Liv Rancourt's Blog, page 13

Operation One Night Stand by Christine Hughes

Today's guest post is from my friend Christine Hughes. I've known Christine since our Black Opal Books days, and I'm tremendously excited to play hostess for her new release. Operation One Night Stand looks like the perfect summer read, and Christine wrote a fab post to tell you all about it. AND there's a couple giveaways at the end! Check it out!


That’s What She Said
Hey! So excited to be a part of this blog and so thankful they invited me to hang for the day. I honestly can’t wait for you all to meet Caroline, Melody and Sarah in Operation One Night Stand. I had such a blast writing this book and I think one of the reasons is that I finally removed all pretense of “voice” and decided to finally write how I actually talk. And that’s kind of like a truck driver. A girl truck driver.  Who inhales her morning coffee, slips on her stilettos to flip her man’s pancakes and still manages to get in a quickie before she heads out to take over the world. 

I am sure you’ve all sent the emergence of female protagonists who don’t take shit. The brave woman who realizes her orgasms are definitely way more important than whether the guy we just met shoots his load. And yes. We just met him. And no, we are not sluts. We are women. Women who like sex. Women who have no problem correcting their man’s oral technique. We know if we don’t tell him, the poor schlub could keep doing it the wrong way. 

We drink. Sometimes cocktails. Sometimes wine. Sometimes beer. We like to say fuck. A lot. Fuckety fuck fuck. And we fucking like it. We threw out the soap our mother used to wash our mouths out long ago. We raise our middle finger to those who fuck with our friends. To those who fuck with our families. To those who fuck with us. 

We are am-bitch-ous. We embrace the need to step on a few toes. We know you collect more flies with honey and our ear-to-ear smiles are in no short supply. We love alone time. We love girl time. We love the moment we first make eye contact with that hot guy at the bar, the bookstore, and the grocery store. We love the first touch, the first kiss, the phone call to our girlfriends the next morning reliving each moment of the night before and relishing in the blow by blow – every possible pun intended.

Operation One Night Stand is all that. A glimpse of that. An over-poured wine glass full of that. I hope you like it. I hope you love it and I hope you share it with your besties.


Blurb
IT'S TIME TO CHANGE HER SEXUAL KARMA

Caroline Frost had it all-until her boyfriend banged the superskank intern, and poof! Caroline's happy little bubble disappeared. Now it's been six weeks of weeping, a mountain of ice cream, and a permanent buttprint on the couch. Enough is enough. She and her ladybits need an intervention-now.

Enter Operation: One Night Stand: Find a man who is hotness personified and have some much-needed sexy time. The only problem is that Caroline is torn between a flirtatious, well-built guy and the ridiculously hot bartender serving her shots. This was supposed to be all fun and no games, but like the perfect scotch on the rocks, no good fling finishes without a twist . . .



Buy LinksAmazon        -       Barnes and Noble       -        Goodreads






Bio
Christine Hughes is a former middle school English teacher from New Jersey. Her first novel Torn, a YA paranormal, was named a 2012 Hollywood Book Festival Finalist and a 2012 RONE Awards finalist and has been released by Crushing Hearts and Black Butterfly Publishing, as has its sequel, Darkness Betrayed. Her stand-alone NA romance, Three Days of Rain, was a finalist at the 2013 Paris Book Festival and also has a home with CHBB.

Contact Christine on her website, Facebook, or Twitter.



Giveaways
This one's for $25 Amazon + $25 Starbucks gift cards.. a Rafflecopter giveaway And this one's for a 5-book romance novel grab bag... a Rafflecopter giveaway

Music Music Music!

The other day my friend Ellen made a blog post about a band she listened to in college and the power of one song to take you back in time. (Jump HERE to check out her post.) Then yesterday my friend Janice made a post over on RelentlessWriters about how music can inspire your writing. (Jump HERE for that one.)

I figure since things happen in threes -  and I missed my Monday post because I couldn't come up with anything  - I'll finish the set with a post about how I tend to link specific songs to different writing projects.





I can't say that every novel or short story I've written has a song attached to it. Some draw more from genres of music, and for some I just rely on my trusty Alt-Country Pandora station to keep me motivated. But sometimes the theme song just jumps right out at me...

Take my novella A Vampire's Deadly Delight. The story is basically a Buffy/Spiderman mash-up with some funny bits and a happy ending. The working title was inspired by this Spin Doctors song, which captures the main idea - a heroine with a powerful secret - along with the not-taking-itself-too-seriously vibe.





Want another example? My novel Forever and Ever, Amen started life as Only the Lonely, inspired by The Motel's song.

 

'80s music is featured in the story and this song in particular captures the story's melancholy vibe. Forever and Ever, Amen was recently picked up by AmazonEncore, and will be available 6/9/15 - but you can preorder it now. You know. If you want.

My novel Hell...The Story was a quarterfinalist in last year's Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award. It doesn't have a contract - yet - but when it's finally released, I swear I'm going to make a promo video using this Squirrel Nut Zippers song...

 


If there's a theme song for Aqua Follies, my '50s m/m romance currently out on submission, it's Chet Baker's version of My Funny Valentine. Sad and sweet, it captures the undercurrent of sorrow that goes along with telling a story about gay men in the 1950s.


 

And finally, I'm almost afraid to share this song, because I CAN'T GET IT OUT OF MY HEAD! Adam Lambert's Better Than I Know Myself is the theme for my current WIP, Gregory and Jack. It's a contemporary m/m romance about a couple of stubborn guys who are better together than they ever were apart - if they could just figure it out.


 

So there you have it. The soundtrack to my head. I hope you enjoyed the journey...

Peace,
Liv

Do you make strong connections between books and music? If you want, share an example or two in the comments.

Friday Fiction - The Ring Toss Pt. 3

A last-minute change lands Mack in a long white dress, but can she commit?We're already on week 3 of The Ring Toss. If this is your first time here, you can catch up on Part 1 and Part 2 if you want. But come back, because Mack's got all kinds of trouble this week. 

Mack's been cast to play a bridesmaid in an equity-waiver production of "Something Borrowed, Something Blue", but at the last minute she's upgraded to the role of Brittney, The Bride. It's a tough gig for a woman with a wedding phobia, especially since her boyfriend Joe's not around to talk her off the ledge. Here, the maid of honor - played by Joe's ex-fiancé (which doesn't complicate things AT All) - does her best to manage after Brittney has a near-kiss experience with someone besides the groom...Also, I'm putting the program in to help clarify the names a bit...


The Play – Something Borrowed, Something Blue: A Bachelorette’s Adventure

Director: Dusty SquiresAssistant to the Director: Donald Loudemilk

Cast:Brittney (the bride): Mackenzie ReedMara (the maid of honor): Geneva LouiseKenley (the bride’s sister): Dusty SquiresCaitlyn (the bridesmaid): Cheyenne MillerSalvatore (the stripper): Julio LorenzePete (the groom): Julio Lorenze

I inhaled, letting the breath swirl deep down in my belly, and tried to pull together some ideas for who I thought the character of Brittney should be. In my mind I was outside, leaning against the wall of a nightclub with tears running down my face. Brittney, the bride, was freaking out and her maid of honor, Mara, was trying to talk her down from the ledge. I had to think both Geneva and I got the irony of the situation. We didn't have time to dwell on it, though, because we were supposed to speak the lines like they just popped into our heads.

“Hey, Britt, honey. Don’t cry.”

“I can’t believe I just…” Funny, once I was in the moment, it was easy to feel all choked-up.

“You didn’t really do anything.” Mara leaned forward and laid a hand on my shoulder. Her sincerity  hinted at how I should respond.

I  rubbed the back of her hand with my fingertips. “I should have stayed home.”

“Um, bachelorette party? Wouldn’t have worked as well without you.”

“I’m not supposed to be messing around right before I get married. “

Mara laughed. “You were just having a little fun, is all.”

“Fun.” I pushed her hand off my shoulder and rolled my eyes.

“Hey, no blood, no foul.” Mara grinned, but her eyes said she really wanted to tell me to grow up. She was awfully convincing.

“I just…you know me and commitment.”

Mara laughed again. “Never has been one of your strengths.”

“Pete’s different, you know? I do love him, and the idea of a wedding sounded okay from a distance…”

“From a distance,” she said, mimicking my tone.

“Hey, you're not married yet. Don't make fun of me.”

She raised her hands, asking for peace. “I'm not making fun.”

“What if we get divorced?” I swear my voice cracked on its own.

“Well, you’ll pay a lawyer a lot of money and you’ll probably cry, and after that your life will go on.”

I crossed my arms. “Sounds easy when you say it.”

“Divorce isn’t easy, marriage isn’t easy, hell, staying single isn’t easy either. There is no easy.”

“If I really wanted to back out, could I?”

“Brittney!” Mara sighed.”Do you really want to?”

“Yeah.”

 Her tight smile and the skepticism in her eyes dared me to tell the truth.“You're right, I don’t.”

“Okay.” Mara reached over to brush a strand of hair back from my face.

“I’m an idiot.”

“Sure, Bridezilla, whatever you say.”



Geneva and I might have been perched on either side of a canyon only eighteen inches wide. I was tempted to reach across it. The moment passed, and we gazed off in opposite directions. Geneva’s face was likely a mirror of my own—a healthy dose of embarrassment spiked with jealousy and wrapped up in a little relief. We’d made it through our big scene, despite the fact I’d started out with my foot in my mouth. Good for us.

I identified way too easily with Brittney’s fear. The trick to making the dialogue convincing was a complete belief in what I was saying. I had the earlier lines down cold, but Brittney’s change of heart at the end was harder to sell.

Cheyenne had come back to watch the end of the scene. “Dusty wants us ready to go in ten minutes.”

I sat up straighter, ready to end the awkward moment. “So Candi wore the black strapless thing for the party scenes, right?”

“Here.” Cheyenne tossed her coral leather dress over her shoulder and pawed through the rack of clothes until she found the dress I’d be wearing. It was made from the kind of satin that has waves running through it and was about three inches shorter than I'd ever wear off-stage.

Candi and I are both long-legged brunettes, except years of dance training made her willowy while on me the same dimensions come out lanky. She’s a couple years younger than me, which was one of the reasons she got the part of Brittney, the bride, while I had been cast as Kenley, the older sister. Neither of us possessed the right curves to do the dress justice.

I shed my cotton skirt and T-shirts, slipping the dress over my head and turning so Cheyenne could zip up the back. When she was done, I grabbed a big pinch of the top edge of the fabric, hoisting it farther up over my boobs. I wondered how many times I’d have to yank it back up before changing into my other costume—the dreaded wedding dress.

We were all more-or-less ready when Dusty walked in. With him was Donald, his right-hand man. Donald is a balding redheaded elf of a guy who always acts as stage manager for Dusty’s productions. Some of us were suspicious as to the full extent of their relationship. Oh well. In this live-and-let-live world it really wasn’t an issue, though Cheyenne might disagree. Dusty was okay, and Donald was going to be part of his entourage for a lot longer than Cheyenne ever would.

Dusty was in costume to play Kenley, the bride’s older sister, which meant he wore a dark, curly wig and heavy, black eyeliner. He had on my black jeans and a form-fitting sparkly gold top—along with some tasteful figure enhancement. It was strange to see Kenley’s black jeans on someone else. They were only a little baggy through the hips, which spoke more about my figure than Dusty’s. As a look, though, he had it going on.

After comparing notes with Donald, Dusty went around the room, checking in with each of us. It felt a little strange to be getting instructions from someone dressed like a tarted-up party-girl.

When it was my turn, his gaze was sharp. “Mack, can you give me a little bit more hootchie-mama? Maybe in the hair or something?”  

I bent from the waist and scrunched my fingers through my hair, then hit it with the hairspray on the way back up. Instant volume. Cheyenne’s lemon-sucking lips showed she didn’t like us messing up her perfectly straight style. She’d have to get over it. I threw a faux-fur stole around my shoulders and was ready.

Dusty had inspected Geneva and Cheyenne and was back to me. “More lips.”

I shrugged and grabbed a tube of Demon Red lipstick.

He nodded. “Has anyone seen Julio?”

Julio had been hired to play the stripper for the bachelorette party. Because he didn’t come on until the second act, he usually arrived right as the curtain went up on act one. Supposedly he has actual experience as a male stripper, and rumor had it a person could find him in the local adult video store too. I’d been tempted to investigate, because regardless of whether or not the rumors were true, Julio is hot. As in handsome. Very handsome. He isn’t too tall, is buff without being freakish about it, and has blue eyes that are sharper than diamonds. If not for Joe, Julio would be a serious temptation. He wore a blond wig to play Salvatore, going natural to play the groom at the end of the show. I liked either version.

“I think he went out to the Murder Mart to get some smokes,” Donald drawled then glanced down at his watch. “I’m going to go flash the lights in the house. Everybody quiet from here on out.”

Donald’s warning meant we had five minutes ‛til curtain. He was dead serious about the quiet thing. The theater is so small the audience would hear it if one of us belched too loud. My phone chirped with a text from Joe.

Break a leg, baby. When I get back we can play doctor.

I went to the mirror and carefully put on one more coat of lipstick, trying not to think about how bad I missed him. In the reflection, I could see Geneva, coolly sophisticated in a blue-and-green watercolor silk dress. Cheyenne had amped up her make-up too, ending as a harder, older version of the kid from Nebraska. Dusty slipped on a pair of high-heeled pumps and sauntered around the room, giving us each a fist bump. It was showtime.

It's showtime! You'll have to come back next week to see how things go...Can Mack really wear the long white dress, or will it make her break out in a rash?

The Hookup Hoax by Heather Thurmeier

The perfect guy. The perfect girl. The perfect lie.
Excited to have my friend Heather Thurmeier back on the blog today, celebrating the release of her newest, The Hookup Hoax. Heather's stories capture real life - or the real life we all wish we had - and I'm always happy when she comes out with something new. Check it out...
Blurb
Sawyer Sterling needs a girlfriend. With the family cabin up for grabs, he's desperate to prove that he could be the guy to “pass it on.” Of course, Sawyer also has a tendency to treat relationships like a contagious stomach flu that should be avoided at all costs. Now he needs a girlfriend-for-hire. Someone he can trust. Someone he could never, ever fall for...
Someone like his best friend's sister.
Sawyer's offer is exactly what Olivia Morgan needs. After traveling around the world for the last five years, the promise of a job and free accommodations is heaven. And sure, maybe Sawyer's a super-hot, charming guy with dimples made for kissing, but he’s not willing to be the guy—or relationship—she needs.
ABuy Links
Amazon   -   B&N   -   Kobo   -   iTunes

Excerpt
Turning her back to Sawyer, she opened the cabinet and reached up to the middle shelf. She never really thought of herself as short until she had to perch on the balls of her feet to reach something, feeling the stretch through her entire body, like a yoga instructor. Just as her hand circled the glass, a cool breeze blew across her right butt cheek.
Her exposed right butt cheek.
Why did I wear a thong today? Couldn’t I take two seconds to put on pants?
Quickly, she lowered her arm. As she did, the soft cotton of her nightshirt slid back over her rear, covering her. She swallowed hard.
Did he see? Please be looking anywhere else...
She turned, gripping her newly acquired glass.
His gaze hit her right around the tops of her thighs then slowly traveled up the length of her body before settling on her eyes. Every nerve ending came to life under his scrutiny. His jaw muscle bulged as if he was clenching his teeth.
Oh, he saw. Everything.
“I...” she said, then closed her eyes while trying to think of something appropriate to say. Sorry I just flashed you my ass? Thongs, huh? Can’t depend on them for coverage!
She bit her lower lip and forced her eyes open. She was a big girl. Surely she could face a minor awkward moment head on. Olivia met his gaze while pulling a quivering breath into her tight lungs.“I...”
“I’m going to bed,” he said quickly, holding her gaze. His eyes sparkled in the bright kitchen lights, like the sun reflecting off the ocean. “I have an early meeting. Tomorrow, I’ll get everything sorted out for your new job and bring home any paperwork you need to fill out. You can start first thing next week, okay?” He stared at her for a moment before pushing off the counter and walking out of the room with what she thought was a sigh.
Could’ve been a quiet groan.
“Thank you,” she called weakly after him, thrilled for the change in topic, and for his chivalrous behavior concerning her wardrobe malfunction... until she realized that not only had her platonic, fake-boyfriend and roommate just seen her naked ass cheek—so had her new boss.

BioHeather Thurmeier is a lover of strawberry margaritas, a hater of spiders and a reality TV junkie. Born and raised in the Canadian prairies, she now lives in New York with her husband and kids where she’s become some kind of odd Canuck-Yankee hybrid. When she's not busy taking care of the kids and pets, Heather’s writing her next romance, which will probably be filled with sassy heroines, sexy heroes that make your heart pound, laugh out loud moments and always a happily ever after. She loves to hear from readers on social media and her website at heatherthurmeier.com!
Author Email:  hthurmeier@gmail.comAuthor Website:  heatherthurmeier.comAuthor Twitter:  https://twitter.com/hthurmeierAuthor Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/HeatherThurmeierAuthorNewsletter:  https://madmimi.com/signups/91094/join

Crossing Lines by Elley Arden

Starting Monday off with a fantastic new release from my buddy Elley Arden. Crossing Lines is book 2 in her Cleveland Clash series - Book one is Running Interference - and you gotta love stories about women who play football! (Also, read the excerpt, because I'm still snickering over the last line...I'm such a juvenile...)

Blurb:
Party girl and standout wide receiver Jillian Bell sees no problem with her "no rules" lifestyle as long as she's scoring on the field. But her sexy new offensive coordinator doesn't see it that way.Former marine turned successful restaurateur Carter Howl agreed to whip his father's undisciplined women's full-tackle football team into shape out of guilt. But the job comes with more trouble than he bargained for thanks to one spitfire of a wide receiver who challenges his every play.When Jillian's little sister begs her to come back to their small-minded hometown and be on her best behavior at a family event, she unexpectedly enlists prim and proper Carter to help her keep her cool. But two days and one pretend engagement later, this straight-laced former soldier is doing all sorts of things he normally wouldn't. Is the wrong girl the right girl for him?Sensuality Level: Sensual
Crossing Lines Buy LinksAmazon   -    B&N   -   iBooks   -   Google Play

Excerpt
Coach Howl replaced Coach Malloy with his son!

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Jillian said a little too loudly, then grabbed her sore neck and rubbed. What was that bit about the apple not falling far from the tree? If that was true, then their passing game was doomed.

The younger Coach Howl looked at her, and—ooh!—those magic eyes produced a heat that pierced through her to the center of her neck pain, until she couldn’t even feel her toes.

I’m cured, she thought, followed by, maybe he won’t be so bad. In fact, maybe he wasn’t anything like his father at all. Maybe he was the black sheep in his family—just like she was.

He looked away, patted his father on the shoulder, and then stepped up to address the team. “Ladies, I’m honored to be here,” he said. “Rather than bore you with details about my football background, let me just say that I have plenty of experience with both the sport and the discipline needed to get the job done. Winning isn’t rocket science. The team that wins works harder and longer than the losing team, and the team that wins knows how to stay out of trouble—on and off the field.”

Why the hell was he looking at her?

She rolled her eyes. He narrowed his.

“You were late,” he said.

She looked behind her, knowing full well he was talking to her. “Barely late.”

At her response, he stood straighter and narrowed his eyes until they were slits. “Late is late, and it’s not tolerated on this field.” He made a whirling signal with his finger. “Laps ... until I tell you to stop.”

He had to be kidding. She was the best player on this team. She’d scored every single one of the twenty-one points they’d scored so far this season.

She crossed her arms and looked at Coach Howl. He was no help. The faintest smile curved his lips.
“I miss Coach Malloy already!” she yelled as she threw her helmet to the sidelines and started jogging around the track.

By the time Thor deigned to release her from lap running, stretching was over and her mood was foul. She got in line and readied to run routes.

“Partying got the best of you this weekend, didn’t it?” MJ asked.

“Never.” They just had a new OC with a stick up his ass. Or a hammer. She looked at him and snickered.

He paced the sidelines, watching the team’s every move, looking way too serious for his own good. He’s going to have a heart attack, she thought. Which wouldn’t be terrible. At least then he couldn’t coach anymore.

He stopped pacing and stood with his feet shoulder width apart, a position that showed off strong thigh muscles beneath his thin athletic pants. She bet he had a six-pack. What a shame. God had formed a whole lot of fine man around one big asshole.

Bio



Elley Arden is a born and bred Pennsylvanian who has lived as far west as Utah and as far north as Wisconsin. She drinks wine like it’s water (a slight exaggeration), prefers a night at the ballpark to a night on the town, and believes almond English toffee is the key to happiness.

Elley has been reading romance novels since she was a sixteen-year-old babysitter, sneaking Judith McNaught and Danielle Steele novels off the bookshelves of the women who employed her. To say she’d been sheltered up to that point is an understatement. No one had ever told her women could live bold, love freely, and have sex lives that were exciting and fulfilling. (They don’t teach these things in Catholic school!) Now that she knows, she’s happy to spread the word. The women she writes about may be fictional, but the success, respect, and love they find on the page is a universal right for women everywhere.

Elley writes books with charming characters, emotional stories, and sexy romance. Visit The Bookshelf for a detailed listing.

You can connect with Elley on her website, Facebook, or Twitter.

Friday Fiction - The Ring Toss Pt. 2

A last-minute change lands Mack in a long white dress, but can she commit?
So last week I posted the first installment of The Ring Toss, a short story sequel to my holiday story The Santa Drag. Jump HERE if you want to check out Part 1.

This time, Mack's been cast to play a bridesmaid in an equity-waiver production of "Something Borrowed, Something Blue", though the play's director wants to talk to her. Sorta like being called to the principle's office, but not as relaxing...



Dusty Squires, our director, had commandeered the only room with a window. It was a narrow slice of sunshine set high in the wall, an opening that would let in all the smog anyone could want. The room itself was smaller than most of the others, with barely enough space for a computer desk and a rolling rack for costumes. Dusty directed plays at the Houstonian a couple times a year and had turned the room into his space.

I put a few solid raps on the door before I pushed it open, knowing Cheyenne had headed in this direction. She and Dusty were a very affectionate couple and I so didn’t want to catch the two of them between “costume changes.”

“Hi-ho,” a deep baritone voice called in response to my knock.

I pushed the door open. “You beckoned, oh fearless leader?”

Dusty stood behind his desk, his precision haircut just barely flecked with grey. Between his voice and the way he carried himself, I half expected him to be wearing a beret and a cashmere scarf wrapped around his neck, even though eighty degrees and sunshine would discourage both of those things. Cheyenne was across the room, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed.

“Well if it isn’t the girl of the hour,” Dusty said. I heard Cheyenne tsk as she re-crossed her arms.

“What’d I do now?” I glanced from him to Cheyenne and back. She didn’t look nearly as sprightly as she had when we’d met up at the back door. Something was wrong. I shook my head, indicating he should go on.

“Candi’s flying out in the morning to shoot a series of Coke commercials up in the Bay area.”

“That’s fabulous,” I said, even as my mind was putting the pieces together. “We open tomorrow.”

“Yeah, so, like, I figure you can take over the role of Brittney.” He only sounded a little desperate.

“The bride? I…um…I guess.”

“I’ve got the part memorized already,” Cheyenne blurted.

Okay, issue identified.

“Cheyenne, sugar, the costumes won’t fit and, well, I want Mackenzie to do it.” So there was a downside to dating someone in the cast. Dusty’s smile was a mix of chagrin and embarrassment. This dirty old man wasn’t going to get any sweet, young loving tonight.

“I can manage it,” I said, bringing them back from the brink of war. “You want me in all of Candi’s costumes?” I sure hoped not, because that meant wearing a trashy little dress for the party scenes and a wedding gown at the end.

Dusty showed me his inner hard-ass. “Yeah, because I’m going to play Kenley so I’ll need your jeans and things.”

I looked away so he wouldn’t see how fast my eyes were rolling.

“I’ve done drag before, Mackie, and God knows I remember your lines better than you do.”He had me there. “I guess, sure. I’ll do my hair quick and look over the script.”

“I can do your hair, Mackie.” Cheyenne squared her shoulders and did her best to act like there was nothing bothering her. Kudos to her for that.

“Cheyenne.” Dusty would die before he’d grovel, but something in his voice came close. I made for the door, figuring Cheyenne wasn’t going to make things easy for him. I didn’t want to get in the middle if I could help it.

“Great,” I said, and gave her a half-smile. If she could play nice, so could I.

She crossed the room in about three strides. “Worked as a hair stylist back home. We’ll get you fixed up in no time.”

Dusty smiled at me, trying to share his bulletproof confidence as I followed Cheyenne out of the room. He was right about one thing. My raspy, lady-tenor voice sounded masculine enough no one was likely to notice the difference with him playing Kenley.

“Someone should pinch his head off and use it for bait,” Cheyenne whispered as we walked up the hall.

I totally knew how she felt.



An hour later I was perched on a folding chair in front of the big mirror in the dressing room. Cheyenne was behind me, making my hair a whole lot straighter than God had ever intended. She was also pulling just hard enough I could tell she was still pissed Dusty had asked me to play Brittney. I wanted to sympathize, but it was hard when I was worried about losing my hair.

It took some negotiation and a lot of patience to find the right position and hold still. The fan was at the opposite end of the room, too far away to do me much good, and I wasn’t quite sure how I’d avoid sweating off the make-up before I hit the stage.

In between strokes with the flat iron, Cheyenne was feeding me lines. “C’mon Brittney, the limo will be here in a minute.”

With barely a pause, I responded, “I want more champagne. Can we drink champagne in the—” My cell phone chirped and I jumped, blowing my concentration and making her swear. “Joe.”

It’s beer-thirty. Where are you?

I’d never been so happy to see a text message. I ran my fingers quickly over the keys, letting him know about the change in my role. He was in New Orleans filming a zombie-vampire thing, about two weeks into his eight-week shooting schedule. Even with the time difference, he must have knocked off early. He described his role as “second hellspawn on the left.” I scolded him for making fun, because it was a speaking part and he was making decent money. Meanwhile, Miss Lonely Bits—that would be me—was making do with daily text messages and the occasional phone call.

“Type faster. You’ve got a couple more scenes to run.” Cheyenne had found her inner schoolteacher and was coming at me full force.

 She’d see me in the mirror if I rolled my eyes, so I blinked slowly a couple times to get over the temptation. “I totally miss him.”
“Must be living in a state of textpectation.”

I laughed. “What?”

“When you’re expecting a text, it’s texpectation.”

I groaned and she came close to chuckling.

She shifted around to reach the next section of my wavy hair. “Yeah, texting is good for some things, except when you want a little lovin’. Then you need ‘em right up close.” I groaned even louder. “The other night I tried to get him to send me a picture of his…you know…so I wouldn’t forget what it looked like.” I laughed. “He wouldn’t do it.”

Silence. I looked up, but her eyes were stuck on something behind my back. I slowly turned. Geneva stood beside the rolling rack of costumes in the middle of the room. Her normally polished semi-smile looked a little tight, betraying the fact she’d just heard me say I’d wanted her ex-fiancé to text me a picture of his johnson. Timing is everything and all that.

“Hi Geneva,” Cheyenne said, waving the flat iron like an oversized spatula.

Geneva stared at me like I was a bug. “Dusty thought maybe we should run through a couple of scenes.”

I scrambled up from my seat and faced her, hoping the movement would distract her from the burning blush washing up my cheeks. Geneva is gorgeous with high cheekbones and the body of a swimsuit model—which she is. She also has a remote, Mona Lisa quality men can’t get enough of. Joe might be the only guy in history who had broken up with her. Because of me. The thought made my brain hurt. “Are you about finished with me, Cheyenne?”

“You know, I think I could use a pop.” Cheyenne propped the flat iron on the nearest tabletop and zipped out of the room.

Geneva raised an elegant eyebrow and smiled after her. “Does pop refer to something she and Dusty do together?”

I answered with a surprised huff of laughter. “I think she means soda—like, soda pop.”

“I hope so.”

“Nah, she’s not looking for Dusty. She’s pissed at him because he’s got me playing Brittney.”

“Aha. Ambitious little kitten, isn’t she?” Geneva pulled a chair closer to where I had been sitting and opened her script. She was in a turquoise sports bra and a pair of black yoga pants that slid down over her butt like fabric paint.

“She told me once that to save enough money to move out here, she only allowed herself twenty dollars a week for spending money.” I turned my chair to face Geneva’s and sat back down. It was way easier to talk about the other actors than to acknowledge the elephant squatting between the two of us. Geneva had always been nice to me, and in fact she’d married a studio executive a year ago. Guess she figured a guy in a suit would help stabilize her lifestyle. Even though she wasn’t the competition, she still made me uncomfortable. Which made her uncomfortable.

“Came all the way out here to hook up with Dusty Squires.” Geneva shook her head.

“Yeah, well, it’s a mutually beneficial arrangement. He’s helping her make connections and she’s, well, twenty-two.”

“And he’s forty.”

“She’ll have her SAG card in about another minute. It’s kind of surprising he didn’t give her the part.”

Geneva sighed. Getting older in this town sucked. “Okay, what scene do you want to run?”

We smiled at each other without any particular warmth. Truce declared. In all honesty, I knew most of the lines in the play just from having heard them so often. There was only one scene where she and I were the only characters onstage. If things were going to get weird, it would likely happen then.

“Since it’s just the two of us, let’s go to the third act, after Brittney runs out of the nightclub.”

She turned to a page near the end of the script and we got to work.

Isn't it nice how fate is giving Mack the chance to work out her bridal issues? Check back next Friday to see how she's coping...
Happy Weekend!
Liv

KING STUD LIVES!

So Wednesdays I usually make a promo post, but this week's a little different. I'm not promoting someone else's work. I'm celebrating my own! A little over two years ago, I stared a project about a woman who inherits her grandmother's falling-down Craftsman house. She takes a hiatus from life in L.A. and comes home to Seattle with the intent to clean the place up and get it on the market. She doesn't realize how big the project's going to be, and she doesn't expect to fall madly in love.

With her best friend's (much) younger brother.

Oops.

I loved the concept, but once the first rush of words had passed, I had some trouble sticking with it. In order to motivate myself, I made a series of Six Sentence Sunday blog posts (starting HERE) and the warm fuzzy feedback I got on them gave me the push to keep going. I workshopped the story in Margie Lawson's Fab 30 class, and about a year later, the project helped me get me a contract with my agent Margaret Bail.

After several re-writes - and much patience on Margaret's part - she took the novel shopping, and today I'm thrilled to announce that King Stud has found a home with Evernight Publishing! I don't have much in the way of details yet, but I'm excited to be working with Evernight. They have a great reputation for supporting their authors, and their cover art is amazing.

And so....drumroll....I present...

King Stud: An O'Connor Family NovelBlurbDanielle’s got a deadline. She’s got three months to make her Grandmother’s rundown Craftsman house livable. Her game plan is to get in, get grubby, and get back to the job she loves in L.A. She needs help, and a high school friend’s younger brother is a skilled carpenter, so she hires him. It’s hard to ignore the buffed body under Ryan’s paint-splattered sweatshirts and worn jeans, but her friend declares her brother’s off-limits and Danielle doesn’t want anything to distract her from getting back to her real life. 

Ryan doesn’t have the cleanest record, either. His recently ex-ed girlfriend wants him back, and he has a temper, though he’s trying hard to lose the reputation for brawling. He’s also had a crush on Danielle since he was a kid. Despite their nine-year age difference, she triggers something deep, something he knows is worth pursuing.

It doesn’t take long before the paint under Danielle’s fingernails starts feeling more natural than the L.A. sunshine, and she faces a tough decision. She’ll have to navigate the professional drama, the plumbing disasters, and the cranky best friend to find something she hasn’t had before: a real home, and a man who loves her.


As soon as I know more - like the cover reveal and release dates - I'll be sure to spread the word. In the meantime, thank you to Margaret for all your input and for getting the deal, thank you to Rhay & Amanda & Michele & Ellen & Debbie & Synithia & all the Fab30 students for beta reading - and I might have forgotten someone and if so I'm sorry!!

You can probably tell from the title that this is the first in a series, which means I gotta get busy. Thanks very much for all the support. I'm so looking forward to having King Stud out in the world!

Cheers!
Liv

The Setting Can Screw You: A Cautionary Tale

So last week I dug down into my TBR pile and found a popular book by one of the big names in m/m romance. I've read and enjoyed several other books by this author and trusted that I'd be in for a few hours of fun.

Sadly by about half-way through, I wanted to bounce my kindle off the floor.





You want to know why?
Because one of the heroes lived in Seattle, and the other worked in Tacoma, and they drove up and down Interstate 5 and never once complained about the traffic. For someone who lives in Seattle, that's sort of like neglecting to mention the rain or the Starbucks on every corner.

In a Seattle Times article last March, a group called the Tom Tom Navigation Company said Seattle had the 5th worst traffic in the country. We were right there behind Los Angeles, New York, San Francisco, and Honolulu. This is not a new problem. We've been in the top ten for the last twenty years at least. 

But seriously, as much driving around as the guys in this book did, most of the action would have had to take place in the FBI agent's SUV, because they would have been spent the whole novel on the freeway.




I don't mean to get ranty about Seattle traffic - although it does suck - but when a character in Tacoma agrees to meet someone in Seattle by 5:30 on a Friday afternoon, their first thought better be "How soon do I have to leave?"  Because if I had to drive those 45 miles, I'd give myself an hour or even ninety minutes. Though I loved the interaction between the characters and thought the plot was clever and suspenseful, in my mind the author missed something pretty basic.

And as a writer, that kind of scares the crap out of me, because you don't know what you don't know.


You know?



Regardless of the setting - or the time period, for that matter - I want to get the details right, to avoid bumping the reader out of the story with something as dumb as a missing traffic jam. Either I limit myself to writing contemporary stories set in Seattle, or I better have some strategies for ensuring my own accuracy.

I dug around to see if I could find information about how to keep from making setting errors, and to a large extent, it's a problem of worldbuilding. 


But Liv! Wait! 
Worldbuilding is for fantasy novels or science fiction, not contemporary settings. Right? 

Apparently not. 

The post Check Your Facts on The Editor's Blog is a great resource for preventing setting errors. It also reads like the mirror image of Patricia C. Wrede's list of worldbuilding questions. Ms. Wrede's list asks, "what kind of animals are in your world?", while the Editor's Blog post asks "are the animals in your story appropriate to the world?" They're coming from different angles to get at the same information.

(Janice Hardy's also got some good information on developing your setting in this Worldbuilding 101 post on the Fiction University blog.) 

When you're working with a contemporary setting, I think the tendency is to assume things are pretty much the same as your own reality. Grinding down to the level of detail suggested in any of the sources I've mentioned would take a whole lot of work, and most of the information you develop would never make it onto the page. Maybe the answer is to streamline some, to tackle the most pertinent bits of information and make sure you get them right.

But how do you decide what's pertinent for a place you've never been to?

ResearchThank God for the internet! More importantly, thank God for GOOGLE! I read as much as I can stand about all aspects of my chosen setting, and will even take screenshots of specific locations from GoogleEarth. I save the links in Evernote, organized by topic, or on the Pinterest board for that story.VisitAll the research in the world can't replace actually standing on the ground. It may not always be economically feasible, but visiting the location of your story is the best way to get the nitty-gritty details that can make a setting pop. Google is very, very good, but it can't replace your own five senses, nor your experience of a place.Beta-readerIf you're serious about writing, you know the value of a good beta reader, but I would argue that if you're going to set a story outside of your own home town, you should try to find a local to read through it. My urban fantasy novel Hell...The Story is set in L.A., and after one of the final editing passes, I sent a copy to my sister who lives there. Her whole assignment was to take a red pen to anything that didn't ring true, and her ideas and suggestions were invaluable.I'm pretty sure I would have had all kinds of helpful suggestions if the author of the traffic-less book had asked me to beta read it. Maybe I should track them down and offer to help with future projects...
My list of suggestions for how to keep the setting real is by no means exhaustive. Do you have any ideas to add?
Cheers!Liv

Friday Fiction - The Ring Toss Pt. 1

So last Christmas I put one of my short stories up on Amazon. The Santa Drag had first appeared in an anthology for Still Moments Publishing, but when they went out of business, I got the rights back. Publishing it on Amazon was a bit of a whim, and I had a lot of fun with the process. At the time, I'd intended to follow up by publishing the sequel, The Ring Toss.


          

In the meantime, I ran my story Aloha, Baby here on the blog in eight installments. And as much fun as I had publishing The Santa Drag, running the story on the blog was more satisfying. Given that, I decided that rather than publish The Ring Toss, I'd start by putting it up here. It's a wedding story, so we're at the right time of year, and it picks up about three years after The Santa Drag ended...

A last-minute change lands Mack in a long white dress, but can she commit?
THE RING TOSS
The Play – Something Borrowed, Something Blue: A Bachelorette’s Adventure

Director: Dusty Squires Assistant to the Director: Donald Loudemilk

Cast: Brittney (the bride): Mackenzie ReedMara (the maid of honor): Geneva Louise Kenley (the bride’s sister): Dusty SquiresCaitlyn (the bridesmaid): Cheyenne MillerSalvatore (the stripper): Julio LorenzePete (the groom): Julio LorenzeSynopsis: Brittney is gearing up for the biggest day of her life with the help of her friends and her older sister. The girls head out for one last, wild night and things get a little out of hand. Will Brittney pass the test and make it to the church on time?

It wasn’t the little Mexican girl’s fault. She just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
I was stopped at a light on the corner of Union and Court Streets in front of Our Lady of Loretto, the big, old Mexican-Catholic church in my neighborhood. The girl and her whole fam-damily crossed the street in front of me. Teased, sprayed, and dressed in a whirlpool of white lace studded with glitter, she held tight to an older guy with a slicked-back ponytail. He looked to be about my age and I guessed he was her father. Three young girls walked behind her, their bright satin dresses ruffled like a bouquet of bougainvillea, flowers so fragile they wouldn’t survive in a vase. A Quinceañera. The girl was fifteen years old and dressed like a bride. I was over twice her age and never had that chance. Seeing her set off a rolling boil in my belly.
It was my own fault, really. Joe had asked. Twice, not counting when we were twenty-two and he begged me to move to L.A. with him. I turned him down that time. When we ran into each other back in Seattle three years ago, I said yes. To moving, not marriage. He asked me to move to L.A. despite the fact that when he kissed me my lips tasted like spirit gum remover from the Santa Claus beard I’d been wearing. He never complained— gotta love a guy who can overlook something like that.
The light turned green and, after waiting for the last of the little bride-lette’s family to move past my car, I headed up the street. I was on my way to the dress rehearsal for A Bachelorette’s Adventure—an equity-waiver production I’d signed on for to fill time while Joe was out of town.
Mackenzie Reed, ironic bridesmaid. It was perfect casting. Sometimes I asked myself why a girl who had the stones to play Santa in a mall was too chicken to be a bride in real life. Wish I had the answer to that one.
I was headed for the Houstonian Theater which is at the end of Theater Row on Santa Monica Boulevard. It isn’t much more than five miles from my house, though the never-ending rush hour turned the drive into a much longer trip. I’d heard a SIG Alert for the one-o-one, which is L.A. speak for “stay off the freeway, fool.” Traffic was still slow. There must have been some unlisted road work happening on my secret back route, so I had plenty of time to bond with my neighbors as we crawled past billboards, strip malls, and palm trees. Driving with the top down on my ancient convertible Peugeot, the early June sun tried to bake away my negativity. Who needs sunscreen?
Parking took so long that if I were a teakettle, the roiling boil in my stomach would have had me squealing higher than a dog whistle. Driving a cool, old car meant sacrifice and my baby wasn’t much for air conditioning. When I finally climbed out, my crinkled cotton skirt was pasted to the backs of my thighs. I peeled it off and settled it over my hips, leaving my layered tank-top/T-shirt combo untucked. The shirts ended about an inch above where the skirt began and that was fine with me. My plain, old belly button was cute, even without a tattoo or piercing.
Despite the traffic and my cranky attitude, I arrived on time. “Equity-waiver” means few seats and no budget. I was getting paid in good karma and didn’t want to blow it by showing up late. Good karma and the chance to be seen by a casting director who might hire me for something that actually paid money.
The theater has a deco-style clay façade fronting a plain brick box, with a parking lot on one side and an alley in the back. I crossed the parking lot in front of the brown-skinned, Betty-Boop-like mural painted on the theater’s wall. Betty’s eyelashes were longer than my arm and she was shilling for Paramount, advertising some new movie that might yet go straight to video. I’d seen her around town a lot, a freaky mélange of street art and advertising which wasn’t quite as cool as her designers might have hoped.
I was punching in the code to unlock the back door of the theater when Cheyenne came up behind me. She was brand new to L.A., an ex-cheerleader who’d transplanted herself from Chadron, Nebraska. She was also dating Dusty Squires, our play’s director.
“You look a little pickled, Mackie,” she said as I pushed open the door. All the theater people call me Mackie because Joe calls me Mackie. I’d gotten so used to it I forgot to introduce myself to people as Mack.
“Exhaust-fume toxicity.” I held the door for her to come in, and then gave the handle a good tug to get it completely closed.
“Yuck.” She laughed. “See you in the dressing room.”
She headed in the general direction of the director’s office while I went up to the communal dressing room. Cheyenne has the wide, brown eyes and turned-up nose of a kitten. Underneath I could see the bones of the cat she would become after a few more months in Hollyweird had buffed the country off her. She brought out my big-sister instincts. For starters, I wanted to get rid of every pair of little ballerina flats and as many of her prissy, tailored jeans as I could. We’d donate them to the Salvation Army or something and I’d take her shopping for some real clothes. I’m helpful that way.
Backstage, the Houstonian was a warren of small rooms and dim hallways. The white walls had been tarnished by time and use. The hallways were covered with dark-grey carpeting and the rooms had tired, hardwood floors. We had a dressing room staked out and everybody except Dusty shared it. Julio Lorenze, the only man in the cast, didn’t appear ’til the second act so we were usually decent by the time he arrived. Wouldn’t have mattered, though. I’ve been in plays where the costumes were kept in the alley out back.  Semi-public displays of nudity come with the territory.
The dressing room was a windowless rectangle. I knocked once on the door—to be polite—and pushed it open. The door was at one of the short ends of the room and each of the long walls had a mismatched collection of old bookcases and tables pushed up against them. A couple of rolling racks of costumes ran down the center and chairs were set randomly around. The short wall opposite the door was covered with a full-length mirror.
I dropped my bag on the nearest chair and noticed a note pinned to the mirror. Going closer, I saw it was for me.
Mack—come C me—D
I translated it as an invitation to head to the director’s office. I shrugged and did a couple shoulder rolls, trying to expel some of the bubbling tension twisting in my gut, then wasted a little time by checking to make sure my costumes were where I left them. Everything was in the right place so I eyeballed my phone for a text from Joe. Nothing. Bummer.
I gave the shoulders one more twirl. It was time to put on my big-girl panties and go see what Dusty wanted.

Hmm...I wonder what kind of trouble Mack's going to get herself into this time. Check back next week to find out.  
Cheers!
Liv

Shadow Beneath the Sea by Joanna Lloyd

TO COMMEMORATE 100 YEARS SINCE SINKING OF LUSITANIA, SHADOW BENEATH THE SEA IS ONLY 99c.
Today my guest is fellow Crimson Romance author Joanna Lloyd, who's book Shadow Beneath the Sea is on sale this week! 
Blurb
1915: Britain and Germany are at war and the waters off Great Britain have been declared a war zone. In six days the luxury ocean liner, Lusitania, sails from New York to England with 1,959 passengers on board.
The story of the 202nd Atlantic crossing of the luxury liner, Lusitania was one of the great maritime disasters of the last century. The actions of the German U-boat captain, as the great ship cruised the Irish coast, spawned a flood of conspiracy theories, investigations, a court case, hard questions of the British Admiralty, and targeted Captain William Turner as the scapegoat. The whole truth of this disaster was closely guarded to protect the actions or non-actions of the Admiralty. 
However, there sailed on this ship a group of fictional characters whose motives for travel were as varied as their personalities. In the time it took to cross the Atlantic Ocean, in the microcosm of this floating universe, lies and deceit festered, secrets changed lives, money was made and lost and a deep and lasting passion ignited between Lillian Marshall and Edward James. 
Excerpt
A cold chill crept up her spine, and she licked her lips, her mouth suddenly as dry as an empty coal bin. Before she could answer, there was a collective gasp in the room. The colonel had folded his cards and relaxed back into his chair. Walter and Zeke stared, unblinking at each other. 
“Did you hear me, Walt? I am calling you and raising ten thousand dollars.”
Her father pulled out a large handkerchief, patted his throat and put his money on the table. Lillian saw the nervous gesture, but it didn’t match the gleam of excitement in his eyes. “Show your cards, Zeke.”
Edward grabbed her arm. “Tell me, now, Lillian. Quickly, before they end this.” 
Tears welled in her eyes at the lies she was about to utter, but her future depended on this money. “There is nothing to tell, Edward. You have allowed your imagination to get the better of you.” His gray eyes searched her face, begging for the truth, and in that moment she knew she had wronged him as much as he had wronged her. 
Buy Links
Amazon US   -   Amazon UK   -   Amazon AUS



BioJoanna Lloyd was born in Papua New Guinea and educated in Sydney, Australia. With a background in Psychology, she trained as a mediator and conducted Workplace and Family Law mediations for over twenty years. After muscular dystrophy caused her to be wheelchair bound, she transferred her fascination with human behaviour from real people to the written word. She now lives, and writes historical and contemporary fiction, in tropical Far North Queensland, Australia - her version of paradise.
Contact Joanna on her website, blog, Facebook, or Twitter...