Cecilia Tan's Blog, page 25

SLOW SATISFACTION has finally arrived! BDSM romance trilogy wraps up.

Yes, I know you’ve been waiting a long time for this book! So have I! But release day is here! To celebrate, here’s a sample chapter, as well as easy handy links to where you can buy it online or find a local independent bookseller with it on hand!

Slow Satisfaction (#3 in the Struck by Lightning trilogy)

ISBN 9781455529285 • $10 paperback/$4.99 ebook

Click for high res

The conclusion of the saga of Karina and James! James has finally pushed Karina beyond her limit–not her limit for kinky sex play, but for his extreme secrecy. She has had enough and breaks things off. But James won’t give up on Karina and he will do whatever it takes to get her back. He’s ready to share his deepest, darkest secrets, but is Karina ready to hear them? When James is blackmailed by an unscrupulous music industry executive, he must give in to unreasonable demands or risk exposure of his and Karina’s secret sex life… a sex life that keeps getting hotter! Will Karina and James’s love be strong enough to withstand the many obstacles being thrown their way? More info: Hachette (publisher)

Buy SLOW SATISFACTION: Apple iBookstore | Barnes & Noble | Google Play | Kobo | Indiebound | Amazon (pb and Kindle)

SAMPLE CHAPTER: (***Spoiler Warning!*** This sample is from partway through the book!)

EXCERPT FROM SLOW SATISFACTION by Cecilia Tan

(yes, this is from the middle of a scene, I’m perverse that way…)

James’s eyes were serious, even as his face and body were relaxed and languid post-orgasm. “Did I convince you to give me another chance?”

I considered. “You at least earned the chance to tell me what I don’t know.”

He took my hand in his, like he had so many times before. This time he kissed my fingertips, his eyes closing as he did. “I have a lot to tell you. More than any single interrogation might reveal.”

I squeezed his hand. “I shouldn’t have to interrogate you for the answers.”

He sucked in a breath. “No. Of course you shouldn’t. There’s so much I need to tell you if you’re really going to get to know me.” He reached up and traced the curve of my cheek with his fingertip. “Yet I feel like you know me better than anyone.”

“I do know you,” I said. “I just don’t know the facts about you.”

His gaze shied away from mine. “Many of the facts are sordid.”

“Says the man who put a six-inch dildo into me and walked me around the Metropolitan Museum of Art.”

“I mean much more sordid than that.” Now his face had completely clouded over.

“I want to know, James. I need to know. I have a right to, if we’re going to be together.”

He nodded, though his eyes were closed. “I know. I agree. That still doesn’t make it easy for me to open up.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Except during sex.”

“As you well know. Were you serious about what you said before? I would sincerely give you a piece of my past for every time you give me…” He kissed my fingertips again. “Anything. Sex. Your body. Your submission.”

Even though we’d just had sex, I felt a thrill go through my loins. “I wasn’t suggesting it lightly.”

“I want to be sure. Sometimes we say things in the heat of passion that seem less than wise afterward.”

“But sometimes we get inspired.” This could be the perfect solution, I realized. “I know the time you’re the most open is when we have sex. That’s the time your answers will be the best. Of course, if we do this, I could still revoke my forgiveness at any time.”

“Of course. Just as you can revoke your consent at any time. I understand, Karina. It’s the Thousand and One Nights, only this time I’m Scheherazade, telling the stories.”

I touched his face with my fingers, feeling like a weight was slowly lifting from my back. Maybe we were going to make this work after all. The fact that he was willing to try so hard made a huge difference in how I felt. And I wanted him. The part of me that had been needing him and pining for him all summer was quelled by the knowledge we could do this.

I sat up and discovered I’d been lying on something. In the dim light I could still recognize what it was. “These look a lot like a pair of panties I used to have.”

“That’s because they are.”

“You’ve been carrying around my underwear?” I turned to look at him.

Lying beside me on the pillow, he wore a familiar expression: serene and a bit bemused. “You left them in the limo once. Did you think I’d throw them away?”

“I never really thought about it before.”

“If I left a pair of my underwear behind with you, what would you do?”

“Yeah, I see your point. I’ve got a handkerchief of yours I keep in the—”

His expression changed suddenly, his eyes widening and his lips parting in slight surprise. “That’s it, isn’t it?”

I felt myself blush even though I wasn’t keeping anything a secret. “Um, partly anyway. My roommate—”

“I know. I met her at the spa that day. Becky. She knew the Lord’s Ladies.”

“Yeah. And she got one of the handkerchiefs you threw from the stage at Madison Square Garden. It matched one I got from you.”

To my surprise, James smiled. He sat up and kissed me softly. “If I believed in fate, I’d say that was a sign. What are the odds?”

“And are they better or worse than the odds of being struck by lightning?”

His smile turned into a laugh. “Was that a pun?” In a flash he pulled my legs onto his lap, spanking me playfully several times. I couldn’t help it, it was like being ambushed by tickling. I kicked and giggled and shrieked.

I wriggled free, hug-tackled him, and ended up on top of him in the center of the bed, kissing him all over his face. “I’m still mad at you, you know.”

“If you say so,” he said. “By the way, I agree with your mother. This is a nice dress.”

“She bought it for me today. She wants to meet you.”

“What have you told her about me?”

“That you’re rich and good-looking which is what she cares about most. My sister wants to meet you, too. They know you’re an art world type but that’s all.” I was coming to my senses a little, now that the intense pleasure of the orgasm was receding and the play-spanking had woken me up. “And if you’d really put the rock star stuff behind you, that’d be all they need to know. But that sounds like a big if.”

“A very big if.” He nodded slowly, his face sobering again into his usual mask.

That would not do. The biggest question he still hadn’t answered for me was the story of Ferrara Huntington. It was the biggest thing that I thought could still be a deal-breaker and send me out of here a single woman. I leaned down and nuzzled his neck, as if the subject were closed for now. He smelled delicious, igniting all my cravings again. I nibbled behind his ear. He arched under me, his cock not yet ready to harden again, but the rest of him responding just fine. He pulled me down beside him, kissing me back and exploring my neck with his mouth.

Hadn’t we just finished having sex? I felt my insides melting again though, my desire rising like a tide. Maybe my body felt we should make up for lost time.

Making out was nice and I enjoyed the feeling that we were in no hurry. When had we ever done this, kissed for the sake of kissing? I lost track of time. Minutes ticked by in my haze of affection, pleasure, and relief. Yes. We needed this kind of connection, too. Affection, exploring each other, letting chemistry take over.

My hands roamed his back, his sides, his hips, until one of them strayed between his legs and I sucked in a breath as I met the scorching hot stiffness there.

There was no reason to wait. There was so much we had to talk about. “You’re ready for more?” I teased.

“With you, Karina, I always am.”

Authors After Dark picspam! Costumes, authors, etc! #aadchar

Under the cut, what it says on the tin. Picspam of lots of authors and costumes (often authors IN costumes) as well as some random sunsets and stuff, from the 2014 Authors After Dark conference. (Note: next year will be in Atlanta. Tickets go on sale soon!)

Includes: Andrew Grey, Tilly Green, Kallypso Masters, TJ Michaels, Leanna Renee Hieber, Sasha White, Yvette Hines, Siobhan Muir, Annabel Joseph, Stella Price, and many more (including me, Cecilia Tan).

All the authors from the BDSM Meetup! Kallypso Masters, Cecilia Tan, Tilly Green, Sasha White, Ann Mayburn, Annabel Joseph, Collete Saucier, Desiree Holt, Sidney Bristol

TC Blue and Andrew Grey waiting for the doors on the mass signing to open. Within minutes the aisle would be mobbed with readers.

Cecilia Tan ready for the Authors After Dark mass autograph session

All the swag just in the Welcome goodie bag. It would be only a portion of the swag handed out at Authors After Dark!

View of the sunset from my hotel room at AAD.

The swag packs I prepped for the bloggers at the blogger party. My pens say “Keep Calm and Write On” on them, and yes, those are Magic University class planners!

Me and Geoff the tattoo artist after I got my tattoo at AAD!

My tattoos are black feathers, pretty much one for every book I’ve written. This group of four are for the Magic University series, which I have ben meaning to get for a couple of years and now that the books are getting new editions this fall, it was well past time to do it! Shown here: before as a sketch and after as the completed tattoo.

Kallypso Masters gave away a basket at the BDSM Writers & Readers Meetup that included a stuffed tiger in shibari style rope bondage! So cute!

Leanna Renee Hieber, author of fantabulous dark gothic YA and NA books, presenting at the Bookie Awards.

Master of Ceremonies for the Bookie Awards Andrew Grey, in his excellent white tailcoat.

Another shot of Andrew Grey emceeing the Bookie Awards. My phone was dying at that point or I would have gotten many many more photos from this ceremony!

What I wore to the Sins & Virtues Ball. Many people asked what my costume was. Best guesses were Louis from Interview with a Vampire and Edgar Allen Poe. (My Tumblr following decided I was Female Severus Snape.) I was actually just… myself.

Kallypso Masters at the Bookie Awards

Dressed for the Bookie Awards and the BDSM Writers & Readers Meetup. The first time I tried on a corset, the corset maker laced me up and then said, “Now let me introduce you to the Mirror of Happiness!” This is my Mirror Of Happiness face. :-)

Ball photos! Kallypso Masters and Siobhan Muir, a closeup so you can see Siobhan’s fantastic necklace.

Another shot of Kally and Siobhan so you can see the fantastic dresses they wore.

Table decorations: diamonds! (Well, imitations ones anyway.) I didn’t get a good shot of the table for the sin of Pride, which was all done up with Gay Pride rainbows. :-) Brilliant.

My tights had a nifty pattern in the velvet. Here’s proof!

Leanna Renee Hieber and OMG I’ve forgotten who this is in the fantastic pink corset and dress.

Leanna Renee Hieber and me before we reenacted the Unbreakable Vow scene from Half Blood Prince. (just kidding)

The inimitable queen of us all, without whom there would be no Authors After Dark, Stella Price, in a gown and costume befitting the Queen of the Dark. Wish my phone took better pictures in low light because the color of this was just stunning.

Sasha White rocking the crinoline and TJ Michaels in a super-amazing corset with hood ensemble.

TJ Michaels and me.

Yvette Hines and me. Yvette has this wonderful corset & bustle thing working!

There were a ton of fridge magnets in the goodie bag(s), so I stuck them on the fridge in my room!

Me and Annabel Joseph, having a Marie Antoinette moment.

Tilly Green, Annabel Joseph, Yvette Hines, and some people whose names I didn’t get at the Sins & Virtues Ball at AAD

Report from Authors After Dark! #Romance readers rock. #aadchar

I’m writing this from my hotel room, where I’ve ordered a burger from room service and I’m hoping to recover my voice in time to make it down to the last hour of the Leather & Lace party at Authors After Dark!

This throat irritation started Wednesday night after I got here, with just a little pos-nasal drip, but I’ve been talking and talking so much at this con it’s been getting steadily worse! Just now while ordering room service on the phone I was basically down to a whisper, and I probably should admit defeat: I can’t talk AT ALL right now. Ugh.

As long as I’m stuck in my room waiting for sustenance and maintaining silence, I figure I may as well blog about how fantastic this conference has been. FANTASTIC.

Authors After Dark, for those who don’t know it, is a conference all about putting romance authors together with readers. In particular it has a heavy focus on erotic romance, with healthy doses of BDSM and GLBT, which makes it a perfect environment for me! It’s a great opportunity for writers, who can be quite solitary creatures, to get away from the keyboard and mingle. It’s also great fun. Stella Price, the hurricane-force power behind it all (and an author herself) creates so many opportunities for folks to get together, talk, meet, expound, and bond. The Featured Author corps is limited to 100, and the reader ranks are limited to 400. The result is an intimate con, but one that isn’t lacking any of the gifts or glitz one finds at a huge con like RT Booklovers, if judging by the amount of free books and free swag being given away is any indication!

A perfect encapsulation of what this convention is all about is something that happens on opening night: The Blind Date Book Party. Every author giftwraps a book (or two) and leaves it in the party room. The readers come through and take them with no idea what book they’re getting since they’re all wrapped up with no tags or names on them. Many authors put a little note in the book with a time and place to meet, or saying to come to a specific panel or to the mass signing to get an additional gift. I put my cell phone number in mine, and a reader texted me to say she had gotten it. We met up today for a drink in the bar and to chat about books, romance, and whatever else. She and her sister were at the convention and I got to tell them (albeit in my hoarse, almost-not-there voice) about my books and why I write what I write.

Today I also had lunch with some readers I met via the AAD Facebook group, where I’d posted that I was unattached for lunch today, and the three of them kidnapped me to a nearby Panera, where we confessed our mutual love for various authors (Holly Black!

This is only PART of the pile that came in the welcome goodie bag.

Here’s another ice-breaker that AAD organizes: the Welcome Event puts everyone together in a ballroom. Every chair has a packed goody bag on it and two premium book giveaways. Among other things, I got the latest from Christina Lauren, Sweet Filthy Boy! And a shot glass from Kiernan Kelly. And a Mastering the Marquess wine opener which will come in handy… Et cetera. But the biggest fun of the Welcome Event, after the bit where author T.J. Michaels got up and sang a song for Stella (giving voice to the appreciation of every author present) was when authors who signed up to give welcome prizes lined up and one after the other picked attendee names out of a hat. Some gave away wine and chocolate, some books, etc. Many offered a meal or drinks in the bar along with the prize to their winner. I offered tea or whiskey for up to three people and my winner chose whiskey! So we met in the bar the next day and had a great time.

I also spoke on four panels, two on BDSM, one on GLBT romance, and one on erotic romance, and all were great. The panels are mostly Q&A with the questions coming from the audience, and 7 or 8 authors answering. Many of us gave away books at the end of every panel, and almost all of us have swag of some kind. Stress balls, note pads, thumb drives, magnets, postcards, you name it. All the panels I went to had very full rooms except for the very first one — it came right after the first lunch which ran a little overtime so people trickled in late.

And I organized one meetup, the BDSM Writers & Readers Meetup. Me and nine other BDSM authors–Annabel Joseph, Ann Mayburn, Colette Saucier, Desiree Holt, Kallypso Masters, Sasha White, Sidney Bristol, Tilly Greene, and TJ Michaels–got together to do something like speed dating with readers. We arranged the room into ten circles of 6 chairs each–one author per five readers. Every 8 minutes we would rotate to another group and introduce ourselves, chat, take questions, give away stuff, etc. Each group got to meet 6 of the 10 authors, and then we had more PRIZES. I mentioned that there have been a lot of gifts, right? Each author had a gift to draw a raffle name from, and then we ALL put books and BDSM toys and other stuff into a grand prize basket. People went home with a lot of stuff! I’ve had several people come up to me today to say the speed dating was the most fun thing they’ve done so far!

All the authors from the BDSM Meetup!

Of course at every banquet or ceremony, we authors try to spread out and station ourselves at different tables, and we get to meet more readers that way, too. Sometimes they’re totally new folks and sometimes they’re people it turns out you knew online but hadn’t met yet. And sometimes they’re the legendary Viola Johnson, an old friend from my activism days in the leather community, who is here exhibiting a fraction of her equally legendary Carter-Johnson Library, an archive of BDSM books dating back to 1885. So the next time someone tells you that BDSM is a newfangled thing, just shake your head.

My BDSM meetup outfit mirror selfie.

The two other fun swag-giving opportunities were two parties: one for bookclubs and one for bloggers. I pre-packed Zip-Loc bags with various forms of swag: notepads I had made advertising Slow Surrender and sequels (which included a sample scene), “class planner” calendars promoting the upcoming re-release of Magic University, various pens with my name and URL on them, postcards with free book download codes, bookmarks, stickers. Oh, and books. My publisher (Hachette/GCP/Forever) sent free copies of Slow Surrender for me to give away, and I gave them out at every opportunity! Some bloggers are going to read and review them, while others are going to use them as giveaways.

Me with artist Geoff of Voodoo Monkey Tattoo!

There were other events, too, that I didn’t take part in, including a carnival games party, and several other things, like the ribbon hunt, that maybe I’ll do next time. Because I sincerely hope I get invited back! This has been an absolute blast. If it has been this much fun for ME, I can only imagine what it must be like for a fan of romance. Heaven.

Oh, and did I mention I got a tattoo? There are only two “vendors” here: a corset-maker and a pair of tattoo artists. The tattoo guys are booked solid for all five days and while I was getting inked, a steady stream of women, many who’d never been laced into a corset before, tried one on. Perfect.

So if a con like RT is too expensive or too far, I would say give AAD a try. Next year the toastmaster is none other than Sherrilyn Kenyon! The 2015 AAD will be in Atlanta, August 12-16. I’m not sure when exactly registration opens for next year but when it does, you’ll see the news here: http://www.authorsafterdark.org

Countdown to Slow Satisfaction by @ceciliatan ! Read a teaser scene

The official release day for SLOW SATISFACTION is coming on August 26th! This book is the big finale of the Struck by Lightning trilogy. To whet your appetites, there’s a sample chapter below! Plus handy links to where you can order it online or find a local independent bookseller with it on hand! The paperback started shipping out last week so look for it in the wild, and I should have copies at Authors After Dark!

Slow Satisfaction (#3 in the Struck by Lightning trilogy)

ISBN 9781455529285 • $10 paperback/$4.99 ebook

Click for high res

The conclusion of the saga of Karina and James! James has finally pushed Karina beyond her limit–not her limit for kinky sex play, but for his extreme secrecy. She has had enough and breaks things off. But James won’t give up on Karina and he will do whatever it takes to get her back. He’s ready to share his deepest, darkest secrets, but is Karina ready to hear them? When James is blackmailed by an unscrupulous music industry executive, he must give in to unreasonable demands or risk exposure of his and Karina’s secret sex life… a sex life that keeps getting hotter! Will Karina and James’s love be strong enough to withstand the many obstacles being thrown their way? More info: Hachette (publisher)

Buy SLOW SATISFACTION: Apple iBookstore | Barnes & Noble | Google Play | Kobo | Indiebound

SAMPLE CHAPTER: (***Mild Spoiler Warning!*** This sample is from partway through the book.)

I was expecting to pull up to a high-rise building, or into a big parking garage, but no, the garage door that faced the curb was built into a brownstone. Maybe five or six stories tall, brick, with a wrought iron doorway, not all that different from a lot of the small apartment buildings in the city.

The door went up and we pulled into a single-car garage. A private garage was rare in New York City. Almost unheard of.

The entire building was a single mansion. Stefan did his chauffeur thing, opening my door and then leading me from the garage through a pantry and into a grand foyer. He gestured around. Before I could ask where James was, Stefan said, “This is the place. Not really much to see in this room, though.”

“Not much to see!” There were two sculptures in the room, one of which was clearly one of James’s glass works. The other I thought I recognized as the work of Rodin, a nude woman cast in bronze. “Is this really a Rodin?”

I heard James chuckle. He came down the staircase, barefoot, wearing chocolate-brown pants that looked too luxurious to be called pajamas, slung low on his hips, and nothing else. “It’s a bronze cast of one of his originals, yes. The model was a young woman named Camille.”

“Wasn’t she his apprentice?” It had been some years since I’d studied anything about Rodin.

“And companion,” James said, and something about the way he said that, or maybe it was the pantherine way he was padding across the floor toward me, brought that delicious sensation flooding back into my nether regions. Without taking his eyes off me, he said, “Stefan. We won’t be needing you for a few hours.”

“Yes, boss.” Stefan disappeared through the door we’d come through.

James reached me, took the bag from my shoulder, and set it on the floor. “The decision I’m trying to make is whether to take you right here, right now, and then play with you at my leisure once the edge of my hunger is off, or force myself to wait.”

I could feel the hardness of him against my stomach as he pulled me close. “If I know you, you’ll force us both to wait.”

His laugh was rich and low and he bent to kiss me while still chuckling. “Too true,” he breathed into my hair. “But you test my self-restraint like no one else ever has. So tell me, which would you choose, if you were given a choice?”

“Didn’t you say we should embrace ‘and’ instead of ‘or’?”

“I did. That would mean… taking you right here and forcing myself to wait?”

“Take me but let’s not come,” I whispered, as if Stefan might be listening. Ha. As if he hadn’t heard us doing every possible thing in the back seat of the limo already.

“Since you ask so nicely…” James said, and thumbed the waistband of his pants over his erection. They fell to his ankles in a velvety heap, and I fell upon his cock with my velvety tongue. I couldn’t help it. Gorgeous doesn’t even begin to describe it. And him standing there in that grand foyer? He was like a third work of art, each muscle over his ribs perfectly sculpted. I ran my fingers down his torso as I sucked him into my mouth, my fingertips skating down the plane of his abs to the creases of his thighs.

He sank his fingers into my hair with a groan, and held me loosely as I bobbed back and forth. Then his grip tightened and he drove deep, hard enough to bruise my lips and deep enough to make me cough once, and then pulled me abruptly free. Keeping his grip, he bent down to kiss my mouth tenderly, the contrast between his gentle lips and the brutal thrust of his cock making me gasp.

“Strip,” he whispered, and let go of me.

As I pulled my shirt over my head he lay back on the parquet wood floor, watching me with his hands folded behind his head.

I wasn’t wearing much, so it didn’t take long before I was standing naked before him.

He beckoned me with his crooked finger, then gestured, making it clear he wanted me to straddle his face. I put one foot on either side of his head and squatted down, rewarded instantly by the wet suede of his tongue licking up and down my seam. I was already meltingly wet—had been since the moment he’d come down the stairs, really—so this was more about pleasure than preparation.

He disengaged his mouth and slid a long finger inside me, looking up my torso, between my breasts, and into my eyes. “I feel like I want you more and more every time I have you. Like the more deeply I fall for you, the more intense the craving becomes.”

“I feel exactly the same way.”

“Then get on my cock, now.”

I shuffled backward, onto all fours above him, and reached back with one hand to guide the tip of him into me. Being able to have him without a condom had never felt more like decadence, more like luxury, than at that moment. I sank onto him about halfway down his shaft, then had to wriggle my hips to open myself up enough to take him.

Once I was fully seated he let out a long sigh. “I have all manner of elaborate plans to torture you,” he said. “Yet this—this basic, simple thing—is what I want most at this moment.”

“Just because the chef is going to prepare an elaborate dessert doesn’t mean he can’t taste the berry right from the basket,” I said.

(To read more, order SLOW SATISFACTION today!)

Reviews: Reaching, Receiving, and Reacting to Them by @smartbitches at #RWA14

Reviews: Reaching, Receiving, and Reacting to Them

Sarah Wendell, of Smart Bitches, Trashy Books

I wish I could have stayed to the very end of Sarah Wendell’s fantastic, funny, and much-needed talk on book reviews at RWA. Unfortunately, my publisher’s big book signing overlapped it, so I had to sneak out three quarters of the way through and sprint down to the next ballroom. (Signing went great, for 30 straight minutes I was mobbed and then I had given away all 50 books! Whoosh!) But I thoroughly enjoyed the candor, humor, and common sense presented in the 40 minutes I was able to stay.

“Reviews are something writers talk about a lot,” she began, “but it’s not common to talk to a reviewer about it.” The website she runs, Smart Bitches, Trashy Books, is one of the top romance blogs. The site turns 10 years old this coming January. The popularity of the site (and Sarah) was reflected in the packed room, every seat taken and some sitting on the floor and standing in the back.

The first common sense point was that nowadays you can review everything you buy. Shoes, appliances, restaurants you eat in: everything is reviewable. “They’ve become an essential part of every transaction,” she said, “And books are no different.”

In the olden days when we wanted to buy something we went to a store and looked at what was there and if the price didn’t seem too bad and we didn’t want to have to drive to another store, we bought it. (I imagined myself at that point trying to buy a toaster. I have hated every toaster I bought in a big box store because there never seems to be quite the right set of features on them, or they’re too expensive, and the most important thing I want to know: how’s the actual toast?? I can’t answer without buying it. UNTIL NOW, that is…)

Nowadays, “reviews are how we figure out what to buy. Even on QVC these days the reviews appear on screen. Reviews let us buy what we LIKE, not just what we NEED.”

That said, Sarah did acknowledge that is one reason why buying a vacuum cleaner is different from buying a book for entertainment.

She invoked Clay Shirky’s “cognitive surplus” idea (we’ve got more leisure time than the previous generation and we need to do something with that extra space in our brains), saying that gives us more drive to interact with what we consume. A show of hands in the room proved that many of us don’t just watch TV, we tweet or blog about it WHILE WATCHING. We’re not just passive consumers anymore.

Thus, “The interaction becomes more valuable to the retailers and sellers.” And, “Interaction is what is most attractive to consumers.” This is key to understanding why even bad reviews drive sales.

“Hype is really tiresome.” And if you have all 5-star reviews, people are skeptical and not that intrigued. All 5-star reviews just says to the reader “this author has a big street team, or a lot of cousins.”

But think about how it is when someone says, “This smells weird.” The next person is like, oh yeah? Let me smell it! That generates curiosity and interest.

“All reviews work.” She points out, quoting fellow reviewer Jane Litte of Dear Author: “Your enemy is not a bad review, [it's] no one talking about your book at all.” Also remember when you get reviewed, even a negative review gets your name and your title out there where Google can find it. And give credit to readers who can tell the difference between a reviewer who hated the book and one who hated the packaging.

She also cautioned against jumping into discussions in comments on blogs, for example, even when the review is a positive one. “Don’t enter the conversation, even on a good review. The conversation stops when you {the author} enter. Anyone feeling why won’t comment because they know it’ll go to the author. You risk bringing it to a halt.” And not only do you not want to stop the lovefest, you don’t want to quash a future commenter who might not agree. “You want dissenting opinion because it breed curiosity and what one reviewer hates is someone else’s catnip!”

But especially, especially do not comment if you are upset or angry. No matter how reasonable you think you are being, “Asshurt always shows.”

Final thing to remember is that you are not responsible for the reader’s reaction. “That belongs to her and her alone.” You wrote the book, that was your job. Managing how people feel about it is not your job.

Sarah gave three RULES for authors to follow regarding reviews but sadly I was only present for two of them. Rather than give you a partial list and leave you like a bad cliffhanger, I’ll say you should read Smart Bitches all the time for a regular dose of Sarah’s no-nonsense worldview on romance, follow her on Twitter (@smartbitches, and try to catch her at another conference sometime for the full rundown!

From #RWA14 writeup of Paranormal Romance: Dead, Soft, or Rearing Up to Bite?

Paranormal Romance: Dead, Soft, or Rearing Up to Bite?

With Kate Douglas, Rebecca Zanetti, and Cynthia Eden

RWA 2014 Panel

So one thing I think I’ve learned about panels and workshops at RWA. Very often the people teaching them are not just “bestselling authors.” Very often they’ve got book sales in the millions, and the number of novels they have published is 50, 100, 200… These are not lightweights.

On this panel alone, which intrigued me because the rumor that “Paranormal is dead” has been going around New York publishing for a while now, we had Kate Douglas, author of 53 paranormals, 38 with New York publishers, but also some with Ellora’s Cave and some self-published, Rebecca Zanetti, a multi-bestseller with Grand Central, Entangled and Kensington, and Cynthia Eden, a two-time Rita award finalist who has been on the NYT, USA Today, and Digital Book World bestseller lists.

Here are just a few of the pithy and relevant things they said that I noted for myself. They began by explaining that they put the panel together because they were at a previous conference where there was a panel that said paranormal is over, you should run away from it as fast as you can. All the paranormal authors were talking afterward and saying to each other, are you doing okay? And they found out that actually they were all doing pretty well.

“Look how crowded this session is,” Cynthia Eden pointed out. “I think that’s a sign how much interest there is in this genre. There is still a market.”

Kate Douglas put the rumors of demise in perspective this way: “I had 31 [paranormals] with Kensington and sales suddenly tanked. But now there are so many successful self-published ones. I did a series with Kensington where they did one, I did one, then did the third, I did the fourth. And sales are comparable.” (Speaking of the Dark Wolf series.)

Rebecca Zanetti: “I heard yesterday that you ‘had to’ self-publish if you do PNR. But I have two friends who just sold PNR debuts to major publishers. Those readers are out there.”

So the consensus seems to be, no, paranormal ain’t dead, but it is a crowded field, and it is one that has changed massively and has seen some of the biggest shift to digital. “Three years ago I noticed my digital sales with a traditional house outpaced my print,” Eden said. Now her digital sales are three times what her print sales are.

So how can you be successful in paranormal? They suggested people research what’s hot. Douglas: “Listen to your readers. In groups on Facebook, on Twitter, wherever you feel comfortable, ask them what they want.” Zanetti: “Paranormal romantic suspense is definitely on the rise. We’re seeing a lot of supersoldiers and psychics. For a while they were down on psychics but now that door is open again.” Eden: “Look at the bestseller lists on Amazon, B&N, etc. and see for yourself what’s selling. Bella Forrest is dominating the lists right now with 5 or 6 books. Look at what she’s doing.”

Each of them has worked various angles to try to stand out from the field.

Eden: I stick to my “power hitters” so there’s always a vampire or a shifter in my pairing. One of them can be a traditional paranormal power hitter and then the other one can be something else new and different.” Also when I want to be a risk taker I can release a novella (20K words), see if it hits, and then develop a series. I do it on my own independently, but Rebecca has done the same through Kensington.

Zanetti: I approach writing like the Wild West. You need to write what you need to write.

Douglas: In 2003 a friend of mine started a press and said “break all the rules.” So I did. First of all I made a promise my books would not be monochromatic–they would reflect the world I live in, with people of all colors. Same with men who love men and women who love women. The editor, though, was like we can’t have this! You can’t break ALL the rules! But Margaret Reilly stuck by me: that was the first Wolf Tales book. I took it to Kensington and launched their Aphrodesia line with it.

Eden: In the past it was a hindrance to do mashups, because people had to know what shelf to find you on in the store. But now with digital, it’s a help not a hindrance. Five years ago it was problematic. Today it’s totally beneficial.

Nalini Singh’s #RWA14 workshop on Writing Paranormal Romance

I hurried out of the room this morning to try to get to Nalini Singh’s workshop on Writing Paranormal Romance after hearing tales of how some other workshops were so full that there wasn’t even standing room: people were standing out in the hallway trying to hear them. (The one on “How to Write Faster” was one of them: glad I slept in a little bit instead of trying to get there only to be shut out. Fortunately all RWA members can download the handouts from that class and many others through the conference app! Win!) Funny how the threads tie together in life: two weeks ago I was on a panel at Readercon on recommending romances to sf/fantasy readers, and of course Nalini’s praises were sung. Now here I am at a romance convention and I get to hear the woman herself impart wisdom. I love my life, did I mention that?

First, a little note about diversity. Yes, this conference is notably “whiter” than a lot of the conferences I attend. Many of the science fiction conventions I go to have actively recruited writers of color as speakers and fans of color as attendees. It’s really noticeable to me to go somewhere now where the small percentage of people of color stick out like sore thumbs. I don’t know if that’s part of RWA demographics or the fact that we’re in San Antonio (where I’ve never been) or that the hotel convention rate was a whopping $229 a night and maybe that skews the attendees base toward the most privileged. All I can say is this con seems very white. So it was interesting that at Nalini Singh’s talk, I felt like there were more people of color in the audience. I counted: out of 62 attendees in the workshop, 12 were visibly women of color. (There were only 4 men in the room, all white.) That seemed like a higher percentage than in the general population here, and I wondered if that was because Nalini herself is a person of color, leading to a greater comfort level? Or because paranormal itself so often deals with themes of integrating the “other” or embracing the “other”? I can only speculate, but diversity and representation are issues that come up again and again in my activist work and in the fandom communities I am part of, so it’s on my mind.

But now to the actual subject of the workshop, Writing Paranormal Romance. Nalini is witty, fun, and smart, and I didn’t write down even half of what she said, so let me assure you if you think you can just read my blog instead of attending a conference like this one and still get all the good stuff: you’re wrong. Here’s a tiny fraction of the wisdom imparted:

The workshop began with Nalini writing down a list of things and topics one finds in paranormal while the audience yelled out pretty much everything from Androids to Zombies. “You see, you have this massive canvas to work with,” she said. And by the way, “Vampires are always hot, even when they’re not.”

“Rumors of paranormal’s demise have been greatly exaggerated,” Nalini assured the eager audience. “When I sold the Psy-Changeling series, that’s what I was told, that paranormal was dead.” Now she’s 14 books into the series, with every one hitting the NY Times bestseller list in this “dead” genre. She went on to opine that perhaps some tropes or ideas get mined out, but the key is to come up with something unique, some element that makes your book or series stand out from the rest. What makes it different?

But you also can’t just sit down and plan out what’s different. You can’t just sit and try to cook up something based on unique marketing. The story needs to speak to you. “I don’t consciously think about it before I write. Find your point of difference by being passionate about what you write.” Then worry about fixing it up or tweaking the concepts later. “If you do something that has been done before, you have to do it in your own way. Find your own rhythm. Give the reader something that will make them feel it’s fresh and new.”

She covered some basics of worldbuilding (“Don’t throw the kitchen sink in it. Don’t just give a new power or throw a new creature in every time it’s convenient. That kills the tension.”) and keeping the world consistent (“Set rules, stick to the rules.” “Consistency is the number one thing readers rated as important in a paranormal.” –in an online poll she did).

Another important concept is a “story bible.” Keep track of all the characters (eye color, height, etc), the magical system, what can and can’t be done, etc. Nalini uses a private Wiki. Some writers use Evernote. (I use Scrivener.) Have a way to keep track even if it’s notes on paper in a folder. And remember that if it’s in your head and in your notes but NOT IN THE FINAL BOOK then it doesn’t count. Only what makes it to the page is the canon. (She didn’t use the word canon, but I will!)

There was also a great question (asked by the great writer Radclyffe, aka L.L. Raand) about working with overarching series plots and individual book plots and romances within the bigger arc. I can’t do the discussion that followed justice, but it included diagrams and the idea of with multiple books you have multiple crescendoes before the big finale. Each book is a building block. You have to know what the ultimate ending is going to be, though.

Which led to another audience question about how do you know when to quit? It seems like with some of the TV series (like LOST) where they didn’t know where it was going maybe what happened was once they had a hit on their hands they just tried to drag it out as long as possible. She cautioned against dragging things out too much. If you’re going to add a second arc where there wasn’t one before, make sure it’s as strong as the first arc. Think to yourself, “Am I going to be as proud of this?”

Also:

“The best paranormal romance is about ‘human’ emotions. They have to be human even if they’re not. Don’t get sidetracked by your characters’ powers.” What readers connect to is the human element in the characters, their pain, their emotional state, etc.

I feel so ready to write a paranormal series now! Good thing I’m writing one. (Yes, I am. More details soon!)

Changes to the RITA Awards announced at #RWA14

At today’s general meeting of the RWA membership, taking place at the RWA national convention, changes were announced, revamping the rules for the RITA Awards once again.

The changes are in response to a kerfuffle this year, when some categories had ridiculously few books make it to “finalist” status: in particular erotic romance had only 3, which seemed ridiculous given how large the number of books published in that category was, and inspirational romance had only 2. Meanwhile historical romance had 17 finalists. That seemed out of whack even to people not deeply steeped in romance.

The surmise was that this imbalance was caused by the structure of the scoring, in which any book that got 90% or above in its average score was automatically a finalist. Each book was read by multiple judges (I don’t know how many), and each judge assigned a number of points to each book based on certain criteria (prose quality, etc). On the face of it that sounds reasonable, but the category of “how romance-y is this romance” was worth 20 points, while everything else was worth only 10. (Full disclosure: yes, I judged, because in order to guarantee that a book you enter into the contest makes it into the list of 2000 that are included before the cutoff, you had to agree to judge.) The speculation is that because historical romance was considered more “romance-y” by the RWA members judging than either erotic romance or inspirational romance, these categories were unfairly marked down.

The new rules can be found in full on the RWA Website here: http://www.rwa.org/p/bl/et/blogid=20&blogaid=795

The main changes I noted:

• Entrants are required to judge. (Before, it was only those who volunteered.)

• Entrants will not judge in a category in which they are entered. (I received 2 books that were in the category my book was in.)

• The top 4% of each category’s entries (based on the number of qualified entries received) will advance to the final round, except each category will have no fewer than 4 finalists or more than 10 finalists.

• All entrants are required to judge the preliminary round. Others eligible to judge are authors who are PAN-eligible. The final round will be judged by PAN members.

Of course one of the things brought up at the meeting is that PRO and PAN membership may be changing in the future, but the board is still looking into that. They acknowledged that the categories of PAN and PRO were created back when traditional print publishing dominated. (I’m not a PAN member because I’m prohibited from being one. Why? Because even though I’m traditionally published at Hachette/Grand Central/Forever, I am an acquiring editor for Circlet Press, and that disqualifies me.)

A few other notes on the Rita Awards:

Last year 1400 entries were received.

Golden Heart entry fees are dropping to $30.

There are probably some more things to note, but this is what jumped out at me right away. I’m sure more debate will follow.

Sylvia Day’s #RWA14 Keynote: “Dream Big. Plan Smart.”

Here I am at my first RWA national conference and the keynote speaker is a writer I feel passionately about: Sylvia Day. Turns out the more I know about her, the more I love her. We have so much in common already and I keep finding out more! I just learned, for example, that she’s part Asian like me. But the most important thing that drew me to her initially was what a strong advocate for erotic romance she is. I didn’t realize she actually founded the Passionate Ink chapter of RWA. Being a longtime erotic writer myself (is it really 23 years since I wrote Telepaths Don’t Need Safewords??) I appreciate very highly the pathway in the romance genre pioneered by Sylvia Day. E.L. James has benefited from that pioneering, and so have I.

Sylvia’s speech opened with a look back at her first RWA conference, ten years ago. She listed off some of the major changes between then and now. Look at all the retailers who are gone–Borders, B. Dalton, Waldenbooks–not to mention publishers like Dorchester. In those days the RWA had a list of approved publishers and agents to steer writers to the “right” places. These days, that’s gone, too, and writers, she said, must make their own decisions about who to publish with or even whether to self-publish.

“It was easier to be a writer ten years ago,” she said, for many reasons. For one thing, we didn’t have social media demanding so much of our time. Nowadays retailers and publishers are “struggling to survive, while one is struggling to dominate.” (I believe she means Amazon, though she didn’t say so by name.) “We’re in the middle. We have to be proactive. It’s not just about writing anymore. It’s about being a businessperson.”

“Yes, it was SIMPLER ten years ago, but now is the best time to be a writer because now we have so many options. More options means more choice and more choice means more control.” That means making decisions regarding career, creative direction, who to choose an agent, publishing path, everything.

But the heart of her speech wasn’t about how to be a businessperson or how to predict the market. It was this: “Business can sap your creative energy. If you stop loving the work, it becomes hard to do the work.”

“The only person who can make your book REAL is YOU.”

She outlined three reasons why writers make bad decisions:

1. “We’re afraid.” To fail. To succeed. To make changes. “We’re afraid no one else will want us, whether that’s an agent or a publisher or a critique partner.” She got the biggest laugh of the afternoon when she said “What, you found the one idiot who figured out you’re a hack?”

2. We want to be validated, but we might choose to be validated for the wrong reasons. Maybe someone doesn’t recognize the colophon on the spine of your book and so to them you’re not “a real writer.” Well, guess what, millions of people out there don’t think that ANY ROMANCE is “real writing.” “You’ll never make those people happy,” she said. “The only person who can make your book REAL is YOU.”

3. We lack the knowledge to make a better decision. “We have to find the route that works for us. The right route is the ONE THAT PRESERVES YOUR CREATIVE DRIVE.” If you do that, you won’t be afraid to fail. In fact, you can learn from your failures. You can never make a “fatal mistake” if you write good books. You’ll bounce back every time.

I was very happy to hear her address the “traditional versus indie” publishing debates that have been raging with that statement. The right route is the one that preserves your creative drive. Think about that for a second. She pointed out that “we all know there’s more than one way to WRITE a book. You have your plotters, your pansters,” and many other methods of writing, “and all that matters is that there’s only one right way for you: YOUR way. Well, there’re more than one way to PUBLISH a book.”

“There’s more than one way to WRITE a book. There’re more than one way to PUBLISH a book.”

She finished the speech off with a to do list that included questions to ask yourself every time you have to make a writing or publishing decision. Are you afraid? Are you seeking validation? Did the validation you sought make you actually feel cheapened inside? Do you have all the information you need to make this decision? And “Dream big. There is no dream too big. Read often. Write well. And plan smart.”

Not said in the speech but I will point it out here: that’s why the RWA is so important. By getting together we can help each other on all three of those points. We feel less afraid when we have peers to turn to. We create our own forms of validation. And this conference is all about making sure everyone has the tools and craft and knowledge to success as romance writers! This is my first RWA National conference but I am certain it won’t be my last!

New Edition Now Available! THE HOT STREAK, my baseball romance novel

A new edition of THE HOT STREAK, my sexy sexy baseball-themed romance, is newly out from Riverdale Avenue Books! Just in time for the lull of the All-Star Break, eh? If you’re looking for something to read this week while your favorite team is off, look no further. Sample chapter under the cut!

Or buy it:

Ebooks: Riverdale Avenue Books | AllRomance Ebooks | Barnes & Noble | Smashwords | Amazon

CHAPTER ONE of THE HOT STREAK

Casey felt like a little girl on her way to the circus. That was the only thing she could think of to compare it to, as she rode the packed train toward the ballpark. There was a kind of excitement in the crowd, and as she elbowed her way out of the car with the rest of the passengers, she couldn’t help but be caught up in it.

She wasn’t completely sure which way to go, but surrounded by people in Robins hats and jerseys and T-shirts, she figured all she had to do was go with the flow. The river of brightly clad people buoyed her along toward the stadium. The summer breeze blew warm off Boston Harbor while the sun set somewhere behind the skyline. The glow of stadium lights ahead and the tinny sound of music from the PA system seemed to beckon the crowd. People chattered excitedly all around her, and she caught the sound of a familiar name in it.

Hammond, Tyler Hammond.

The two women directly in front of her were talking about the very guy who had invited Casey to this game.

“What? It’s Hammond starting? I thought it was Gutierrez on the mound tonight.” The woman was in her forties, Casey guessed, blond, with overlong nails and too many rings. She reminded Casey of her Aunt Mary.

“That was last night,” her friend replied. “Why do you think I’m wearing my Tyler Hammond jersey? Hello?” The other woman slid her long, dark hair aside, and pointed at her back to emphasize the point. Casey blinked. Right there, it said Hammond, with a large number thirteen sewn in black satin on the orange-red cloth.

She had the urge to ask them, What’s he like? Is he a decent guy? I met him today at work and I have no clue what I’m doing here…

But as the crowd grew thicker closer to the park, she lost sight of them. Time to figure out where to pick up the tickets. The stadium was only a few years old, a gleaming jewel on the waterfront, built to entice a National League team to Boston and, so said the cynical business columnists, to eat into the huge market of baseball fans the Red Sox had formerly monopolized. It had been big news at the time, but Casey hadn’t paid much attention in recent years and she’d never been to the ballpark before. She eventually found the window labeled “Team/Family/VIP”—a handwritten sign taped on the inside of the glass. Behind it stood a gray-haired woman wearing a red polo shirt with the Robins logo embroidered on it.

“Last name?” she barked at Casey through the grill.

“Branigan,” Casey answered. “Tyler Hammond said he left me…”

“Branigan,” the woman repeated. “Cassie?”

“Casey,” she corrected, more annoyed at having been cut off than at the woman getting her name wrong.

“Whatever. ID, please?”

Casey slipped her driver’s license into the little metal well under the window, and the woman slid it back along with a ticket. “Enjoy the game. Next!”

Casey put her license back into her wallet, feeling a bit like she was at the airport as she prepared to go through security. Were they going to want to see it again? They were searching people’s bags up ahead. But all she had was her little handbag, too small even to hold a single bottle of smuggled beer in it, much less a weapon of mass destruction. The guard just gave it a cursory glance and waved her through.

She made her way through the brick and concrete building, making her way along wide walkways edged with vending stalls selling popcorn and hot dogs; it smelled like the circus, too. A man selling bags of cotton candy lined up on a long pole edged past her and up a ramp toward the seats. She examined the numbers posted above the ramp and walked on further, looking for hers.

She came to what looked to be the right ramp and headed up a narrow concrete tunnel toward the bright lights.

Suddenly she was standing in the bowl of the stadium, the field huge and green in front of her. Players were spread out over the grass and for a moment she panicked, thinking she was late, but she quickly realized they weren’t playing yet. They were stretching and practicing their moves. She stared, the way one would if the actors in a Broadway play were wandering around on the stage before a show. But then an usher noticed her lost look and steered her to a seat about ten rows back from the field.

The whole section was empty; no one else near her had shown up yet. She bought a program from a passing vendor so she would have something to read while waiting, but she ended up looking around. I’m really not supposed to be here, she thought, and it seemed surreal to be sitting under bright lights in the open air.

She was supposed to be at a party right then. A “work” party being thrown by one of her regular clients, a launch party for the new “look” for their magazine, and she supposed she should have gone to be supportive and to network. But open-bar-and-crudite just didn’t have the appeal it once did. I never promised I’d go, she rationalized. It wasn’t as if she got paid to spend non-work hours attending that sort of thing, either.

Well, thank you, Tyler Hammond, for getting me away from that for a night. She looked for him on the field, but didn’t see him among the players there. Men raked the dirt and just a few Robins were off to one side playing catch and doing little sprints. She felt a thrill of excitement when she thought she caught sight of him—but no, that was someone else.

They’d met earlier in the day, when she was helping to set up a photo shoot for another magazine her company worked for. There had been two athletes involved, Tyler and another whose name Casey had forgotten now. The photographer had been aiming for some high-concept image with Tyler in a suit of armor, but Casey hadn’t paid much attention to the photographer. Not once Tyler had started to pay attention to her.

Casey generally did not flirt at work. Working in a production bureau normally did not bring her into contact with many flirt-worthy subjects, anyway. And today, she had not flirted either. It was all Tyler. If he hadn’t been so persistent, she probably would have just laughed him off and not taken him up on the offer of the free ticket.

She sat up straighter suddenly; there he was.

He hopped up the dugout steps and started walking across the grass. With him went a player carrying a large bag, and an older man Casey guessed must be a coach. They were fifty yards away at least, and Tyler was wearing a hat, but she was sure it was him.

Well, that and the fact that his jersey said Hammond on the back with a number thirteen, just like that woman’s.

The other player walking with him had Madison on his back. Casey wondered how players felt about women wearing clothes with their names on them. Was it sort of weird? Would Tyler expect his girlfriend or wife to wear a Hammond jersey?

Casey shook her head. I can’t believe I’m thinking about stuff like that. He was a sweet guy, but it wasn’t as if she expected anything to come of it. He had been nice to leave the ticket and it was a great excuse to get away from a boring work function and do something different for once. Casey watched the little trio open a gate in the far wall in the outfield and disappear through it. She was just wondering where they had gone when a woman took the seat next to her.

She was alone, not wearing any team colors, her hair a perfect auburn; her jewelry looked expensive. The woman glanced at Casey, then took a magazine out of her shoulder bag and began to read as if she were waiting for a bus rather than a baseball game.

The words were out of Casey’s mouth almost before she realized it. “Oh my goodness, I worked on that magazine.” It was the fashionable home publication whose party she was skipping out on, as if Fate were trying to remind her about it.

The woman looked up. “Oh?”

“Yes. I did some independent art direction for them. I work at a production bureau here in town…sorry, that might sound like Greek. I helped with their photography and layout.” Casey held out her hand. “Casey Branigan.”

“Pleased to meet you,” the woman said, shaking her hand hard. “I’m Missy Madison.”

Something about the way she said it made it sound like she expected Casey to recognize it. Casey hesitated, eyebrow raised, as if trying to place it, and the woman went on. “Mad Dog’s wife.”

Madison, she had said. “Oh, the fellow I saw walking with Tyler?”

Her smile warmed suddenly, seemed more genuine. “You’re here with Tyler?”

“Well, not with…” Casey started, then stopped. “I mean, he was nice enough to give me a ticket. I’m not, I mean…”

Missy smiled and patted Casey on the arm. “He’s fun, Tyler is,” she said and her smile turned knowing.

Casey didn’t know what to say to that, so she just smiled in return while wondering what she was getting herself into.

* * * *

The stands filled up around them and while listening to the people talking in the rows nearby, Casey eventually figured out that everyone in the section was a friend or the family of someone on the team. The only ones who weren’t relatives or significant others were the two guys sitting right behind her, who seemed to be some kind of executives in the company that ran the ice cream concessions at the stadium, at least as far as she could tell from eavesdropping on them. Missy introduced her to a few of the other women, and Casey was making small talk with them when the crowd started to cheer and holler.

Out on the field, Tyler and Mad Dog and the guy who was presumably a coach were walking back toward the dugout from the outfield. None of the other players was on the field now, just some workmen raking the dirt and watering it down. The three of them were taking their time crossing the grass, and more and more of the crowd began to cheer as they noticed them, turning their walk into a kind of parade.

A woman came running down the aisle, her camera in hand. “Tyler, I love you!” she shouted, waving, then taking a flurry of pictures as he waved in their general direction and disappeared down the dugout steps.

It was the woman Casey had seen earlier, in the Hammond jersey. She ran excitedly back up the aisle. Casey turned around to see her friend giving her a thumbs-up.

Missy put a hand on her wrist. “Don’t let it bother you. If it does, don’t get involved,” she said in a low voice. She turned back to her magazine then, as if she hadn’t just given Casey a fairly personal piece of advice.

She didn’t have long to mull it over before the action began on the field again. The Robins emerged, along with their mascot who looked like a giant stuffed animal, all plush. The big stuffie proceeded to gambol atop the dugout while the players began to warm up.

Tyler’s face looked far more serious than earlier. He had pushed his cap down low over his eyes, and, well, it barely looked like him. He stood on the little hill in the middle of the field like a statue on a pedestal, then all of a sudden he kicked his leg up like an Alvin Ailey dancer, and made a sort of pinwheel of arms and legs, out of which came the ball. Even with the pumped-up music playing, Casey could hear the ball hit the catcher’s glove.

“Does it always sound like that?” she asked Missy.

“Does what always sound like what?”

“Never mind.” Obviously was normal for it to smack so loudly. “It sounds like he throws hard.”

She smiled. “Honey, nobody throws harder than ‘The Hammer.’”

“Is that what they call him?”

Missy nodded. “That and the ‘Big Ham,’ ‘Ham and Cheese…’”

“Wait, ‘Ham and Cheese?‘”

“They call a fastball ‘hard cheese,’ and any guy with a name that starts with H-A-M…” She shrugged. “Ballplayers aren’t exactly always geniuses when it comes to nicknames.”

So spoke the wife of a man they called “Mad Dog.” Casey nodded.

People around them were starting to get to their feet and Casey wondered why. It reminded her of being in church as a child and trying to figure out how the adults all knew when to stand up. The announcement that came over the PA system soon cleared up the confusion, though, as a voice asked everyone to rise for the National Anthem.

The players on the field grouped together a bit. The three outfielders stood shoulder to shoulder, the infielders on each side, too. Tyler stood on the mound alone, though, with his cap over his heart and his head bowed so his chin touched his chest. He looked solemn. Lonely. Determined. Not at all like the happy-go-lucky guy who had flirted with her all afternoon.

Casey realized she was probably reading too much into things, but she couldn’t help the feeling that she was there to see a play. A very odd play, acted out in pantomime and interpretive dance, where each movement represented something.

And it was certainly dramatic. Tyler struck out the first three batters for the other team, the crowd’s cheers getting louder on each one. The Robins managed to get a runner home in the next inning, but that was it, and for a couple of innings the whole place was tense, like they were waiting for a storm to break. Casey didn’t need to know anything about baseball to realize that being ahead by only one was precarious.

Then in the sixth, the pantomime played out in a way that even Casey could see. The other team got a few men on, but they hadn’t scored yet and there were two outs. The batter who came to the plate was huge. He could have been cast as a villain in a James Bond movie; that was how big and menacing he was as he walked from the sidelines, waving his bat.

Strike him out, Tyler, come on, she thought.

But his first pitch hit the big palooka on the shoulder. The guy went down to one knee for a second, then sprang up, more enraged than injured, just like if Bond had punched him in the face and he just kept coming. The batter was shouting, Tyler was shouting back. The umpire and Mad Dog got between them, everyone walking gradually toward first base as all four of them were shouting now. Mad Dog was chest to chest with Tyler, holding him back from charging the guy. A Robins coach came running over, then another one came out of the dugout, there was much gesticulation…

The next thing Casey knew, there was something of a scrum happening, and coaches and other players were pulling Tyler and the other guy apart, and a lot of players had run onto the field who didn’t seem to be doing anything helpful but staring.

Then everyone went back to their places except for one coach and one umpire, who argued for a while. Then the coach waved to the outfield and went back down into the dugout.

Tyler was nowhere to be seen. “What just happened?” Casey asked Missy.

“Looks like Tyler got ejected from the game. Campbell, too, from the looks of it.” She pointed to a skinny guy now at first base, stretching his legs. And a pitcher came through the doorway in the fence and jogged to the mound.

The poor kid was getting booed. “Okay, and isn’t that guy on our team? Why are people booing?”

“Well…” Missy looked around. “They are booing the umpire for tossing Tyler, but the new pitcher, his name’s Javier, and he’s not been doing well lately. And the bases are loaded and he has only a one-run lead. So there’s no margin for error.”

Casey crossed her arms. That didn’t seem quite right. “Yeah, but…shouldn’t they be cheering to try to give him some encouragement? I mean, if you destroy the guy’s confidence, how’s he supposed to do well for you?”

Missy laughed. “You should have been a psychologist. A crowd isn’t like a rational person. A crowd sees something they like, they cheer. Something they don’t like, they boo. It’s pretty simple. The guys learn not to take it personally.”

Casey tried to imagine thousands of people booing her and not taking it personally. She didn’t manage it.

On the other hand, the next batter hit the ball straight up, Mad Dog caught it when it came down, and then there were huge cheers for Javier. “I see what you mean.”

Things went on from there, and in the next inning, Mad Dog hit a home run to make it two to nothing, which made the lead and the crowd more comfortable, and Casey started thinking about heading home. The ice cream guys had already left, so it seemed like it was an acceptable thing to do. She had work in the morning, after all, and it was nine thirty already, and the player she had come to see was out of the game. She was just going to turn to Missy to say goodbye and thanks, when a warm hand on her shoulder made her jump.

“Hey! You made it!” said a voice in her ear.

“Oh hi, Tyler,” Missy said casually, as Casey whipped around to look at him.

He grinned. His hair was damp from a shower and a cowlick made it curl loosely on his forehead. “Hi,” she said, suppressing the urge to reach out and push that hair aside with her fingers.

“Now we’ll see if the bullpen can make Doggy’s dinger stand up,” he said to Missy.

Casey blinked. “Is everything baseball players say obscene?”

He and Missy laughed. “I’ll translate,” she said, putting her hand on Casey’s forearm. “Doggy, that’s my husband. A ‘dinger’ is a home run, I guess because in the old days they rang a bell when you hit one. And to make a score ‘stand up’ means making sure it’s enough. So if they win the game two to nothing, then two runs will not have been knocked down by the other team scoring more.”

Tyler smirked. “You’re as smart as your husband.”

“I still think it sounds dirty,” Casey said.

He shrugged. “You really don’t know anything about baseball, do you?”

“Well, I know there are three outs in an inning and that Babe Ruth was the greatest player, but that’s about it.” She crossed her arms.

But he looked delighted. “Let’s get out of here. You deserve a nice dinner out for sitting through all this.”

Casey was about to say no. She should have said no. But she hesitated a little too long.

“I’ll get us a private table at Blu. Come on, it’s on me,” he emphasized, as if she might have declined because the place was too expensive for her. Which it was.

“I’m not dressed for…”

“Did you miss the part about the private table? Besides, it’s summer. You look fine.”

The approving look Missy was giving her clinched it, though. “Oh, all right.”

“Excellent!” He jumped like a little boy, took Casey’s hand and pulled her up the aisle while she waved goodbye to Missy.

* * * *

Simply put, dinner with Tyler at a ridiculously fancy restaurant wasn’t anything like Casey expected it would be.

He’d driven them from the ballpark to the Ritz-Carlton downtown in his sports car—it was the first time she’d considered there was a connection between “sports” and sports cars—and she kept thinking if he was really going to put a move on her, they’d have champagne on ice and caviar brought to their private dining room while a white-gloved staff, silent and discreet, served the courses and swapped out the correct forks and knives.

But when they got there, the first thing that happened at the doorway to the restaurant was the maitre d’ began to chew Tyler out. “Mr. Hammond, nice to see you as always, but what were you thinking plunking Campbell like that?”

Tyler just shrugged. “What’s the score?”

The man pulled his phone out of the breast pocket of his jacket. “Three-zip.”

“How’d we get the third run?”

“Go in the bar and watch it on ESPN if you want the details,” was the reply. Then he looked at Casey. “Or would you like a table for two?”

Tyler glanced at Casey as well. “Up to you.”

“Me?” That came out far too much like a squeak for Casey’s comfort, and she told herself to calm down. “Um…”

The maitre d’ was a broad man, but couldn’t have been more than twenty-five. He addressed Tyler again. “They’re about to quit serving in the main dining room, actually. But the bar’s dead. Tuesday night in the summer, you know.”

“Sure. I’ll keep Hojo company. The bar all right with you?” he asked, one hand hovering behind Casey’s shoulder blade.

Maybe this really was just a casual thing. She wasn’t sure if that was a relief or a disappointment. “Sure. The bar sounds great.”

Tyler and the beefy maitre d’ exchanged hand slaps like they were teammates and Tyler steered her toward the artfully lit modern-art style bar. Down at the far end, a bartender was watching the game on a widescreen TV. There was a single businessman sitting near the door; otherwise, the place was empty.

“My man!” The bartender said as Tyler and Casey approached. He reached over the taps and they exchanged a fancy handshake. He was a wiry fellow with horn-rimmed glasses. “Here a bit early, aintcha?”

“Not really,” Tyler said. “You know they would’ve yanked me after the seventh anyway.” He slid onto a stool. “Hojo, this is Casey.”

“Nice to meet you,” Casey said and extended her hand for a perfectly normal handshake.

Tyler proceeded to rattle off what he wanted to eat, punctuated by occasional questions to Casey. Did she eat shrimp? Was she okay with fried things? Allergic to anything? Hojo went to put in the order.

“I take it you eat here a lot,” Casey said.

“Yeah, you could say that. This is the hotel where our team stayed when I played for the Blue Jays, and I liked it, so when I moved into town, I kept coming back.” He stood halfway on his barstool, reached behind the bar for two glasses and the beverage gun, and filled one glass with club soda for himself. “What do you like?”

Casey had her hand over her mouth. “You’re allowed to do that?”

“Why not? What’re they going to do, throw us out? Hojo’s a friend, we’re doing him a favor doing his job for him.” He waved the gun impatiently.

“Oh, uh, sure. Club soda.”

“You got it.” He filled her glass.

When the bartender came back, Tyler scoffed. “What kind of a place is this? No ice in the drinks!”

Hojo rolled his eyes and scooped a couple of cubes into each glass. “So, you guys want cocktails, too?”

“He’s the best mixmeister in the…aw, damn!” Tyler broke off as the image on the television showed a home run leaving the ballpark.

“It’s cool, man, it’s cool,” Hojo said. “Just a solo shot. Rigney will nail it down.”

“Who’s Rigney?” Casey asked, sipping her club soda and watching Tyler’s face, as his eyes were now glued to the screen.

“He’s our stopper,” Tyler said, and Casey pictured a cork, bobbing on a pond of water. “Always pitches the ninth inning, and only when we have a lead,” he clarified.

“Rig’s cool,” Hojo said. “When you bringing him around here again? I got balls for him to sign.”

“Ah, you know him.” Tyler took a sip of his club soda, then rolled the glass in his hand, picking up condensation on his fingers. “Doesn’t drink. Tell him there’s a Bible meeting here, though, and he’ll be first in line.”

They chuckled at that.

The food began arriving then, and the game ended with the Robins winning. “Nice,” Tyler said, as the final score flashed up on the screen. “That saves my bacon.”

“How?” Casey asked, eating another piece of delicately fried shrimp wrapped in sliced mango.

“You know, I got myself tossed from the game. If we lost, it’d be my fault for losing my head. But Javy and the guys held it together, didn’t they? They can take all the credit, too. I’ll probably still get fined, though.” He licked his fingers.

“For fighting?”

“And for leaving early. Although I did go up to the press box and give the writers all the quotes they wanted before I came down to get you.”

“You talked to the press?”

“Oh, yeah. Normally I’d wait around down in the clubhouse and after the game, they’d swarm me.” He shrugged. “But I was hoping you were there.”

He said it so casually, Casey could almost dismiss it. “How much are they going to fine you?”

“Dunno.” He took a piece of shrimp in his fingers and popped it into his mouth. “Probably a couple thousand dollars.”

“A couple thousand dollars?” She knew her eyes must be as wide as the TV above them. He’d basically just admitted that he’d paid a few thousand dollars just for the chance to go out with her.

“Yeah,” he said. “So, isn’t the food here amazing? Try this thing here.” He pulled over a plate they hadn’t started on yet, another appetizer that seemed to have cucumber rounds heaped with some kind of sushi. He held one between his fingers, which Casey noticed were very long and thin, his nails perfectly trimmed. “Try it.”

She hadn’t eaten from a man’s hand since she was in college, probably. The guys she normally went out with were always trying so hard to impress her with how grown up they were—and she did the same to them. Almost thirty, not yet married, she was tired of men whose goal in life seemed to be to prove they could act like her Dad.

She took the cucumber into her mouth. It had a cool crunch, which offset how the fish seemed to just melt with tangy spices. “Damn, that’s good,” she said, one hand over her mouth as she was still chewing.

“I know! It’s awesome. They only have it when the tuna is fresh caught.” He put one into his own mouth, tipping his head back and groaning with pleasure as he chewed. It was a nice sound, Casey thought. Well, a naughty sound, really.

The conversation ranged over many topics. Whether golf was a real sport and whether Casey would need to learn to play it if she were to become a manager at her company. Pros and cons of vegetarianism. Hybrid cars.

Hojo brought more food. Tiny medallions of lamb, velvet soft and barely needing a knife to be cut, and some kind of fish filet rolled with crabmeat. Everything was delicious, and Tyler wanted to share it all, each of them eating bits from whatever plate struck their fancy. No, it wasn’t anything at all like what Casey had expected going to one of the fanciest restaurants in the city would be like.

She was wiping up the sauce the lamb had come in with a piece of a whole grain roll when Tyler said, “Wow, I like you. You’re a real girl.”

Casey chuckled and took a bite. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, just…you know…well, maybe you don’t know. I keep going out with these girls who are like, ‘oh, I can’t eat carbs because I’m watching my figure. And I can’t eat fat because it’s bad for my skin. And I can’t drink because I’ll bloat. And I can’t have ice cream because dairy gives me bags under my eyes…’”

“What are they, supermodels?” Casey quipped.

“Well, actually, yeah,” Tyler said with a shrug, reaching over the bar to snag the gun and refill his soda water. “Or sometimes not, but they act like they are. You seem like you know how to enjoy life.”

“Funny,” she said, realizing he was not only complimenting her, he was being plain and honest. “I was going to say the same thing about you.”

“And here’s the thing,” he said, taking a gulp of soda, setting the glass down, and turning his bar stool so his knees faced her. “You look just as fantastic, in fact maybe twice as fantastic, as any of those Botox diet bunnies do, and it’s not because you’re killing yourself for some kind of fucked-up beauty ideal. It’s because you’re just plain beautiful.”

If they had been drinking something other than soda water, Casey would have blamed his candor on alcohol. As it was, she just blushed and smiled. “Are you high?” she joked.

“High on life,” he said, knocking back the rest of the soda, the ice clinking in the glass as he set it down with a sigh. “You’ve got work tomorrow, huh?”

Casey bit her lip. It was almost midnight now as it was, and attractive and thrilling and interesting as Tyler Hammond was—the image of the woman at the ballpark screaming “I love you, Tyler!” ran through her mind. “Um, yeah,” she said, while kicking herself for sounding so inarticulate. Here this guy had just said one of the nicest and most honest things she thought she’d heard a man say to her in years, and all she could muster in response were monosyllables. “Look, it’s not that I don’t like you, but I really do have a meeting at nine thirty.”

“All right,” he said. “You pick the date for the next one. If you’re interested, that is.” He raised his eyebrow a little, as if challenging her to chicken out.

“Fine.” She put down her napkin and smirked. “Make it Saturday, then. I’ll have no excuses.”

“Saturday it is,” he said with a nod, standing up and reaching out a hand to help her from her stool. His hands were gentle and surprisingly soft on hers as he did, not at all what she expected from a jock. Her shoulder tingled where his fingers had brushed her as she stood.

He drove her home, pulling up by the fire hydrant outside her building and putting the car into park with the blinkers on as he spoke. “Okay, so, just so we’re clear on things, I don’t want you to think I’m one of those guys who puts a last-minute move on a girl just to see if she’ll give in and invite me up. But I do want you to know that it’s totally okay if you don’t want a goodnight kiss, but I did consider this sort of a first date, you know, and so I’d really like one. But only if it’s okay with you.”

He delivered the entire speech with both hands on the steering wheel, staring at the rim, but then turned and looked at her. Casey stared at him. “You say some of the oddest things,” she said.

“Yeah, that’s what Mad Dog says, too. So was that a yes or a no?”

“Um…” Casey felt like she could hear her heart beating in her chest.

“My Daddy always said if a lady isn’t sure, that means no.” His shoulders slumped a little.

Casey snorted. “I’m not a lady,” she said. She realized she’d feel disappointed if they didn’t kiss, and that decided her. “Come here.”

He leaned toward her then, and she slid her hands up his smooth cheeks. He must have shaved when he showered after leaving the game, she thought, as she pulled him forward a bit more so that she could press her lips to his. They were firm, and warm, and she breathed in that heady mixture of his cologne and the air he exhaled.

She drew back. “Saturday,” she said.

“Saturday,” he repeated, like it was a secret code word. He waved to her with a huge grin on his face as she backed out of the car, then, and even something about the way he drove off made her think, Wow, he really likes me.