Claire Robyns's Blog, page 6

Keep it Complex, Simple

I've been hung up on the plot for my contemporary wip. Thinking I was going off on a tangent and making it all too complex, I've spent the last few days mulling over ways to simplify motivations and the backstory between heroine and hero.
But today I had a breakthrough- by introducing 2 new levels of complexity, everything fell into place and sorted itself else. Just a reminder that living life is complex, tangents come at you out of the blue from all angles all the time... it's a lot harder trying to simplify our character's lives than making them real 3D people with all the fears, faults and chaos of life

Some Cover Loving

for my @CarinaPress September release. Second Guessing Fate is a romantic comedy, so I love the flirty feeling...

Can She Outwit Fate?

Gemma is on a collision course with heartbreak. At least, according to the fortune-teller her best friend drags her to see. Gemma doesn't believe a word of it, but when other predictions start to come true, she begins to suspect that gorgeous, gray-eyed Nick is the man foretold to break her heart before she can find her soul mate.

Too bad she's never met a man she's wanted more, because now she has to get him to dump her before she falls too hard.

Nick has plans of his own. He's ready to settle down with Ms. Right, and everything points to the beautiful Gemma. He's determined to prove to her that he's the perfect boyfriend—even if she does seem to be trying her best to scare him off…

Regency Re-Enactment

Yesterday we went to Battle Proms at Highclere Castle, residency of the Earl of Carnarvon. BTW this is also where Downton Abbey is filmed.



Battle Proms is a combination of the usual proms in the park (orchestral music and fireworks) combined with a re-enactment of the Regency era




and the Peninsula Wars (calvary and cannons)




I didn't have my notebook with me, but I drank in all the details and loved every second


Photographs courtesy of David Valentyne

Those Big Bad Border Boys

We all love to hate to love us a bad boy... I'm blogging over at Romancing The Past today, please come visit

To Dream a Little Dream...

Ever dreamt about seeing your book turned into a movie? Well, I haven't given it much thought, I reckon I've got a far way to go. Or at least, not consciously. But apparently my subconscious mind's been having a field day with it.
Last night I had such a vivid dream... I turned on the telly and there was the trailer to one of my upcoming books (hasn't even been released yet, lol). The trailer opened with my book cover (which I haven't got a clue about yet) but apparently some hidden part of me thinks it's going to be green. The entire cover. Different shades of pale green. Because my heroine is running out of a tunnel, the green lights from the tunnel behind her, carrying her shoes in her hands and looking ever so slightly bedraggled.

And this isn't your normal movie trailer with scene flashes, it was more like a partial, starting at the beginning and playing for the first couple of chapters. Helen Mirren was in it, laughing her head off about something, and my heroine was Jennifer Lopez for some wierd reason. And after a few minutes, the story veered off into something like a scene from My Big Fat Greek Wedding which has absolutely nothing to do with my book. And then my dream went to bits with everyone in the tv room suddenly talking at the top of their voices and me going into an endless loop of yelling at them to keep quite and rewinding so I could watch, repeat, repeat, repeat, wake up!

Hmm, bet a therapist would have a field day with this...

Dancing In The Shadows Of Love

I'm delighted to have Judy Croome here, author of Dancing In The Shadows Of Love. This is one of my favourite books of 2011 and if you're looking for a read that explores the depths of love and friendships, then I'd definitely recommend this one for you.

Judy, tell us a little about yourself
I originally started writing romances and completed six full length romances. The last two both went through several rounds of editing with a major international romance publisher. One was finally turned down and, by the last set of edits for the second manuscript, I'd changed so much as a writer, that I made the decision to not pursue a career as a romance author. I just read them for relaxation now!
I still write about the human search for love, though, because Romantic Love is not the only type of love that exists. When I write now, I just approach the search for love from a different angle.


So what is Dancing in the Shadows of Love all about?

[image error] In the haunting "Dancing in the Shadows of Love," three emotionally adrift women fight to heal their fractured worlds. Not everyone can be a hero. Or can they?

The story explores the sacrifices people make in the pursuit of a love that transcends everyday existence. Lulu's quest, and that of Jamila and Zahra too, is to find the divine love that will fulfil their hopes and save their souls...if they can recognise the masks of those who seek to lead them astray.


You can watch the book trailer  or read an interview with me about the book  or read an interview with the cover artist Wenkidu or read chapter one.  I'm also currently building a dedicated blog which will provide book club questions, discussions of themes and other interesting titbits about the story.



Any other books in the works?

I'm currently finishing up an anthology of short stories to be released in 2012. That's called "The Weight of a Feather and other stories". I'm also feeling a build-up of inner pressure to start my next full length novel, which I've been brooding on for some time (I don't outline or plan – I brood!)

Do you have a nickname?

Do you remember Dumbo, the Flying Elephant? Walt Disney created this cute little elephant with these HUGE ears. I often drift off into a world of my own and then, when I come back, I realise I've missed out on some interesting conversation and say, "What did I miss? What did I miss?' It can be irritating. One day a friend said that, when I sit up all round eyes and big ears flapping, I reminded him of Dumbo. I was called Dumbo for a long time after that!

When you were little, what did you want to be when you "grew up"?

A bride! I was nuts about brides. Still am. And 2011 has been a feast of TV viewing for me with all the beautiful royal brides, especially South Africa's own Charlene Whittstock who recently married Prince Albert of Monaco to become Princess Charlaine.

If you could live anywhere in the world where would it be?
Right where I'm living now: Johannesburg, South Africa. Okay, perhaps I'd move to Stellenbosch in the Cape, so I can be near mountains and get out of the big city. But, South Africa is so vibrant, so full of hope and potential, it's the only country I could ever imagine myself living in.

What was your favorite children's book?
Thomasina, by Paul Gallico. Thomasina was a cat, so there's no real surprise there!

Judy Croome lives and writes in Johannesburg, South Africa. Her short stories 'Born Beneath a Balsamic Moon' and 'Heroes Day' have been published in ITCH magazine. Other short fiction and poetry appeared in "Notes from Underground Anthology." 
"Dancing in the Shadows of Love" is available as both a print and eBook from Amazon.com, and as an eBook from Barnes & Noble and Smashwords.

Let's Talk Books

Coming up with a spew of historical favourites took less than a minute. Whittling that list down to my top ten took a whole lot longer...

I'm over at Romancing the Past chatting about favourite historical reads. Please come on over and chat.

It's FREE BOOK WEEK at Carina Press!!!

Starting on June 20th, every weekday, all week, Carina is offering a spectacular title for free download. And when they say free, they mean ACTUALLY free. Not "sorta free", or "free with a $50 purchase" free, but actually, totally, no strings attached FREE! So, get thee to Carina press to download a free book every day! Here are the books being offered, and the links and promo codes for your free download:
Note for Kindle Users: Although Carina Press no longer has kindle format on the site, it's really easy to download a free copy of Calibre and convert from ePub to kindle format - a few extra steps but, hey, the books are free!!!

Monday's FREE BOOK is:
The Debutantes Dilemma by Elyse Mady
Just type in the promo code DEBUTANTEFREE at checkout

Tuesday's FREE BOOK is:
Demon's Fall  by Karalynn Lee
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Wednesday's FREE BOOK is:
The Twisted Tale of Stormy Gale by Christine Bell
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Thursday's FREE BOOK is:
Blue Galaxy by Diane Dooley
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Friday's FREE BOOK is:
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But wait, there's more! You can retweet and win! Follow @ChristineBell and @ElyseMady on Twitter and retweet any of their tweets that mention the hashtag #CarinaFree and you'll be entered to win the following fabulous prize pack:
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Christine Bell's souped up RWA swag bag including Twisted Tale of Stormy Gale mug, magnet, romance trading cards and Carina Press coupon, and a bag of hershey kisses and any book off her backlist
A $25 Amazon Gift Card

Authors are responsible to their readers...

...and not the other way round.

This is a controversial topic with regards to some issues, but I'm firmly glued to my seat on this one. Authors truly appreciate (and some of us desperately rely) on the wonderful way readers spread the word, but it is not the reader's responsibility to help us build and establish our careers.

I would never imply that an author should sell their soul with their book, but yes, I do believe that when a reader buys a book (and in some cases, many books) in a series, they're also buying into the promise of a satisfactory ending at some point and a reasonable expectation of the author finishing the series. The same can be said for TV series, but that's another topic all together.

Read an excerpt from Betrayed

Krayne Johnstone

     Krayne Johnstone set one foot inside the vaulted hall of Stirling Castle and came to an abrupt halt. "The air reeks foul in this place."

     "'Tis no wonder, with all the maggot-infested rats swarming aboot," retorted his cousin Adam, referring to the Littils, Armstrongs and Maxwells amongst the barons summoned to Stirling.

     "I'd sooner skewer the lot than share a pot of ale." Krayne knew he was not alone in sentiment. All clans present were tried and sworn enemies.

     Adam shoved an elbow in his side. "Keep yerself ta me and shut off that hot temper. I dinna like this anymore than ye, but I'll nae ignore our King Jamie and have his wrath scatter the Johnstones ta the wind with nae name nor land nor goods ta call their own."

     Jamie's fancy tables and polished silver flagons were more likely to be scattered, thought Krayne as a ruckus broke out between Johnnie Armstrong of Kilnockie and Sir Alexander Irvine.

     Fists came out and clans bounded together. No one dared to draw their sword. Pristine stewards drew up tight against the wall, clutching ledger books to their chests and gaping in horror. Jamie's court was overrun with English, relics from his days in captivity and tagalongs that had followed his queen, Joan of Beaumont. They were a dour lot and unappreciative of the jolly Scottish ways.

     Krayne folded his arms and put his back to the wall, settling in to watch the brawl.

     King James I chose that moment to grace them with his presence. His flowing robes of crimson and ermine put shame to the travel-worn plaids of his hastily summoned barons. Tawny eyes, glowing a tiger's fierce gold, appraised the scene and came to rest on the blood trickling from the Littil chief's mouth. The fighting men froze midaction.

     "Go clean yourself, man," he ordered, "afore I lose all patience."

     Stewards scuttled from their corners, bodies untangled, and heads bowed down in shame.

     Jamie's look scorched one baron to the next.

     "Right now he's wishing he were back in England," said Krayne in a low undertone.

     "Jamie might hanker aft the well-ordered court of King Henry," muttered Adam from barely moving lips, "but ne'er forget he was a prisoner, a king denied his country."

     "Well, he's made up fer eighteen lost years of royal arrogance in the few months he's been back."

     The young king swept his gaze from one end of the receiving hall to the other, and then came to a rest on Adam Johnstone, chief of the Annandale Johnstones and his appointed warden of the West Marches.

     Jamie was not surprised to find the level-headed baron standing apart from the chaos. He nodded his gratification, then moved on to Krayne, Adam's cousin and chosen heir to the chieftainship. Krayne was a laird in his own right, and stared him right back in the eye. Jamie couldn't pull back from that penetrating gaze, feeling magnetised and trapped like a puny hare in the fierce show of loyalty and ancient-bred honour that radiated from the silvery grey stare of Wamphray's laird.

     By St Andrew's Holy Rood, now…now when I am the prey, I understand why they call him the Grey Wolf.

     Would that I, he sorely thought, command the honour of such a man.

     Knowing he could scarce claim one baron in his entire kingdom who would not openly plot and defy him, the king waved one arm across the room and recited his new parliamentary laws in a booming voice that echoed within the stone walls.

     "…that firm and sure peace… if any man presume to make war against another, he shall suffer the full penalties of the law… if any man presume to rebel against the king, he shall suffer pain of forfeiture of life, lands and goods… I will make the key keep the castle and the bracken bush keep the cow through all of Scotland…"

     "Christ's truth," muttered Krayne beneath his breath. "I've Johnstone ships full of wool decorating the Solway while Jamie herds us here for naught but another lecture."

     Adam shut him up with a kick to the shin.

     "Throughout Scotland, from the highest crag to the lowest glen, from the Cheviot Hills to the MacDonald's islands, my word will rule," finished the king. "I will reward obedience and eradicate those who ignore my laws."

     "Jamie is nae all bad," Adam said much later as they trotted through the town of Stirling to join the ancient Roman Road.

     "Tell that ta Murdoch and Lennox." Krayne spurred his horse faster as they left the cobbled streets behind.

     "Treason flows through their veins instead of blood. Jamie's dungeon be exactly what the pair of them deserve."

     "They're still kin to the king," noted Krayne dryly.

     Adam gave him a searching look. "'Twill serve a sharp reminder ta the rest of us."

     "Ye have my word," Krayne reassured his cousin. "I gave the order before I left Wamphray. No more moonlight riding fer my lads."

     They rode hard for Annandale with their dozen moss-troopers at their back, stopping only once to rest the horses and then again at Moffat just as dawn was breaking. The parish of Johnstone bordered Wamphray, and the riders stayed together until the juncture of Wamphray Water with the Annan, where Adam rode west for Lochwood Tower and Krayne followed Wamphray Water home.

     On his approach, Old Giles raised the portcullis with a wary wave and Krayne galloped straight into the bailey…to find that all hell had broken loose.

 
Amber Jardin
 
     Amber fought against consciousness. She didn't want to be pulled from the sweet lull of darkness. Here, she didn't have to struggle against walls crushing her lungs, horrid little monsters nibbling her flesh, nightmare visions of Stivin begging for help while she looked on helplessly.


     But she couldn't stay. She was being dragged to the surface. Her lids opened sluggishly, then rounded wide and alert at the black-haired beast looming over her. Firelight glinted off steel and she would have screamed, but it felt as if her heart had jumped into her throat.

     "Dinna fear." The oak-smoked burr eased the pitch of terror, enough so for her to recognise the beast as Krayne. He sheathed the blade and showed her the raven curl he'd hacked off. "I need this fer yer uncle."

     Amber nodded, heart still throbbing against her ribcage, vaguely wondering if it was worth her time and effort to protest the futility of his actions once more. Then she became aware of her surroundings. "The pit… Where am I?"

     A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "I thought ye might be more comfortable here."

     Relief bought him a return smile, but it didn't last. Although the shock was gradually ebbing, the piercing silver of his eyes kept her blood high. She pressed a hand to her chest in a protective gesture, and gasped. Her eyes dipped, then shot straight up to his and froze.

     Where was her gown?

     What had he done?

     "Nothing yet." Krayne answered the accusation in her eyes with a gravel-hard voice, then promptly spun about and strode away.

     Nothing yet. A shadow crossed her heart and chilled her blood. He will be back, and he won't find me lying half-naked in bed.

     Krayne Johnstone might have saved her from the hell pit, but she wasn't that grateful.

     He stopped and turned beneath the open archway that led into the adjoining chamber.

     What now?

     He was just standing there, looking at her. His jaw was so tightly clenched, she imagined she could hear his teeth crunch. The wolf looked ready to pounce.

     Wiping a hand across her forehead, Amber made a brave show of crumpling before his eyes, managing to pull the fur over her as she slumped down on the bed.

     "Christ." He hurried back.

     "I'm fine," she whispered, rolling her head away so she didn't have to meet his eyes. "Please leave me. I fear that black pit has sapped my strength." She turned a little to peer at him from beneath half-lidded eyes.

     "Rest." The word rumbled warmly with concern.

     She closed her eyes and concentrated to slow her breathing. Finally she heard him move, the padded footfalls of his leather soles fading to silence, then a squeak as a door opened. Amber gave it a few more moments, then rolled onto her front and up on her elbows, glancing this way and that, but ready to drop into feigned slumber at the slightest sound.

     The bold stamp on the room and superb, if sparse, furnishings told her she was in the laird's bed. The thick pelt of an exotic brown bear covered the window. Various forest creatures had given their fur to warm the stone floor. The bed was made from birch rather than pine, stained a rich brown and stood high off the ground. A sturdy chair and writing table of the same stained birch completed the decor.

     She lifted herself onto her knees, assured that it was now safe. This was her chance to escape to Spedlin and rescue Stivin, because a lock of her hair wasn't going to do the job. If the Johnstone brothers would just refrain from tossing her over their shoulders and into pits long enough to actually hear—

     "The laird said ta help wi' yer bath." A sullen voice broke into her thoughts.

     Amber started, her gaze flicking to the arched doorway to see a robust woman of about two score years standing there. A halo of red-orange frizz escaped the braid draped across her shoulder to frame a rounded, ruddy face. Too late, Amber realised that she'd never heard the outer door squeak closed.

     The idea of bathing was fairy dust to her weary body and battered spirit, and almost worth postponing her escape for, but Amber wasn't smiling yet. At Spedlin, a bath was a wooden barrel sectioned off by a thin sheet strung across a kitchen corner. She'd tried it once, and that was once too many. The only baths she'd since enjoyed were courtesy of the frigid stream or a quick rub down in her chamber.

     Muttering, "I've nae the time ta sit abou' repeatin' myself aw day," the woman shook her head and disappeared from sight.

     Amber threw off the covers and slid from the bed. She peeked behind the bear fur, but found only a series of arrow slits in the stone wall that were too narrow to squeeze through. The bed itself was pushed up against an oak door and, though she held little hope, Amber tested the knob. It turned, but the door was either locked or jammed. The only way out, it seemed, was through the archway.

     The adjacent chamber was a living area. Two padded stools were arranged around a chess table. A set of chairs with wide seats, carved backs and sturdy arms graced the hearth. There was another table for more general use, tapestries on the walls and woven rugs to walk upon.

     When Amber's gaze reached the far wall, she found what she was looking for. An opening as large as a door led to a stone rampart that could only be part of the battlement wall. The large tapestry usually covering it had been looped up by two hooks on either side, allowing the dwindling daylight in.

     The round-faced serving woman was on her knees with her back to the room, sorting through items on a low shelf. Amber would have to wait, and was more than happy to take that bath while doing so.

     She walked deeper into the room, saw a large chest against one wall and a good-sized metal tub tucked away in an alcove. The air above the tub shimmered from the rising heat. A lightness stole over her mood at the prospect of a decent hot bath and imminent freedom.

     The woman came back with a length of Johnstone plaid and a small vial that released the aroma of sun-kissed roses when a few drops were added to the bath water.

     Amber smiled with delight, and the woman's scowl deepened. Shrugging a shoulder, Amber removed her shift and stepped into the tub. Pleasure cascaded over her skin as she slipped low into the warm, fragrant water.

     Turning a friendly grin to where the woman stood with crossed arms, Amber asked, "What is your name?"

     Muddy brown eyes gave her a long, sour look. "Isla."

     "Do I know you?" Amber said, wondering what she'd done to earn the obvious disfavour. "Do you know me?"

     "I ken ye fer a Jardin."

     Amber raised an eyebrow, waiting for more, but apparently the explanation was complete. She'd assumed the feuds and hate to be a singularly male pastime, as was the case in Cornwall, where women were insulated from the realities of war and seldom, if ever, came face to face with the enemy. A silly assumption, she acknowledged, considering her current hostage status.

     Her fingers trailed drops of water over her thighs and abdomen as she mused on the ridiculous notion of an English lady being held captive by a close neighbour. But then again, neither could she entertain the picture of any gentleman she'd grown up with executing a raid—on the lord next door, no less. It wasn't just uncivilised, it was…words failed her and the small smile of amusement vanished.

     She looked inward, and it became personal.

     For the first time, Amber saw her capture as more than a huge obstacle preventing her from saving Stivin. There was the pit, then the glint of steel so close to her throat. She'd assumed that no one had any reason to actually kill her…

     A frown worked her brow and she nibbled her lower lip. She was a pawn, dragged from her home to be disposed of as the Johnstones saw fit. It mattered not if she were innocent or guilty of the great betrayal. No one was listening, no one cared. She was a possession, valuable enough to protect—for now. These were Stivin's kin, but they'd been Jardin enemies for a half-score years or more. What would happen once they realised she was worth less than a crippled horse? What would they do when William Jardin rejected their terms of exchange?

     "Leave me," Amber ordered.

     "I have nae wish ta be here, but the laird—"

     "Asked you to help me," she finished. Amber sat up straight and met the brown glare defiantly, wondering if the dour Isla honestly thought she wanted to be here. "Then help me to bathe in private."

     Isla didn't need telling twice. She made a show of huffing and grumbling beneath her breath on the way out.

     Amber hurriedly dried off and tugged her shift over her head. It had been sheer folly on her part to insist over and over again how worthless she was.

     What was I thinking?

     That they'd apologise for the inconvenience and send me back to Spedlin with a farewell pat on the shoulder?

     She found her gown crumpled on the floor beside the bed. The rip all the way down the front was a reminder of Johnstone hospitality and how little her honour and dignity meant to these people. She dressed as best she could, pinching the bodice over her breasts with trembling fingers while she guided her feet into scuffed slippers.

     The wind whipped the open flaps of her gown about as she stepped onto the rampart, the chill evening air cutting ruthlessly through her shift. Crouching low and close to the battlement wall, she ran, keeping a keen ear on the occasional shout and sound below lest it escalate to a raised alarm. The broody sky abetted the waning daylight and she was thankful for the cover.

     Soon the walk broke away from the tower house and she was in the narrow passage dug along the top of the crenulated wall that enclosed the bailey. Approximately midway along the length of the bailey, Amber stopped and leant far over the side of the wall. The curtain wall had to be at least five or six men tall. Beyond that, the thickly wooded bog looked sinister with long shadows and the spongy ground of sphagnum mosses.

     Amber experienced a moment of doubt about getting across the morass. Not that it mattered, she thought irritably, for in order to do that, she first needed to find a way down from this impossible height.

     As soon as she pulled back from the edge, a blur of raised voices carried on the breeze. She couldn't make out what was being said, but the direction it came from and the loud confusion set her heart racing.

     She stilled.

     She couldn't go down and she wasn't going back.

     Her knees went hollow, cramped from excess energy at the thought of just standing where she was, a hare already snared and awaiting a predetermined fate.


Available from most places where ebooks are sold, including Carina Press  | Amazon  | Barnes and Noble  | Books on Board
  Betrayed is now available in audible at audible.com