Rebecca Zanetti's Blog, page 8
October 11, 2015
You Know You’re a Writer When…
Hi all! I’ve been busy hitting deadlines lately, and I haven’t had much time to blog. I hope you’ve been enjoying all of the guest bloggers through the summer (and we’ll continue on Fridays through the rest of the year)! It has been a while since I posted one of these blogs about being a writer, so it’s time. LOL.
You Know You’re a Writer When:
1. You’re at a workshop or class, and the instructor tries to get everyone to move up to the front…and you try to sneak out the back door. Going to the front gives you hives.
2. You can have a perfectly reasonable conversation at a busy restaurant about the best way to dispose of a body without having to use any chemicals.
3. Your husband asks you, just every once in a while, which voice in your head is talking out loud right now?
4. You ask your spouse if he will flip you over his head, turn left, and still be able to shoot you with his right hand, and his response is: “Well, I could last time.”
5. Somebody tells you about a recent murder in the news, and your response is: “That’s not how I would’ve done it.”
6. You get in a good natured argument with a fan because they think they know your hero better than you do, and after they talk for a while, you realize they kinda do.
7. Your idea of research is a full day of watching Supernatural because the writing and characterization is just awesome and not because you’re a Dean girl. Yeah. Right. Honest.
8. If it turned out that vampires really exist, you wouldn’t exactly be shocked into silence.
9. You watch a movie and think: “That’s totally the wrong ending. Somebody needs to change that.”
10. The UPS guy is still scared of you because of that one little time he had to get you out of handcuffs. You were doing research for another writer friend, you had the cuffs from Halloween, and you were trying to see if you could shimmy out of them. Turns out you couldn’t.
Everyone have a wonderful week! XOXO
October 9, 2015
Kissing on the Sly
Hi all! I’m Charly, Rebecca’s assistant. We thought it’d be fun to do a ‘Romance: The Good, the Bad, and the Disastrous’ theme with guest bloggers throughout the summer months. Every Monday and Thursday, we’ll have a guest blogger talk about fun stuff like horrible dates, good dates, etc. Some bloggers will have a contest, and some won’t – it’s totally up to them. If there is a contest, I’ll randomly draw a winner from the post comments, send the winner’s email address to the guest blogger, and they’ll take it from there. Rebecca will jump in and blog when she can. For now, enjoy as we play!
Hi everyone! *waves* I’m so happy to be here! Thank you to Rebecca and Charly for having me, and happy Friday!
I thought I’d jump right into one of my favorite things: kissing. Whether I’m reading about a hero and heroine’s first kiss, whether it’s my dog Harry touching his little nose to mine, whether I’m snagging a reluctant kiss on the cheek from my teenage son, or whether I’m cuddled up with my hubby and making out, kissing is always good. And fun!
When my DH and I were teenagers (I married my high school sweetheart) I was really shy about kissing him in public or in front of our parents so we’d sneak kisses in whenever other people were around. Now, over twenty-five years later, forget kissing on the sly, I’ll happily smack lips with him anywhere. (Hope that wasn’t TMI.) So, today I present to you the ten best places worth the risk of getting caught kissing…
At the movies ~ this is kind of a no-brainer.
During a surf lesson ~ I swear I almost drowned and my hubby brought me back to life. Kidding. Sort of.
During dinner at a fancy restaurant ~ Tablecloth, candles, yummy drinks, it’s one of those perfect romantic spots.
On the beach ~ Sandy toes and salty kisses, yes?
On a hike ~ My hubby and I love to hike and when you reach the top of a climb a kiss is definitely in order.
On a Ferris wheel ~ anywhere on the loop works for me.
October 2, 2015
To C or Not to C, That is the Question
Hi all! I’m Charly, Rebecca’s assistant. We thought it’d be fun to do a ‘Romance: The Good, the Bad, and the Disastrous’ theme with guest bloggers throughout the summer months. Every Monday and Thursday, we’ll have a guest blogger talk about fun stuff like horrible dates, good dates, etc. Some bloggers will have a contest, and some won’t – it’s totally up to them. If there is a contest, I’ll randomly draw a winner from the post comments, send the winner’s email address to the guest blogger, and they’ll take it from there. Rebecca will jump in and blog when she can. For now, enjoy as we play!
I was in the middle of revisions for my second book in my small town contemporary romance series when I got stuck. I was reworking a section where my hero was in a mood, annoyed with his man part for acting up whenever he thought about the heroine and how it was disrupting his daily routine. You know, the typical hero problem. Anyway, the scene was in the hero’s perspective and he was mulling over the situation when I got to the place where I’d need to write the word he’d use for it. Hmm? I know what I’d call it, but what about him? Would he use the medical term? I hope not. I avoid that word. It’s sort of like the word moist. Ick. That left me with slang. But which term to choose?
As you might’ve guessed by the title of this post, I chose the C word. Yes, that one, the term made popular in erotica and now gone mainstream. Some of you may not blink twice upon seeing it, others may pause and say, oh, okay, depending on who uses it how and where in a particular story, while others may screech to a halt and not finish the book. I get it. Readers have generational and cultural differences that cause them to react differently to the same word. Believe me, I pondered long and hard over the C word before I chose it. (No pun intended here nor anywhere else in this post. Seriously.)
To put my ultimate decision into perspective, here’s Exhibit A: I was reading a book by one of my favorite romantic comedy authors and noticed she used the C word throughout her novel. I was surprised, as it’s not a word I’d seen much anywhere outside erotic romance prior to that story. Had I missed the romance author memo about this newest trend? I did have to admit that I’d also been recently cautioned by my lovely editor to tweak my twenty-something characters’ dialogue to ensure it reflected their ages. If I recall correctly, she wrote something about one of their conversations sounding like they were channeling their grandparents. Ouch. I know I’m not as young as I once was, but I’m not that old either. We’ll label my editor’s feedback as Exhibit B. Then there’s Exhibit C, an email from my publisher sharing marketing stats indicating readers want more descriptive love scenes (i.e, the more graphic, the better).
Those factors led me to more research. I turned first to my twenty-something daughter, away from home, but always available via text. Gotta love technology. Keeps me from missing her to the point I can’t breathe. Since she and I are very busy and very close, I figured she’d know where I was coming from when I got right to the meat of it: You know a lot of guys at med school. Can you ask them what they call their man part? Now, before you think I’m a prude or are wondering why a young woman at med school can’t tolerate reading penis in a text from her mother, understand that I purposely didn’t use the word to avoid tainting my survey results. I’m a professional, you see.
Daughter responded immediately. TMI, Mom. No can do. Sorry.
Maybe I should’ve prefaced my question with more information. Why not? It’s for my book.
I figured, but no. I’m not going to ask my friends that. Love you though.
Love you too, I responded, realizing at that moment that perhaps I’d raised a very old-fashioned-minded girl like me. Not that it’s a bad thing, but it meant I’d have to brave asking someone else for the answer I so desperately sought.
Many authors use social media to ask questions related to their writing quandaries, and I agree it can be a great venue for certain topics, but I hesitated posting a question on my VERY public author page about men’s private parts that some may construe as an invitation to send me pictures or diagrams along with their favorite terms. No, thank you. I wanted the information, but not at the cost of my vision.
I know, I know, my significant other would’ve seemed like the most logical person for me to approach before going to such lengths everywhere else. However, at that late stage in the revisions process, I’d sadly overstayed my welcome with my soulmate in the can-I-ask-you-a-quick-question-about-my-book department. Not to mention he has been known to remind me on occasion that I’m the romance writer in the family, not him. So I sucked up my discomfort, evaluated all the collected data, and inserted that four-letter word into the story, reassuring myself Mom and Dad would forgive me. I was doing my job, staying relevant in a changing world. It’s not like my hero was yelling it in the schoolyard or even thinking it in the presence of others. So there the C word stayed, on page X of my manuscript. I was okay with it. Really.
Until one day a few months later…
My husband was bored (or so he said), and he read my newest release while I was away at a writer’s conference. The morning after I returned home, we were enjoying a breakfast of eggs and bacon in our sunny kitchen as a couple when he asked, “Why’d you use the C word in His Kiss?”
I stopped mid-bite. “I was writing in the guy’s perspective.”
“Guys don’t call it that,” he replied, rolling his eyes.
“Yes, they do.” I set down my fork.
He laughed. “Maybe that’s what women think guys call it or want to call it themselves, but I’d never use that word, and I’m a guy.”
I couldn’t argue with that. “You’re a middle-aged guy. My hero was thirty. He’d use it.”
“Did you ask a thirty-year-old guy?”
I scrunched my nose at him.
“Yeah, I didn’t think so,” he said, knowing me all too well. “I just don’t get why you wouldn’t have him call it a dick.” He smiled over the rim of his coffee mug.
“Oh.” In my quest for the perfect term, I hadn’t given that one much consideration. “Are you sure?” I asked, not one to let things go until I’d analyzed them to death. “I thought about that word, but couldn’t imagine a guy referring to it that way. It’s so…normal, derogatory even. Don’t you guys call each other a dick when you’re ticked off?” I tried not to fret over ticked and whether that word would be used by a thirty-year-old guy.
“Trust me. That’s what guys call it.”
Our sixteen-year-old son walked into the kitchen. “What’re you two talking about?”
“Nothing,” we answered.
A few weeks later, my husband arrived home with a bunch of his golfing buddies, guys we’ve known since we were teens. You know, like family. The topic of my writing came up and they asked about the latest release. I used the opportunity to conduct a follow-up study and asked them what they would call it—to themselves, not anyone else. They all gave the same answer. Every. Single. One.
Now, just because they all agreed with my husband doesn’t make him right. It could’ve been an elaborate set-up, for all I know. None of those friends are thirty either. If they were, I certainly wouldn’t have been bold enough to ask. The guys I do know in their late twenties or early thirties are either my nephews or my nieces’ husbands. Wouldn’t that be a great conversation starter at the annual family picnic? Oh well. I suppose I could ask a friend to survey random guys in the appropriate age range for me, but that seems so grade school.
FYI – I’m writing another book. This one doesn’t include the C word. I’ve graduated to the letter D.
ABOUT JOLYSE:
A country girl at heart, contemporary romance author Jolyse Barnett is living her own happily-ever-after in Long Island suburbia with her real-life hero, two incredible children, and furry feline that thinks she’s a dog. When she’s not reading or writing, she enjoys a fulfilling day job and exploring the world one getaway at a time. Connect with Jolyse and find all her book news at http://jolysebarnett.com.
FAVORITE QUOTE:
“I’m here for you Abby. You’re not going to scare me away.”
Was that a catch she heard in his voice? She opened the truck door, plopped onto the leather seat, and promptly burst into tears. Great, he’d totally ruined everything. He was too damned sweet. With her luck, she’d fall for him like she had from that infernal machine. Hard.
~ Quote from One More Sunset
LATEST RELEASE:
One More Sunset:
Some people run for exercise. Others run for fun. Abby Stone spends most days running for her life.
After Abby Stone’s ex-boyfriend shows up at her new hideout and she uses a bottle of wine as an impromptu weapon, calling the police is out of the question. His family has a knack for erasing charges and pesky restraining orders. Desperate, she prays for help. A magical suitcase appears and she’s compelled to play an unsettling game involving a sexy, kind stranger while staying one breath ahead of her stalker.
Dylan Reece has overcome tragedy and enjoys life as a single Key West handyman and fisherman. Yet Abby’s sad, wary eyes hold secrets and a chance for his redemption, if not more…
Will the magic of their love be enough to save them?
GIVEAWAY:
Now it’s your turn! What’s one of your embarrassing moments OR a time when you didn’t follow your gut and later regretted it? Leave a comment for a chance to win…
One lucky commenter of this post will receive a signed paperback of my newest release, One More Sunset, AND a selection of romance books I gathered in New York City at RWA15 (see photo) PLUS bonus swag (some not included in picture—it’s a surprise).
Can’t wait to hear your stories!
*US residents only, with valid mailing address. My apologies to international readers.
September 28, 2015
How I Met My Real Life Romantic Hero
Hi all! I’m Charly, Rebecca’s assistant. We thought it’d be fun to do a ‘Romance: The Good, the Bad, and the Disastrous’ theme with guest bloggers throughout the summer months. Every Monday and Thursday, we’ll have a guest blogger talk about fun stuff like horrible dates, good dates, etc. Some bloggers will have a contest, and some won’t – it’s totally up to them. If there is a contest, I’ll randomly draw a winner from the post comments, send the winner’s email address to the guest blogger, and they’ll take it from there. Rebecca will jump in and blog when she can. For now, enjoy as we play!
My name is Rachel Harris and I write love stories. I obsessively read love stories. I’m addicted to happily-ever-afters and the giddy moment when two flawed characters meet for the first time and you as the reader just know that a wild ride is set to begin. Here’s a look at how my own true life “meet cute”….and how fate let it happen at just the right moment.
My husband and I met after 9/11. As a student at LSU, I’d been under the impression that everyone would skip classes that horrific day, glued to the television, huddling with friends and talking to loved ones, so imagine my surprise when I returned to class later that week to discover only two of us had skipped. Now, it was a senior level broadcast journalism course so in hindsight I guess it makes sense that people went to get that take on the unfolding events, but that was so not where my head was that day.
My teacher paired the two of us skippees together for an assignment, and that weekend I had to meet my partner to pick up the video camera we were sharing. He was eating dinner at a restaurant with his roommates and told me to meet him there, and apparently, after I left, one of them suggested he ask me out, which he later did, asking me to bring along a friend for his roommate.
A few days later, we met up….only pretty early on in the date, we switched dates
September 24, 2015
The Mormon Mama Yentas and a Machine Gun
Hi all! I’m Charly, Rebecca’s assistant. We thought it’d be fun to do a ‘Romance: The Good, the Bad, and the Disastrous’ theme with guest bloggers throughout the summer months. Every Monday and Thursday, we’ll have a guest blogger talk about fun stuff like horrible dates, good dates, etc. Some bloggers will have a contest, and some won’t – it’s totally up to them. If there is a contest, I’ll randomly draw a winner from the post comments, send the winner’s email address to the guest blogger, and they’ll take it from there. Rebecca will jump in and blog when she can. For now, enjoy as we play!
Long, long ago, in a galaxy far, far—well, actually, it was about eight years ago, right here in northern Idaho—two friends hatched a diabolical plan.
I met Cindy at church. We got each other. We clicked. We went together like New Year’s Day and Jenny Craig.
One day Cindy pulled me aside and said, “You know, Tana, I have this son who needs to get married, and I understand you have a daughter who needs to get married. We should see what we can do about that.”
This conversation took place in this country, in this century, by members of a sub-culture not generally known for arranged marriages, but there it is. Her 28-year-old son and my 24-year-old daughter were, as yet, unmarried, and we shamelessly intended to change that situation if we could.
Mormons, like those of some other Christian faiths, tend to marry youngish. (Abstinence is a great motivator, I guess.) Being unmarried in one’s mid-to-late twenties is certainly not uncommon in our world, but it is a time when our young people are at least beginning to look toward that goal.
My daughter worked at the Mission Training Center, in Provo, Utah. Cindy’s son was a Reserve in the Marines, who was studying to become a chaplain, by way of a Criminal Justice degree. (Don’t ask me how those things relate. It’s the military. Who knows?)
So the great and diabolical plan was to have son email daughter—which he agreed to do only after a photo was produced and daughter was deemed datable. He got nothing—crickets—in return. She was not interested in starting a long-distance relationship cooked up by her mother. Imagine that. (Ungrateful wretch.) So that, it seemed, was that.
machine gun
Until my co-conspirator learned that daughter would be coming home for the Memorial Day weekend. It was time to dial up the diabolical a notch or two. Why would anyone not want to go on a blind date arranged by one’s mother? What could possibly go wrong with that?
Evidently, Cindy decided that son might resist, considering he’d been frozen out once already by this datable girl in the picture. His mother enticed him with a machine gun—or rather the opportunity to try one out at the local shooting range. He liked the idea so much, he asked if he could bring a date. She vehemently declined, “No! This is a family activity. Your dad and I want to spend some time with you before your deployment begins!” He should have smelled a rat and run like the wind, but…machine gun. Totally worth compulsory time with the parental units.
Daughter, on the other hand, gave in to the idea, after a monumental matriarchal guilt trip, but complained all the way to the range. She was too old for this and could not believe I was making her do it. Bwahahaha! I’m still laughing.
I knew son was catching on to his mother’s plan, about the time daughter was bending over the bench away from us to shoot—a vantage point for displaying a fine asset to its best advantage. He tapped me and asked, “So, how old is your daughter?” He’d not yet made the connection that this was the girl in the picture. (Even with ear protection on, daughter heard enough to turn and glare at me.)
By the way, she shot circles around him—I mean, her target looked amazing compared to his. He might have been distracted at that point.
His parents, her parents, and the two victims themselves, followed the machine gun adventure with dinner together. That wasn’t awkward at all.
But something must have worked out, because they went on a couple of outings on that long weekend.
She went back to Utah. He went to training before deployment to Iraq. He called, emailed, and generally pursued her. She generally made his life hell by politely evading his pursuit—while he was still in the States.
Before flying out to Iraq, I saw him again. He asked if he could talk to me. He said he’d tried and she shut him down in no uncertain terms.
I don’t know what you could call it, other than “mother’s intuition” or “nosy-rosy-overbearing-mother-audacity,” but something prodded me to tell him not to give up. I felt like I knew daughter well enough that what was coming from her lips was not what was inside her heart. Or maybe I was just being a romance writer and believer in happily-ever-after. Whatever.
He kept trying.
It wasn’t until he was on the other side of the world that her heart changed. Once he was in Iraq, she knew she loved him.
Within a few months of international emails and phone calls, he had proposed and she had accepted. A few months after that, he returned home and they had their first kiss—and their second date. Two months later they were married. And last month, seven years after their wedding, they welcomed their sixth child. (They weren’t youngish anymore. They both wanted a large family. They were making up for lost time.)
So, yes, this romance does seem like it’s from another century or another country, and it does have a happily-ever-after.
Never underestimate the power of two Mormon Mama Yentas and a machine gun.
Thank you Rebecca and Charly for the chance to guest blog!
ABOUT TANA:
Tana Lovett has written the first story in a series of Small Town Contemporary Romances, called AS LONG AS THERE IS CHOCOLATE, which will be submitted shortly, per a number of requests. She can be found at http://tanalovett.com and on Twitter and Facebook by that name.
UPCOMING RELEASE:
AS LONG AS THERE IS CHOCOLATE:
…is a small town contemporary, romantically funny novel of about 95,000 words.
Romancing the Stone meets My Big Fat Greek Wedding … in Mayberry
Kate Hannity opens a gourmet chocolate shop across the street from the deli run by Gio DiMarco, or, as she secretly calls him, Fabio the Sandwich Boy.
He attracts women like a weepy-day carton of Ben & Jerry’s, spelling nothing but trouble for Kate. Of course, things are seldom ever as they seem.
She’s sworn off relationships, believing her baggage to be “crammed way too full of crazy”, and she vows to be “happily independent before happily ever after.”
Together they open a room, sealed for over thirty years, and discover the truth behind an interrupted adventure and presumed death. They go on a scavenger hunt, searching for the remains of Gio’s grandfather, who never returned from a climbing excursion decades before.
Will Kate learn to overcome her deepest fears? Will Gio convince her that she’s the love he’s waited for? That remains to be seen. All they know is that every day’s a good day AS LONG AS THERE IS CHOCOLATE.
September 21, 2015
Kissing Frogs
Hi all! I’m Charly, Rebecca’s assistant. We thought it’d be fun to do a ‘Romance: The Good, the Bad, and the Disastrous’ theme with guest bloggers throughout the summer months. Every Monday and Thursday, we’ll have a guest blogger talk about fun stuff like horrible dates, good dates, etc. Some bloggers will have a contest, and some won’t – it’s totally up to them. If there is a contest, I’ll randomly draw a winner from the post comments, send the winner’s email address to the guest blogger, and they’ll take it from there. Rebecca will jump in and blog when she can. For now, enjoy as we play!
Photo credit Larry Levenson
In the mid-nineties I was in my mid-twenties, and I was, to put it mildly, tired of kissing frogs.
As most women can attest, frogs don’t always look like frogs. So, I instigated a weed-out policy, three simple rules applied on the first date.
Manners were important. Did he open my car door? Did he eat like a gentleman or a pig at a trough? The thought process was that I wanted a man whose mamma had raised him right.
I looked at his shoes. I like shoes. A lot. If his were run-down and in need of replacement, he probably wasn’t going to support my shoe habit. Deal-killer.
Finally, when he picked me up, had he taken the time to clean his car? I was stepping into his space for the first time. If it was filled with flotsam and jetsam—wrappers and cans and discarded mail—he wasn’t thinking long-term. And if he was, did I want to be with a man who kept a sea of White Castle wrappers on his floorboards?
It was springtime and the weather was balmy. My date and I dined al fresco at a restaurant on the Country Club Plaza and watched teenagers dressed for prom pass by on the sidewalk. Beautiful young women tottered on high heels. Handsome young men looked miserable in rented tuxes. The kids looked so…hopeful.
My date and I lingered over drinks and talked about our own proms (probably a short discussion, since I can’t remember my date or where the dance was—and not because of drinking—it was just that forgettable).
After dinner, we went to a party hosted by one of my customers (I was a banker at the time). My date earned points for going with me, since he knew no one there. We stayed long enough not to be rude, long enough for me to chat with my customer and sip a diet soda, long enough for “John” to have another drink, long enough to step out onto the balcony and admire the view.
We left and climbed into John’s immaculate BMW. Or was it an Acura? I’ve forgotten. But the next part of the evening I remember well—perhaps from the adrenaline jolt that accompanies seeing police lights in the rearview mirror.
John pulled over and a police officer peered through the window. “Sir, would you step out of the car?”
“What’s the problem, Officer?”
Did I mention that John was a lawyer?
“Please step out of the car.”
John stepped out of the car.
John recited the alphabet.
John left out “W.”
John failed additional tests and was loaded into the back of the police car.
“How much have you had to drink tonight?” the officer asked me.
“A glass of wine with dinner. That was several hours ago.”
The officer instructed me to follow him to the police station in John’s immaculate BMW (or Acura).
I sat in the waiting room for hours. In case you haven’t spent hours in a police station ‘round midnight, interesting people are there–people who probably have bad table manners, definitely have bad shoes, and most likely haven’t cleaned out their cars since they bought them (if they bought them). Many of them don’t smell good.
Finally, an officer came out to the waiting room and sat next to me. “Do you have any cash on you?” she asked.
“Thirty dollars.” At the time, thirty dollars would get me a cab ride from anywhere in the city to home. I always had thirty dollars when I went on a date.
“Mr. Doe needs to make bail.” She quoted me a four-figure sum.
“Can’t he give you a credit card?”
“Mr. Doe is carrying an American Express card. We only take Visa or MasterCard. Do you have a Visa or MasterCard?”
Call me heartless, but I was disinclined to charge $1,000 on my Visa (already groaning under the weight of my shoe habit). “Um, no. This is our first date.” And that cab money home was looking better and better.
The officer stared at me. “You’re kidding.”
I shook my head.
“What are you going to do for your next date? Rob a bank?”
At the time, it wasn’t funny.
Working through an intermediary, John communicated that he kept a MasterCard in his dresser. I was to go to his house, rifle through his belongings and return with plastic the police would accept.
So I drove the immaculate BMW (or Acura) to John’s immaculate house, turned on lights until I located his bedroom, opened his dresser drawer (filled with boxer shorts and a lifetime’s supply of condoms) and found his credit card. I returned to the police department, handed over the card and asked them to call me a cab.
The police officer looked apologetic. “Mr. Doe is not allowed to drive.”
It was three in the morning. Surely the gin he’d been drinking had worn off. Besides, he hadn’t been that impaired. If he’d seemed at all drunk, I wouldn’t have gotten in the car with him in the first place. “Pardon?”
“People arrested for DUIs can’t drive away from the police station. You’ll have to drive.”
I was tired. My contacts felt as if they’d been glued to my eyes. I wanted to curl up in my bed and sleep until Monday morning. I plunked myself back into one of the uncomfortable molded plastic chairs in the waiting room and waited.
Thirty minutes later, John appeared. He didn’t say much.
A police officer followed us outside to John’s immaculate BMW (or Acura) and I climbed behind the wheel.
I drove myself home, parked, and handed John his keys.
The man with a drawer full of condoms glanced at my apartment building and a slow grin lit his face. “Should I come up?”
That question was the impetus for the fourth rule in my lexicon: “Don’t date idiots.”
ABOUT JULIE:
Julie Mulhern has been married for twenty years to a man with impeccable table manners, Cole Haan loafers and a clean car. She is the author of the Country Club Murders, a 1970s set mystery series. Book two, Guaranteed to Bleed, releases on October 13th. She also writes the Haunting series, historicals that mix turn of the century New Orleans, voodoo, murder, and romance. The first book, A Haunting Desire, was a 2014 Golden Heart© finalist and was released July 28th.
Website: http://www.juliemulhern.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/juliekmulhern?ref=hl
Twitter: https://twitter.com/JulieKMulhern
Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/juliemulhern/
FAVORITE QUOTE:
Trula took a deep, bracing breath of humid air then looked up at her house. Eulie Echo sat hunched on the front stoop looking like a pile of abandoned rags. Only her bony hands, moving back and forth, smoothing a thin layer of brick dust onto each step, gave her away. In the last moments of purple light, her wrinkled skin looked as dark as India ink, and the feathers and chicken bones tied in her hair rattled like black magic.
“The gentlemen will be here soon, Eulie. Are you almost finished?”
“Evil spirits walkin’ the streets tonight, Miz Trula.” Eulie’s head bobbed with each word. Her sightless eyes settled on something beyond Trula’s shoulder.
A slight breeze ruffled the thick air and Trula shivered. The blind woman was seldom wrong. “I know. I sense them, too.”
~ Excerpt from Haunting Desire
LATEST RELEASE:
A Haunting Desire:
Murder in the streets. And passion in the shadows…
New Orleans, 1902
A killer walks the streets of New Orleans, eviscerating men and leaving them in the streets, and for madam Trula Boudreaux, it’s bad for business. Trula needs help but she’s not prepared for Zeke Barnes, the charming would-be savior who darkens her doorway-or the yearning he awakens. For while Trula knows well the delights of lust, she avoids love at all costs…
Investigating the killer was one thing, but Zeke can’t help but be enchanted by the gorgeous mystery woman who runs an exclusive brothel. Caught between his duty to protect the city and his clear-as-day desire for Trula, Zeke sets about capturing Trula’s heart-or at least a place in her bed. But with every moment Trula resists, Zeke falls into greater danger.
For his investigation into the haunted city and madam doesn’t just risk his heart but both their lives.
GIVEAWAY:
What are your dating rules? Leave a comment for a chance to win a copy of A Haunting Desire.
September 17, 2015
The bad…that ended up great!
Hi all! I’m Charly, Rebecca’s assistant. We thought it’d be fun to do a ‘Romance: The Good, the Bad, and the Disastrous’ theme with guest bloggers throughout the summer months. Every Monday and Thursday, we’ll have a guest blogger talk about fun stuff like horrible dates, good dates, etc. Some bloggers will have a contest, and some won’t – it’s totally up to them. If there is a contest, I’ll randomly draw a winner from the post comments, send the winner’s email address to the guest blogger, and they’ll take it from there. Rebecca will jump in and blog when she can. For now, enjoy as we play!
I’d painstakingly shopped for the perfect dinner dress, painted my nails, and took great efforts in completing my makeup and hair. The occasion? A first date with a very handsome man! To say I was nervous was an understatement.
I learned we were going to a beautiful restaurant about 30 minutes away in a quaint town. The drive there was uneventful, filled with quiet talk. My jitters had ceased way before we arrived at our destination. The restaurant was originally a house, built in 1851, that was converted into a restaurant in 1963. It held six separate dining rooms on two different floors, and is currently a Michigan Historic Site.
The atmosphere was lovely with the lighting and table settings adding to the restaurant’s charm. Wine was served, our orders placed, and I was pleased that the evening was off to a great start. I may have jinxed myself in that train of thought though. I can’t remember what I had ordered—probably steak.
What I do remember is reaching for my fork that rested on my plate. Instead of grasping the fork, my hand hit it at just the right angle. The fork went airborne. As if in slow motion, I watched in horror as the heavy silver flatware twirled through the air, barely missing the next table. My simultaneous thoughts were: (1) glad there wasn’t any food on the fork, (2) thankful I didn’t impale anyone, and (3) not only was this the first date, I was confident it would be our last.
How wrong I was! Guess my date didn’t mind being with a klutz—we’ll be having our 30th wedding anniversary in October!
ABOUT JENNA:
Jenna Rutland lives in a small Michigan community with her husband. She has two grown children and three granddaughters. While her days are spent working as a medical transcriptionist, her nights are filled writing contemporary romance—stories of love, laughter and happily ever after. Guess which occupation is more fun?
She is a member of RWA and is a board member of Maumee Valley Romance Authors Inc.
Jenna takes pleasure in spending time with her family. She also enjoys reading, gardening and loves the challenge of a new recipe.
Jenna welcomes the chance to connect with writers and readers. For more information, head to her website, and hang out with Jenna on Facebook and Twitter.
LATEST RELEASE:
Just For Appearances:
Hot man for hire…
Rachel Clarke is a single mom with three boys, and she needs help. Now. Unfortunately, her only option is John MacDonald—her high school sweetheart and the disgraced hometown hero who’s just returned to Lake Bliss. He’s perfect for the job. He cooks, he cleans, and he’s amazing with kids. He’s also still far too sinfully hot for Rachel’s comfort…
Rachel is just as gorgeous as John remembers. But in order for his new youth activity center to be a success, John needs Rachel’s help to earn the town’s trust back. In exchange, he’ll take care of her boys for the summer while she works. Except keeping their relationship strictly business is harder than he imagined. But summer can’t last forever, and when it ends, so will their arrangement—and John’s time in Lake Bliss.
GIVEAWAY:
Do you have a bad that ended up great? Leave a comment for one of 2 chances to win a Kindle copy of Jenna’s first book, Just For the Summer.
September 14, 2015
Best Vampire Experience Ever! (That’s right, I said vampire)
Hi all! I’m Charly, Rebecca’s assistant. We thought it’d be fun to do a ‘Romance: The Good, the Bad, and the Disastrous’ theme with guest bloggers throughout the summer months. Every Monday and Thursday, we’ll have a guest blogger talk about fun stuff like horrible dates, good dates, etc. Some bloggers will have a contest, and some won’t – it’s totally up to them. If there is a contest, I’ll randomly draw a winner from the post comments, send the winner’s email address to the guest blogger, and they’ll take it from there. Rebecca will jump in and blog when she can. For now, enjoy as we play!
I don’t know about you, but I love vampires. LOVE them. Like I wish I had my own special sexy vampire to cuddle up with in bed at night. Tragically I don’t. However, I do have an amazing story to share about my experience with what is as close to a real vampire as I might ever get. To set the scene: I was studying at Trinity College in Dublin Ireland for a few weeks while I was in college. Jonathan, a fellow student in the study abroad program, convinced me to check out a church called St. Michans. It’s rumored that Bram Stoker grew up playing in the crypts as a child and that’s where his inspiration for Dracula came from. Why? Because they are MUMMIES, actual mummies in the crypts that are popping out of their broken coffins and due to the unique atmosphere of the earth, they haven’t decayed much, hence Stoker’s influential depiction of Dracula when he first rose from the grave. Now, as to my experience, I’ll let you be the judge about my experience with vampires…
The weather was unseasonably warm in Dublin that year. The rain bled through every nook and cranny of the city, misting on the hot earth. I had never been to Ireland before, but was beyond thrilled to go with a friend to the tiny yet haunting St. Michan’s church. Under a blanket of gray skies, pregnant with rain, my friend, Jonathan and I approached the church yard. Tombstones exploded out of the earth at unsettling angles, like a crooked Stonehenge. The carved names were faded, worn away by the wind and rain of centuries. Skulls and baby angels’ faces were etched on the particularly older grave markers, a sign of the permanence of death.
I was lost in thoughts of plague victims and the dead who’d perished before their time, when Jonathan drew me from my reverie.
“This is the church where Bram Stoker drew his inspiration for Dracula?”
“According to Wikipedia,” I chuckled at his astonished expression. “Yes, history majors do read wiki articles.”
Suddenly Jonathan’s face paled and he raised a hand to point at something beyond my left shoulder. Tingles of dread shot down my spine as I slowly looked to where he was pointing. A tiny tabby cat perched on a cracked marble tomb, watching us. Its eyes were a bright and unyielding yellow, the color of neon. Despite the lack of sun, its pupils were narrow slits. It continued to stare unblinking as another wave of rain passed through the graveyard. Mist curled up in slender tendrils around the cat, stroking the graves and grass as it engulfed the world beyond the dead. I shuddered as I realized I could not see past the churchyard. Jonathan reached for my hand, his handsome face contorted with fear.
“I didn’t know a cat could be so scary,” he muttered as he started to drag me around the edge of the gothic church. “Come on, we have to find the entrance to the crypt so we don’t miss the tour.”
It took us several minutes to find the crypt; it was actually concealed by a heavy metal storm door. It took the two of us to wedge our fingers under the heavy lip of the door and pull. It swung up and fell open with a thunderous clang, revealing a cavernous entrance below. Jonathan looked at me, his brown eyes dark and unreadable as he gestured for me to go first.
“Chivalry is dead,” I sighed, trying not to let my fear show at having to into that blackness. I felt like Persephone descending into Hades’ realm, and I couldn’t help but wonder what monsters waited below. The rain sluiced down the steps, making the old worn stones slippery. I dug my fingers into the sides of the wall, trying to steady myself as I began my decent. It was pitch black. Not one lantern, nor lightbulb to guide me. I cursed silently that I hadn’t brought a cell phone on the trip. Although I doubted its feeble light could penetrate the inky air around me.
The heavy smell of musty earth and decay invaded my nostrils, the smell sickly sweet, like the aroma of dying flowers, crushed and rotting after a heavy rainfall. It was a smell that charged the space around me, filling me with a strange desire to breathe, to live, to escape. I was never one to feel claustrophobic, but the fragrance of death battled against my sanity. Every instinct in my pleaded for mercy, to flee and save myself. But instincts and the mastering of them are what set humans apart from their animal brethren, and so I continued on, determined to ignore the primal fear of what the darkness held.
“What do you see?” Jonathan’s voice echoed down the stairs.
“Nothing,” I found myself whispering. I was among the dead, could sense them, their bodies all around me, suffocating, yet silent. I continued on, palms sliding over the rough stone of the crypt walls. And then the wall to my right gave way to empty air. I never even had time to scream. I plummeted to the ground, the cold earth giving way beneath my hands and knees. A pearl of faint light bloomed ahead of me. A drop of moonlight where there was no moon. And beneath its opaque glow lay the figure of a woman. The gilded edges of her coffin were laced with silver and black wood. Her gaunt features were delicate, those of a lady, her gown was made of gossamer fine threads spun like a delicate spider’s web. Fascination drew me closer, all thoughts of Jonathan and the world above the tomb were gone. The woman was dead, her skin tight on her bones, yet there was a macabre beauty to her.
Visions of a lovely lady, scorned by life which should have blessed her, danced before me. I could hear strains of faint music, the final notes of a melancholy tune. The whisper of slippers on a great hall floor, as she spun and twirled; her laughter was soft like bells on Christmas morning. A great ache welled within me, choking my throat as emotion clasped it tight. She had been robbed of life, this beautiful one and for that I was truly sorry.
“Touch her,” a silky voice teased my ear. I felt hot breath of someone just behind me.
Was I in the grasp of some haunting dream, where ghouls took hold of maidens fair and forced them to face the destiny of their last hours? I tried to shake my head, to wrestle free of the heavy spell the corpse wove around me. But the web clung tight, obscuring rationality.
“Go on, touch her hand, it will bring you luck, if you are brave enough.” A whisper of a laugh followed this.
I succumbed.
Like sleeping beauty, unable to resist the temptation to touch the spindle that would bring her doom, I reached for the woman’s hand. Her skin was soft, not papery as I had expected. I stroked my fingertips down over the fine boned hand, until they bumped against the heavy emerald ring. The cold jewel drew me back to reality. I pulled away, disconnecting myself from the lady.
“I can’t believe you did that,” Jonathan’s voice forced me to turn. He stood against the wall, a pale beam of flashlight fixed on his face. His chest expanded rapidly with heavy breaths. His eyes were filled with silent confusion, as though he’d never seen me before. Had I changed so much in a few brief minutes. Another man stood aiming the light at him, and looking in my direction. Had he been standing there watching me? I couldn’t believe I hadn’t heard him.
“Who are you?” I demanded of the man with the flashlight.
He flicked the beam onto his own face, making a mask of mock horror.
“Welcome to the tour. You’ve just touched a four hundred year old mummy. Now come, there’s a lot more to see.” The tour guide wandered off, a small herd of tourists following him.
Now I don’t know about you, but that was my best vampire experience ever, or close enough to it!
ABOUT LAUREN:
Lauren Smith is an attorney by day, author by night, who pens adventurous and edgy romance stories by the light of her smart phone flashlight app. She’s a native Oklahoman who lives with her three pets: a feisty chinchilla, sophisticated cat and dapper little schnauzer. She’s won multiple awards in several romance subgenres including being an Amazon.com Breakthrough Novel Award Quarter-Finalist and a Semi-Finalist for the Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley Award.
FAVORITE QUOTE:
LATEST RELEASE:
The Gilded Cage, Surrender Series #2:
Passion that takes no prisoners, and love that tests the limits of ecstasy . . .
Fenn Lockwood comes alive in the shadows. Though he might have physically survived the kidnapping that stole his childhood, the trauma and pain he lived through have marked him forever. Now the only place where Fenn can be himself is within the walls of his private BDSM world—a place of erotic obsession, where desire isn’t just captured . . . it’s bound.
Hayden Thorne knows that behind Fenn’s hardened exterior is a man worth fighting for. Yet to save him from the past that still haunts him, Hayden will have to abandon every inhibition she’s ever had and venture into Fenn’s intoxicatingly sensual world. Each tantalizing second she spends in Fenn’s searing embrace is more delicious than the last and soon Hayden begins to think that she may never want to leave such torturous bliss . . .
September 11, 2015
Rebecca Here…and I’m Part of a Soap Opera
Several months ago, my phone rang, and it was Julie Kenner on the other end of the line. She and Dee Davis had created this awesome soap opera, and they were having authors write different episodes in novella form. She asked if I was interested, and I said DEFINITELY. I mean, how fun is that?
The setting is Storm, Texas…and we have scandal, love, sex, secrets, good girls, bad boys…you name it, and it’s in here. The first episode was written by Julie, and it will release on the 24th. Then each episode will release a week apart until the finale…and then we’re on to Season Two. I wrote episode 6, which is called Take the Storm. All of the episodes are available for preorder, and the links are at the bottom of this post.
Welcome to Storm, Texas, where passion runs hot, desire runs deep, and secrets have the power to destroy…
Nestled among rolling hills and painted with vibrant wildflowers, the bucolic town of Storm, Texas, seems like nothing short of perfection.
But there are secrets beneath the facade. Dark secrets. Powerful secrets. The kind that can destroy lives and tear families apart. The kind that can cut through a town like a tempest, leaving jealousy and destruction in its wake, along with shattered hopes and broken dreams. All it takes is one little thing to shatter that polish.
Reading like an on-going drama in the tradition of classic day and night-time soap operas like Dallas, Dynasty, and All My Children, Rising Storm is full of scandal, deceit, romance, passion, and secrets.
With 1001 Dark Nights as the “producer,” Julie Kenner and Dee Davis use a television model with each week building on the last to create a storyline that fulfills the promise of a drama-filled soap opera. Joining Kenner and Davis in the “writer’s room” is an incredible group of New York Times bestselling authors such as Lexi Blake, Elisabeth Naughton, Jennifer Probst, Larissa Ione, Rebecca Zanetti and Lisa Mondello who have brought their vision of Storm to life.
A serial soap opera containing eight episodes in season one, the season premiere of Rising Storm, TEMPEST RISING, debuts September 24th with each subsequent episode releasing consecutively this fall.
So get ready. The storm is coming.
Experience Rising Storm Here…Rising Storm Episode 1 (Sept. 24): Julie Kenner’s Tempest Rising Amazon ** iBooks ** GooglePlay
Rising Storm Episode 2 (Oct. 1): Lexi Blake’s White Lightning Amazon ** iBooks ** GooglePlay
Rising Storm Episode 3 (Oct. 8): Elisabeth Naughton’s Crosswinds Amazon ** iBooks ** GooglePlay
Rising Storm Episode 4 (Oct. 15): Jennifer Probst’s Dance in the Wind Amazon ** iBooks ** GooglePlay
Rising Storm Episode 5 (Oct. 22): Larissa Ione’s Calm Before the Storm Amazon ** iBooks ** GooglePlay
Rising Storm Episode 6 (Oct. 29): Rebecca Zanetti’s Take the Storm Amazon ** iBooks ** GooglePlay
Rising Storm Episode 7 (Nov. 5): Lisa Mondello’s Weather the Storm Amazon ** iBooks ** GooglePlay
Rising Storm Episode 8 (Nov. 12): Dee Davis’s Thunder Rolls Amazon ** iBooks ** GooglePlay
September 10, 2015
Playtime with Kathy Lyons and Jade Lee…and Unicorns!
Hi all! I’m Charly, Rebecca’s assistant. We thought it’d be fun to do a ‘Romance: The Good, the Bad, and the Disastrous’ theme with guest bloggers throughout the summer months. Every Monday and Thursday, we’ll have a guest blogger talk about fun stuff like horrible dates, good dates, etc. Some bloggers will have a contest, and some won’t – it’s totally up to them. If there is a contest, I’ll randomly draw a winner from the post comments, send the winner’s email address to the guest blogger, and they’ll take it from there. Rebecca will jump in and blog when she can. For now, enjoy as we play!
In the middle of plotting a new book, I get a reminder about doing this blog. It’s a good thing because I don’t remember to put on shoes without a reminder which makes it painful to go out for a morning jog. That must be why I don’t jog.
Anyway, I’m skimming through the reminder email and I come across this at the bottom. “Weird legal disclaimer: We reserve the right to refuse any blog for any reason unless it’s about unicorns. Unicorns always trump.”
Well, if you know anything about me, it’s that I can’t resist a challenge even when it’s not issued as a challenge. Also, you’ll know that my blog posts are often in a multiple choice format and that I’m a Taurus who loves cats. (I figured I’d get any random animal connections right out there in front.) So…multiple choice format.
Guess what my reaction to the trumping unicorns:
A. An image of Donald Trump on a horse’s body. Or was than an ass’s body?
B. Maybe she meant trumpeting unicorns. That’s a much nicer image, isn’t it?
C. Damon Suede’s fav tee shirt. I just lost an hour looking for a picture of it and failed. It shows a unicorn pooping marshmallows.
D. I shouldn’t write about unicorns. Somebody has to have already done it.
Answer: C – for some reason, Damon Suede comes to my mind whenever I think of unicorns. He just has that effect on me. For those who don’t know him, run right now and pick up his book Hot Head. It’s awesome. As for the other options, I’m throwing in pictures of unicorns because I can. I’m not going to attempt A. And I’m still terrified about D. Really, has anyone done this before? Gabbed about unicorns? No, don’t tell me. I like thinking I’m unique.
So beyond gabbing about unicorns, I was told to share something about myself. Okay. I’m 52 years old and I’ve decided to go back to doing yoga. Ages ago, I used it to rehab my knees and even taught classes. These days…not so much. Here are three pictures. Guess which pose I’m attempting.
A. Middle aged woman unsuccessfully tying herself into a knot pose.
B. Unicorn pose. (I had to put that in so they don’t delete this part of the blog)
C. Savahannsurikamitaawanki pose
D. The easy version of pigeon pose
Answer: D – Well, it could have been any of those. And yes, I made up C as a random collection of letters but I did especially love that the last bit is pronounced: a wonky pose. There is no unicorn yoga pose as far as I’m aware, though someone should make that up right now. Maybe Damon will. And yes, pigeon pose really does feel like I’m trying to tie myself into a knot. By the way, pigeon is really important for those people with sciatic pain. Which I do have and someday, if I ever get into the correct position, it may help alleviate that pain. (Honest aside: it already has helped and so I persevere. Also, I can do yoga barefoot so no problem if I forget to wear shoes.)
ABOUT JADE:
Kathy Lyons is the fun, contemporary side of USA Today Bestselling author Jade Lee. She loves sassy romance with lots of laughter and sex. Spice is the variety of life, right? Okay, so maybe two kids, two cats, two pennames, and writing over 50 books has messed with her mind, but she still keeps having fun. Check her out at www.KathyLyons.com Or hang out with her sexy historical half, Jade Lee. Titled heroes with dark secrets are Jade’s passion. Especially when they fall for women who add more than just spice to their lives. Find her at www.JadeLeeAuthor.com. Facebook: JadeLeeBooks Twitter: @JadeLeeAuthor
LATEST RELEASES:
50 WAYS TO RUIN A RAKE by Jade Lee – May 2015:
Mellie has a plan
Mellie Smithson is trapped in the country with no suitors and no prospects on the horizon except, perhaps, the exasperating—although admittedly handsome—guest of her father. She’s looking for any excuse to go to London to meet more eligible men.
Trevor has a problem
Trevor Anaedsley’s grandfather has cut off his funds until such time as he gets engaged. Trevor escapes to the country—ostensibly to visit his old tutor Mr. Smithson but actually to duck his creditors—where he meets Smithson’s lovely daughter Mellie. The obvious solution is suddenly before him—but the lady has ideas of her own, and Trevor’s going to have to measure up…
THE PLAYER NEXT DOOR by Kathy Lyons July 2015
An unexpected catch…
NBA star Mike Giamaria doesn’t mix basketball with love. Ever. Then Mike meets Tori Williams, his cute, quirky new neighbor who seems hell bent on refurbishing her death trap of a house on her own. When she falls from her roof and into his arms, Mike knows he’s just caught a whole heap of trouble.
Trouble sums up Tori’s life. Despite her academic success, no one believes she can take care of herself-not her family, not her ex-boyfriend. She’s determined to live her life on her own terms, and if that includes a hot summer fling with the super-sexy athlete next door, so much the better.
But when Tori’s around, Mike can’t keep his mind on basketball. He wants…more. And to his horror, not just more time on the court. When training starts, it’s game over-it hasto be-unless Tori can convince Mike that love doesn’t belong on the sidelines.
GIVEAWAY:
So now it’s your turn. Tell me something—anything—about yourself. Feel free to talk about unicorns. And one lucky commenter will win an e-copy of either 50 WAYS TO RUIN A RAKE by Jade Lee or THE PLAYER NEXT DOOR by Kathy Lyons.
