minutes. Add entries to your “Time” and “Activities” column, and try to put marks like “Yes” or “No” in the “Scheduled”, “Interrupted”, and “Urgent” columns. Where relevant, make short notes on what people you spend time with too.

When you have your time log written, you can move to the most important part, the analysis. Review your records and try to get answers to the following questions.

What percentage of your time is spent in each of the      different areas of your life? How is it divided between Work, Business,      Family, Recreational, writing?
What percentage of your activities are important?
Are urgent?
What people you spend more time with?
What percentage of your activities go as planned?
What are main interruptions?

Then think of possible adjustments and action steps. For example:

Are there any activities you can cut back on?
Is there anything you can delegate or simplify?
Can you save time by grouping related tasks, like      shopping?

Once you see everything you do on paper it will amaze you on how you can add a little more time to your writing.

My time is better spent now on getting my book ready for its release.

  Rescued from the Dark

Set to be released end of 2012

Published through Black Opal Books

What if you woke up from a nightmare, trapped in a world of darkness, with no memory of how you got there? Rescued from the Dark is a passionate, gripping story about FBI agent, Jason Michaels, confronting his duty to his country, and struggling with his feelings for a woman with no memory of their love.

Undercover Agent, Jason Michaels, infiltrates the terrorist cell and risks everything, even his life, to save the FBI intern who stole his heart, then walked away. Once Mercy wakes from her coma Jason struggles with the fact that she does not remember what happened, but anguishes with the idea that she believes their unborn child belongs to her ex. Jason soon realizes the terrorists vow to get her back to claim their secrets locked in her memory, no matter what the cost.In a race against time, Jason and Mercy struggle to fight their attraction, and put their differences aside, as they launch a manhunt to save their country and each other.

  Lynda Kaye Frazier

http://lyndafrazier.blogspot.com

www.lyndakayefrazier.com

Facebook- Lynda Kaye Frazier- Author

Twitter- lynda_kaye

Writing is my passion, Reading is my Love

Guest Blogger: Teresa Noelle Roberts

Fox’s Folly is a first in a couple of ways. It’s my first male-male book, though I’ve written a few m/m short stories, including one that was published as standalone ebook. It’s my first prequel. It’s the prequel Foxes’ Den (Duals and Donovans: the Different 2), which is why, though Fox’s Folly is a Duals and Donovans book, it doesn’t have a series number. And it’s the first book an editor specifically sparked me to write.

At the time my Samhain editor, the fabulous Linda Ingmanson, accepted Foxes’ Den, which is a menage involving a married male couple—witch Paul and fox shape-shifter Tag—and the kitsune they both come to love, she said she’d love to see a book about how Paul and Tag met. At the time, I wasn’t sure how they’d met, only that it had involved some element of danger and, given Tag’s character and his connection to the god Trickster, probably some element of oddness. I let the idea stew in the back of my mind for a while and then it came to me. Las Vegas! They meet in Las Vegas, where they’re both fish out of water. Donovan witches are very connected to nature and not very connected to the more materialistic aspects of mainstream human culture. Duals (my take on shape-shifters) simply don’t like cities, where their animalsides feel confined and they’re more likely to have trouble from the repressive Agency. But what if Paul and Tag had to be in Las Vegas for some good reason? Say, to catch a magical serial killer?

And so the book was born.

PS: Stop by my blog, http://www.teresanoelleroberts.com, and leave a comment on the CONTEST! Win a Copy of Fox’s Folly for—you guessed it—a chance to win a copy of the book.

What happens in Vegas lasts forever…if you’re lucky.

A Duals and Donavans story

Las Vegas is the wrong place for an inexperienced witch like Paul Donavan. But he has no choice; his family owes a debt of honor to a half-fae casino owner, whose guests have been dying under mysterious circumstances. The normy police haven’t connected the dots between the deaths, and the owner has called in his marker.

When Paul literally runs into fox dual Taggart Ross, the instant, powerful attraction between them bristles with red flags. Not only should there be no sparks between him and this “hillbilly with a tail,” the fact is a dual couldn’t have committed murder-by-magic. But until he’s got proof, caution rules.

Tag’s own suspicions are on high alert. Magic killed his favorite uncle, and Paul, who senses Tag’s dual nature way too easily, should be a prime suspect. Except Tag’s libido responds to the witch in a way that shouldn’t happen.

Whatever this thing is between them, the raw sexual energy feeds a power that becomes their best hope of drawing out the killer before he, she, or it strikes again. Until love gets involved, and things get real complicated, real fast…

“I think we’re here for the same reason. Does the name Randolph-Macon McNeil mean anything to you?”

“One of the five people who’ve died under mysterious circumstances lately at the Excalibur. Sixty-two, professional gambler, fox dual…” He spoke dispassionately, as if reciting facts from a report. Then he paused, and a look of horror crossed his face “Was he family, Tag? I’m so sorry…”

“My uncle. I’m here to find out who the fuck killed him and take him down hard.”

“No, you won’t. We will.” Paul’s voice was soft and professorial, but something in his tone made the words ring in the air with the force of an oath before the gods.

“Really? Do you mean that?” Tag tried to keep the emotion out of his voice, but that wasn’t the fox way. He was tough, tougher than most, but he’d loved his uncle.

And he hated to admit it, but he needed all the help he could get. He’d gotten into this figuring he’d find the killer and then call in reinforcements, but if Uncle Randolph was the fifth victim, and a fae had asked for help dealing with it, Tag needed magic, not just muscle. “Really?” he repeated, feebly aware he should be saying something wittier but unable to make his brain work at proper speed.

“Really. I got drafted to do this. For you, it’s personal. Hearth, heart and home fuel magic. We’ll be stronger together than we are alone. And you look like you shouldn’t be alone.”

The next thing Tag knew, Paul’s arms were around him.

Damn, Paul could kiss, and his hands, even when they weren’t touching anywhere Tag would normally consider an erogenous zone, sent heat through Tag’s body. Maybe it was magic, or maybe the guy was just that talented. At this point, Tag didn’t care. All he really cared about was seeing how long they could go without thinking about dead people and just focusing on sex, or at least the yummy preliminaries to sex.

Tag was fumbling with the buttons on Paul’s dress shirt—too formal by comparison to what everyone else seemed to wear in Las Vegas, almost silky under his hands although it was cotton—when someone knocked at the door. “Housekeeping always shows up at the worst times,” Paul muttered before throwing himself into kissing Tag so thoroughly that Tag forgot not only the persistent knock on the door but the day of the week and the reason he was in Las Vegas. He was working up to forgetting his name when the door opened, and a man walked into the room.

Guest Blogger: Ann Jacobs

About men—my favorite characters in erotic romance

There’s erotic romance written for women about men, and erotica written with an eye toward attracting male readers.

What’s the difference? Somebody asked this question on a list recently and I had to think seriously about the answer.

I’ve given it a lot of thought and come up with an answer based on the fact that I write a good many of my erotic romances with male protagonists. These heroes drive the external story lines—that is, the plot is driven by what they want, why they want it and what is preventing them from reaching their original goals. In many of my books, much of the story is shown from the hero’s point of view rather than the heroine’s, even when the heroine is the protagonist.

So why don’t the hero-driven books I write fit the requirements of a line called “Erotica for Men?” One would think on the surface that male readers would gravitate toward my hero-driven books , but this isn’t necessarily true.

Why, you ask?

Because, when I write a hero-driven book, I create his character with the idea of luring my female readers to fall in love with him, and this doesn’t necessarily mean male readers will identify with this man who’s more a woman’s ideal of what her lover should be than a man’s thought about what he sees or wants to see in himself.

In contrast with erotica written for male readers, my heroes tend to be more understanding of their lovers’ emotional ups and downs. They behave, in other words, the way most women readers would like their fantasy men to act—not the way their real-life lovers likely do.

In a nutshell, erotic romance/erotica written for male readers presents male characters as men see themselves, female characters as men fantasize them to be. Books written to appeal to female readers are just the opposite—heroes the readers would love to find but don’t expect and heroines they can identify with.

That’s my take on the subject. What do you think? Like and post on my Facebook page and you may win a download of your choice of my seventy-some-odd ebooks.

Ann Jacobs

http://annjacobs.net

Like me on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AnnJacobsAuthor

Follow me on Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/authrannjacobs

LOVERS’ FEUD, book 1 of my Caden Kink series, new this month from Ellora’s Cave