Rain Trueax's Blog, page 8

from Bound for the Hills

Usually my excerpts have been from books already published. I am, however, writing on a new one, tentatively due in March, the seventh Arizona historical. Here is a snippet from its rough draft, which means it might change some before it gets to the final stage.

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    With late afternoon, she unpacked her father’s journals, the box of receipts and invoices. She stacked five lined tablets along with pencils and pens with ink. She had not known the journals existed until months after her father had hung himself. Her desire to find a reason for his suicide, the strange certainty that someone had been in their home the day of the funeral, all had led to her searching the house, but only when her summer school classes had ended did she have time to put more into it. A place by the pantry that didn’t look like the wall around it had led to finding a panel of sorts. A fingernail into what only appeared to be a groove in a door frame popped it open.      Inside had been four journals and boxes of billings and business papers. When she opened the journals, she could not make heads nor tails of what they were saying. Her father wrote with a fine hand but the words hadn’t made sense. It didn’t appear to be a foreign language but… Why would he go the trouble of creating a secret cupboard, fill journals with gibberish, and then gather all these papers? Her desire to figure that out as well as a need to get out of San Francisco, to try something different, had led to the abrupt decision to leave town without telling anyone.     She kept thinking her father had a reason for killing himself but what? He had worked for the Hemstreets for many years and seemed happy with what he did. The last few years though she’d been wrapped up in teaching, she’d paid less attention to what must have been his growing depression. Did the evidence he amassed relate to his decision to take his life? She felt tears in her eyes but brushed them away. She’d cried enough over his death. It was time to do something about it, do something with what he’d apparently left in secret knowing only she would find it.      As the sun began to sink in the west, she lit a kerosene lamp, ate a slice of bread with butter and then poured herself a sherry to sit on the porch. A roughly hewn bench was along one side and from it, she could enjoy the changing colors and how they transformed the lake from blue to purple and then a fiery red. Sipping the sherry, she thought about her life and how many changes she had known in her twenty-nine years.  

Bannister's Way

Some books are more fun to write than others. I have to say that my contemporary romantic suspense, Bannister's Way fell into that category. The heroine is a professor, a sculptor, has a home on the Tualatin River, an area I'd love to have had a home, and has all the frustrations common to artists. The hero was a secondary character in Desert Inferno.  The books underlying themes went to art theories, questions of ethics, a mystery, a great villain, several sites in the PNW that I have loved, and a couple who had separated years before but the spark between them had never died. As secondary characters, there were four delightful, old ladies, very different sorts each of them. I have had artists as heroines a time or two and always enjoy the stories when that is the case.

Snippet:

"I'm Dr. Lawrence, but you can call me Raven as that feels like me. You are in Life Drawing 301. If you are in the wrong room, leave now. If you belong here, I want your registration cards. As the basket comes past, put them in it. No chatter now. Listen up. I want to explain to you something about the class you've registered for."  David only half listened as he heard her tell them about the value there was to be had from taking seriously a study of fine art, how throughout the ages great artists have seen the study of the body--the musculature, the bone structure, in short the anatomy--was important to make their work come alive. They must take seriously the study of the nude--   Whoa! What had she just said? Nude! Who said anything about... nude? And then he knew and wished nothing so much as that Vance was nearby where he could get his hands around his throat. A good dodge, a natural way in, his friend had said. Friend, hah! He'd kill him!   He barely heard the rest of Raven's instructions. It was impossible. No way under this earth or above it could he take off his clothes in front of all these people! He looked at the students, at their interested gazes in a new way. They must know he was the model, the guinea pig, the sacrificial lamb, the... No!  He would not strip. It was out of the question. No way could he do it.     Raven's voice broke through his thoughts. "At one time, I wouldn't have had to say what I am going to next, but times have changed and so have people. There will be no commenting about the model, nor any jokes." One of the girls giggled in what to David seemed a nasty way. He stared at her, wondering how such an innocent looking young woman could have such a perverted giggle. He looked back at Raven, who was looking over the students. "You will at no time treat the model with less than respect. You will not touch him. This is a serious class. If you behave as though your time here is a joke or an opportunity for voyeurism, you will be kicked out of the class. If it happens soon enough, you might be able to just drop it. If it’s too late, you will get a failing grade.”     He felt angry at her for the position in which he found himself, then he remembered her uncertainty, the many opportunities she had extended, trying to give him a graceful way out of it. Except he hadn't known what itwas. He remembered her question--are you sure you know what you're doing? His own confident answer--of course.     He stared down at his scarred boot and thought again of Vance--the man who called himself friend, who had to be somewhere snickering, laughing at the ultimate stunt. This was the worst of the tricks to which Rich had ever subjected him. David's breathing wasn't coming easily as he considered how it would feel to be nude in a room where everyone else was clothed, of being stared at--intimately.     It is for art, he reminded himself. Everyone knew about the old masters, their works. Michelangelo’s David. Rodin’s Age of Bronze. He'd seen nude paintings on museum walls but never thought about the flesh and blood models who had posed for those works. The thought of being one of those models had never entered his head.   He’d almost turned down doing this just on it being as a model--a fully clothed model. Only his interest, in what had appeared to be an unsolvable case and the knowledge that his ex-wife taught the class, had persuaded him. Now what was he going to do?    He looked at Karen... that is Raven, as she shook her head at a student's question. She glanced over at him, her eyes dark with concern. He couldn't let her down, but he wouldn't take off his clothes either. No case was that important… but was something else?

Her Dark Angel

While I am writing the seventh Arizona historical, I've also been trying to put together a board which indicates how the contemporary suspense romances fit together. Although I've indicated some of these characters appear in several books, this is the first time I've tried to show how that works using the arrows. Each book stands alone but sometimes a secondary character seems so interesting that they just have to have their own book. That kind of writing goes fast since I already know the characters from their earlier appearances.



I suppose some might think Her Dark Angel would be supernatural given all the vampire books out there. It's not. It's just the heroine's nickname for the hero.

Snippet:



          He felt like slapping himself. "I shouldn't have said it that way."          "I know," she said, stepping back into his arms, "but you wouldn't be my dark angel if you always responded with a smile and a sweet comment."          He laughed. "Dark angel?"          "It's what I started calling you when I first met you. Dark for that wicked side of you I felt so tempted by and angel for that face that can look so innocent when it suits your purposes."          "And I call you sweetness," he rebuked.          "With equally good reason." She reached up and kissed him before she turned to look down at her daughters, waving when they saw her. "Do you think I should send them up to Mother and Dad’s for a few weeks?"          He tried to think. "They should be safe here with Roberta and Johnny... although. Damn, I don’t know. Are you sure you have to go?"          "Yes."          He had hoped he and Katy could take a week-end together, a week-end that would cement their marriage, make them man and wife in every way, but it didn't look like anything was going to be easy for them.          "We should also tell my mother we are married," she said. "You know what that will mean?"          "I shudder to ask. Is she going to prove more dangerous than Brudder?"          She laughed. "Not quite, but you might think so."          "Okay, tell me the worst."          "Well, first she'll be upset, but the next thought that will cross her mind is the need for a reception."          He felt a cold chill. "A what?"          "You know exactly what. Likely a dinner and reception where people come and congratulate us on our wedding, unorthodox as it might have been."          "Are you sure she'll want to do that? I suspect she'd rather forget I existed and that wedding isn't going to please her one bit."          "Too true, but that isn't why she'll want to have a big affair. She'll want everything to look proper."          "Where it comes to me, impossible."

  

speaking to our souls

True confession time-- I don't listen to music all the time.  Some songs though totally speak to my soul. Sound of Silence has long been one, and this version by Disturbed inspires me about the challenges we face, about life, the world. I bought the MP3. This is the YouTube version. 

Romance writing  is so about emotions and this song is swallowed by the deepest of those that challenge and reach out to us.

 

Excerpt from Moon Dust

With the new year ahead, my thoughts have turned to the books I will be writing. The first has to be an historical to fulfill a commitment I made to readers and myself. After that, I may do something contemporary as I enjoy writing those-- especially based in Portland or maybe try one in Tucson.

This is an excerpt from Moon Dust. It's kind of a tough story in some ways but one of the books I feel most proud of as it deals with the adult ramifications of childhood abuse on men. I did a lot of research for it because I felt it was little understood. Of course, it's also a romance:

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            "What are you doing for Thanksgiving?" George asked with an abrupt, and for Dane, unwelcome shift in the conversation.
            "Why?" Dane asked with a faint smile. "You issuing an invitation or want one?"            "Neither. I'm joyfully going to my ex-wife, her kid, her new boyfriend, and our kid, the new American family along with turkey with all the trimmings--heartburn, the battle royal or is that the battle ax. No, I was just concerned about what you were doing."            Dane laughed. "And you accuse me of being soft. Well, so you won't worry, I've got plans."            "You and Susan make up your differences?"            "Hardly. Didn't you see her with Russ Wright, her new boyfriend? Susan isn't interested in making up with me," Dane said bitterly, remembering again how beautiful she had looked. There was a time where that intelligent beauty had been his, where he'd felt a sense of pride in the knowledge that he would be the man taking her clothes off that night. Now the beauty was like a weapon piercing his heart.            George shook his head. "Where was I supposed to have seen her?"            "George, don't you ever look around, observe anything. When you brought the human barracuda to interview me, Susan was at the other end of the restaurant."            "I thought you ended up liking Margo.”            “She was doing her job.”            “Well, I never saw Susan that night."            Dane shook his head. "You were so high on getting that interview nailed down you wouldn't have noticed Cleopatra and her whole barge."            "I would too," George denied with a grin, then returned uncomfortably to his point. "I don't like you spending a holiday alone, Dane. I know how rough divorce is... how hard those first months are. How about coming to dinner with me? I was just kidding about the arguing, honest."            Dane grinned. "I can't believe any of what I'm hearing, that you of all people would become a broody hen. It's out of character, George."            "It’s just--" George frowned.            "Hey, quit worrying about me. I've spent a lot of Thanksgivings by myself. It wasn't until Susan that I wanted to be with anybody. I heard they got fresh snow up at Timberline. When you're stuffing your face with turkey, just think of me schussing down the slopes."            "What if it rains up there?"            Dane laughed, shaking his head. "Then I'll take a TV dinner out of the freezer. Quit worrying."            "Your mother lives down the valley. Couldn't you have dinner with her?" George tried again, obviously determined to find a family with which Dane could roost.            "No," Dane said.
 

Happy Holidays

Christmas is celebrated different ways by people across our country as well as the world. For some it's a bleak time. I saw evidence of that at rest stops along the freeway. We can't even safely say Happy Holidays or Merry Christmas and some get criticized if they say both. Well PC is not part of my writing philosophy or this blog :) I'm in favor of what makes a person happy that does not hurt anyone else. So whatever you call it, hope you have a great day.

Love Waits

Snippet from Book 4, Oregon Historicals, Love Waits:




     Miranda gave a little laugh. “Wal, I’ll be hornswoggled if it ain’t that handsome captain. My, ain’t he a fine figure of a man in his dress uniform.” Belle resisted turning, but it took all her control. “I think he’s coming our way,” Miranda whispered.
     Then Belle knew he was beside them. “Good evening ladies.” the deep voice said, freeing Belle to turn and look up into his eyes.
     “Captain,” she said, “I didn’t know if you’d be here tonight.”
     “You didn’t?” His voice was tight like his smile.
     “I met your father and brother. Your father is staying with Mr. Forester.”
     Before he could answer, Miranda said, “Josiah is beckoning me over to meet someone. Glad to see you both again.”
     Then they were alone. Or as alone as someone could be in a large hall with over a hundred guests milling around. “You look very beautiful, Belle,” he said, not taking his gaze from her.
     She smiled. “So do you.”
     “I don’t have cause to wear this uniform often.”
     “And a sword.”
     “Part of the dress code. Although in battle, it can become a lifesaver when a rifle jams or can’t be reloaded fast enough.”
     “You’ve used it in combat.”
     “I have. I see your frown. Don’t worry. I have cleaned it after each such battle.” This time she thought his smile was a teasing one.
     “You are a good soldier.”
     “Is there such a thing?” The smile turned cynical.
     “Of course there is or you’d not still be one, would you?”
Book Trailer: https://youtu.be/3zh0CSOm-xY

Christmas novella

A Montana Christmas is about bringing together two families, two worlds, for a holiday gathering with the hope of healing old wounds. Helene is convinced it is the season for just that while Phillip, once she explains her plan, is equally convinced it'll be a disaster. Can the Rocking H work its magic as it had in their lives? 

While the novella stands alone, From Here to There came ahead of it. The short story, Curly Learns a Lesson is at its end, and there is bound to be a future contemporary western romance as the Rocking H has more to say.

A Montana Christmas Snippet:


“I wish I could be there but…” Once again his tone had changed. She knew he was feeling his own pressure. He handled it well, or he wouldn’t be in high stakes finance, but it didn’t come without a physical cost.“What I wanted to… Well it’ll be awhile longer before I can leave Uncle Amos. He really does need me here as much as anything to be sure he takes his meds and doesn’t overdo.”The hesitation was brief. “I understand. When will you be back then?”Having split their living between two homes, one on the ranch and the other in Boston, had a lot of complications not the least of which was going to be this year for Christmas. “I don’t see how I can until the end of January.”“No Tahiti then?” His voice was toneless, revealing none of what he was feeling. That was so typical of Phillip when he wanted to drop a barrier between others and himself. “I’m sorry, love, but I just can’t do it to Uncle Amos. And with Rafe as he is, well they need me.”“I need you too.” He wasn’t condemning her, but she still knew he’d gone into a defensive mode.
“And I need you, Phillip. I want a Montana Christmas this year with you here too. I know you planned for us to go to the islands again, but can’t you cancel that and come here instead, have a real family Christmas?”This time there was a definite pause, but she waited before she added, “You know what Christmas means to me. I’ve told you how it always was.”Phillip had told her what holidays had meant to him-- violent drunkenness from some of his mother’s boyfriends. It hadn’t improved as his sisters grew up and added their own chaos. His experiences had been far from Helene’s-- even though most of hers hadn’t involved parents but rather the ranch and her uncle and aunt. For her, Christmas holidays had been an escape from pressure. Up in the mountains at their ranch, she had always been rejuvenated. She understood how different it had been for Phillip, but she could show him another way if he would give her a chance.“Please at least think about it,” she said. “I know I just dumped this on you but think about it. If you just can’t do it, well, we’ll work out something.” She had no idea what as she was not going to leave her uncle until he was fully himself again.“Baby, I won’t say no to you. You know that. All right.” Now his voice definitely took on a humorous twist. “What does this business of a family Christmas—Montana style mean?”“How soon can you get here? I could show you better than tell you.”“Will there be any presents for me to unwrap?” he asked with that teasing tone.

snippet from Love Waits

photo from the trailer for the book with a compilation of one of my background shots, models from CanStock , and Period Images.Sometimes the secondary characters in my books are children. I enjoy writing about them and use not only my memories of raising my own two but also my time with grandchildren. In the book I just edited, which will be out December 21st, there were several children. Two of them were being mostly raised by a relatively new governess. They had a father who was distant and a mother who had died, although what exactly happened to their mother was vague through part of the book. Here's a snippet one of them talking to the heroine from early in the story.

 ~~~

“Belle?”
She was surprised to hear Jeremy’s small voice. “What?” she asked stroking his hair.
“You had a gun today.”“Well, yes.”“And then you took care of that soldier who had been hurt.”“Yes, I did that too.”“You know a lot of things.”She smiled as she reached over to brush the hair off his forehead. “A few.”“Could you teach me things?”She felt a flush of warmth. She had not intended to love these two children, but the months she had spent as their governess, it had happened. “I could if your father didn’t mind.”“He doesn’t care what I do.” His voice was not sad or even mad. It was just a stated fact. Sadly, he was right. William Forester did not appear to love his children. Why then had he wanted them to come to Canyon City? Perhaps part of his ruse. She didn’t hate him. She didn’t care enough about him to hate him. Disdain rather suited what she felt for such a cold man.“Yes, Jeremy, I could teach you those things along with literature, history, and mathematics.”“Jer.”“Jer?”“I’d rather you called me Jer. It’s what my friends called me back when he let me go to school.”She felt a kindred sadness for Jeremy. She had left home earlier than many, but in her case, it was by choice. Jeremy had been pushed into boarding schools and now disrupted from them by this journey to Canyon City with no clear idea why he was wanted there. “I will do that, Jer,” she said. “Now sleep. It’ll be a long day tomorrow.” 

Christmas Caring

Last Saturday I came into Facebook and saw a post from one of the authors, Kirsten Osbourne, that she wanted to put together a short story anthology. The stories did not have to be romances but did have to be Christmas related. Then she said she wanted to donate her portion of any profits to a charitable organization known for their good work at Christmas and around the year. Because it was almost Christmas, she added she'd have to have any stories by Monday morning.


Kirsten is an author whose ability to put together projects, I admire. I knew if this came off, it'd be good. She knows what she's doing. I went out of Facebook wanting to be part of it. Even more so as all the authors involved said they wanted to do the same thing-- all profits would go to a charity that not only is good at this time of the year but year round.

Writing has some moments like this-- where you wake up with no idea what you'll be doing. It's one of the things I love about being a writer. I sat down at the keyboard and immediately knew who the characters would be. This was some years later, but they had been in my fourth Oregon series. The drawback is that book won't be out until the 21st, but I figure this anthology will be around a long while since Christmas stories sell year round.

When you have the characters, often the story just flows and that happened Saturday. After editing it multiple times, I submitted the story the next morning. Along with over twenty other authors, it's in the new anthology. Some of these writers had a story from before, some did what I did and wrote it that week-end. The selection is a mix of romance and not so much-- with even two authors noted for sci-fi. 

To be part of this was such a win/win for me. It was a challenge to see if I could come up with something new when I'd been editing for the last two months, and even better to have it go to a good cause. Check it out, and if you like short stories, you can enjoy the read as well as be supporting a good cause.

Christmas Caring
Lately short reads have been great for me, and I look forward to reading these stories by some authors I am familiar with and some new to me. Another win/win.