Dani Collins's Blog, page 64

Happy Canada Day

Best laid plans of mice and writers…

I was thrilled, thrilled I tell you, when I learned that Proof Of Their Sin would be released on July 1st, Canada Day. There were so many nice connections to tie in the book with the day. The heroine, Lauren, is Canadian. She lives on her grandmother’s maple syrup estate in Quebec. My hero, Paolo, is an international banker and do you know who is taking over the Bank Of England? Yeah, Mark Carney. A Canadian. I’m so shameless, I’ll even invoke Chris Hadfield, because my characters’ love story is out of this world.

But live and learn. Proof Of Their Sin actually became available online in early June. By the middle of the month it was shipping from Amazon and sitting on shelves in the lower mainland. It hit the stores in my town on the 25th.

What then, do I have left to say on Canada Day?

Well, thought I, I should be thankful my book came out early. (I should be grateful it came out at all!) And I am.

Which leads me to think that maybe a nice post on why I’m thankful I was born and raised in Canada would be my best course of action. Here goes:

I get to write romance novels. What I’m saying is, I went to school where I learned to read and write. Not all children, especially girls, have that opportunity. Ask Malala Yousefzai. Also, not all women in this world are allowed to express their views freely. Some aren’t allowed outside without a male guardian or to have control over their own bodies. I can say what I want verbally, in print, and with my vote.
I can also register my preferences and desires financially because I have a job. I keep my work life separate from my writing life for a number of reasons, a huge one being that they don’t pay me to promote their products on my blog, but it’s a good job where I am paid fairly. I work civilized hours and will be enjoying my nation’s holiday with a full day’s pay. 
I am enormously lucky and grateful that I and my husband and kids are healthy, but when one of us is not 100%, we can visit the doctor and the only cost is time. Much is made about the cost of healthcare in Canada and the quality of service and maybe it’s not perfect, but try to touch it and you will see us march on Ottawa with our pitchforks. I’m hugely proud to be from a country that offers universal healthcare.
I’m also proud of our water. I not only look at a gorgeous lake from my kitchen window, but I can turn on a tap at my sink and clean, potable water comes out! We take that for granted in this country, but it is a luxury beyond measure.
Speaking of luxuries, let’s talk about Cannabis Day. I won’t say I’m proud, more like resigned, to have Canada and the area where I live known for its potheads. I don’t personally indulge, but I am resigned to the fact that many do and prohibition doesn’t stop them. For that reason, I heartily support legalizing marijuana and taxing the stuffing out of it, just like booze and cigarettes. Seems to me it would not only free up but fund the police to spend their time more wisely. Just my opinion and one that seems to be shared by those who celebrate Cannabis Day on Canada Day. I just wish that those who ‘protest’ marijuana prohibition by sparking up would take an attitude of gratitude when they do it. The defiance annoys me because they obviously don’t appreciate the fact that they could and would be shot in some countries for such flagrant rebellion. Just saying.
Further to expressing personal beliefs, I love that I can say I’m an atheist and not fear for my life. I love that the Mayor of Calgary is Muslim and do you know what he’s doing? Advocating for all Calgarians to the best of his ability. I know there are a lot of ways we could improve on being inclusive–let’s start with the aboriginal population–but we’ve come a long way where other countries haven’t. Gay marriage, anyone?
Further to that, let’s talk about our culture of kindness. Sorry if we say ‘Sorry’ too often, and good luck at a four way stop (no you go, no you go), but isn’t that better than  stomping on each other to get to the top? I won’t apologize for that.
Did I mention Mark Carney and the fact that Canada stayed afloat during the financial crisis? Turns out that government interference with banking controls is actually a good thing.
I especially love that we can laugh at ourselves. I think this is the result of a few things, an important one being the lack of reason for sobriety. I vividly remember reading Hiroshima in high school and getting to the part where the children were discouraged from laughing after the bomb. The horror was that  profound. We don’t have such an event in our history (thankfully!) Instead, we are products of sparsely populated towns and farm communities that suffer long winters. Until American cable came along, we had a dearth of outside entertainment and had to rely on ourselves. Plus, our country has always been the slightly oversized, but younger cousin to powerhouse countries like Britain and the US. Kids in that position learn to disarm with self-deprecation. Watch out, though. We’re approaching the midpoint of our second century, which is like adolescence. Prepare for biting sarcasm, perhaps a bit of drug experimentation (I forgot to mention the needle exchange/harm reduction unit) and yeah, maybe an unplanned pregnancy. (I don’t even know what that means. It’s just a Canadian being silly for the sake of a laugh.)
I love that we’re humble in our pride. Sure our beer commercials make us out to be all that and a bag of chips, but they’re beer commercials. That’s what we do, brag while making a bit of a fool of ourselves. Because we’re a society that believes in equality so we have to balance the We’re Awesome with We’re Also Human.

Thank you, Canada. I love you.

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Proof Of Their Sin Giveaway Winners

I had a busy weekend with family in town for my daughter’s high school graduation. She and her boyfriend looked spectacular and made us so proud. This is why I’ve been dragging my feet with announcing my giveaways and I appreciate your patience.

The Goodreads Giveaway was a rousing success with approximately 600 entries. I don’t have permission to post the winner’s names, but their initials were: JH, AL, and VM. The books have been sent.

Fiona won the copy off my post at RomanceNovelNews. She was kind enough to take electronic as she’s overseas.

Nora won the copy at RomanceJunkies and a reader going by the handle of bn100 won the copy from iHeartPresents.

I’m waiting for confirmation from Paloma on the winner of the RomanceBeckons copy, but Lani definitely won the copy from HarlequinJunkie.

Feeling bummed that you’re not on this list? Do not despair, dear Reader! You still have several chances to win:

June 26, LoveRomancePassion – I honestly can’t recall if I offered a giveaway, but I’ll tell ya what. Comment there that you read this blog and want to be entered and I’ll draw names there. Promise.

July 1, CaribbeanAccentBookReviews – I still have to write this blog and will definitely offer a giveaway so please drop by and comment for a chance to win.

July 3, WritingSecretsOfSevenScribes – Yep, still gotta write that one, too, but I’ve made notes and will have a giveaway. Just drop by and say hi

July 12, LovesRomanceAndMore – This will be an Author Focus interview, but I’ll offer a giveaway. Please come say hello.

And remember, I draw from my newsletter subscriber list so scroll to the bottom of the page and sign up. You’ll be entered in all future draws for a copy of my most current book.

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The Graduate

I have Giveaway names to announce and blog links to post, but today is all about The Graduate in my house. Such a wonderful life marker and given that I’ve been holed up in this writing room A Lot lately, I’m now unplugging to spend the weekend with family.

Please enjoy this link to my daughter’s Drama Final Exam, which is not only an awesome retelling of a classic tale, but a lesson in perseverance.

Have a great weekend.

 

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#SampleSunday – Proof Of Their Sin

This is likely to be my last #SampleSunday for Proof Of Their Sin. However, I keep thinking I should write the scene that causes all this commotion–that’s right, the love scene.

Time is always my nemesis. I recently read this quote by Michelangelo, “I hope that I may always desire more than I can accomplish.” I’m not comparing myself to him, but I can relate to that level of ambition.

And to that ambitious end, among my many goals is starting a Street Team. I want to go to National first and attend some workshops on doing it right, but I’m pretty sure a scene like what I’ve suggested would would make a nice bonus for dedicated followers. If you’re interested in being involved in my Street Team, please subscribe to my newsletter at the bottom of the page or subscribe to my blog at the right and you’ll be notified when I’m getting it off the ground.

In the meanwhile, we have #SampleSunday. I’ve been doing a lot of guest blogging lately so if you’re visiting from one of them, Hello and Thanks for dropping by! If you’ve missed some of my #SampleSundays for Proof Of Their Sin, I’ve compiled all the links into this post, in the order they appear in the book.

Ironically, this is posting on Father’s Day and one of the main conflicts in this story is Paolo’s stubborn refusal to believe he is the father of Lauren’s baby–even though he desperately wishes he was.

Bonus Scene! This prologue is not in the book. Lauren has been waiting for news on her husband (whom she has asked for a divorce.) In desperation, she calls his best friend, Paolo, asking him to intervene for answers. Paolo arrives with bad news.
Paolo has been caught in a paternity lie before, but Lauren is still surprised he refuses to believe her.
In this Mother’s Day post, Paolo continues to disbelieve he is the father.
Here she’s come around from her faint and they try to work out their next steps.

Below, Lauren and Paolo have been having words about who has been chasing who all these years and Lauren loses her temper. Paolo reacts.

~*~

Before she knew what she was doing, the yellow tomato left her hand and was flying at his head.

He fielded it like a pro, his reflexes catlike. His reaction of astonished disbelief came more slowly as he looked at the orb smashed into his palm. Very deliberately he set it aside and wiped his hand on his shirt, lifting his head in a way of a predator locking onto his prey. Retribution was a ferocious light in his outraged expression.

Lauren’s heart stopped. All her blood drained into her toes and a cold sweat chased it. She was as flabbergasted as he was and the way he seemed to gather and glow with challenge melted her into a puddle of apprehension.

“I-I-” she stammered.

He began walking toward her and she tried to retreat, backing into the fridge door and knocking condiments over in their trays while her nerveless fingers lost their grip on the cloth bag. It fell to the floor. More tomatoes rolled out toward his menacing steps while she managed to shuffle around the door and clatter it closed, taking refuge at one end of the island, putting it between them as he came up to the other end, threat in every line of his aggressive stance.

Part of her knew this standoff was insanely childish, but he looked not just furious, but intent. She was trapped and a frisson of something unidentifiable went through her. Not real fear, but the kind that chased you through a haunted house, making you want to laugh while you were screaming your head off.

“What are you doing hiding behind furniture? You wanted a fight didn’t you?” he taunted in a voice that sent a sensual slither down her spine. “Or were you inviting something else?”

“I was inviting you to get lost, but you can’t stand for a woman to resist you, can you?” she threw out.

“If you at least tried to resist, cara, we might not be in this situation.”

“Who is chasing who right now? I don’t want anything to do with you. You’re behaving like an idiot.”

His head went back in insult while a hint of desperation shadowed the eyes that stayed fixed on her. “Do I really have to chase a woman who wants to be caught?”

Her heart did a back flip while she protested, “Get over yourself!”

At the same time, her heart raced with something more like anticipation than fear, even though she was very scared how she’d react if he touched her.

He made a sudden fake to her left. She feinted in a mirror dodge that started him down one side of the island. She took her chances running down the opposite side.

Paolo was not only competitive, but strong, athletic, and ruthless. Before she’d taken four steps, he had vaulted onto and slid over the island, landing before her so she would have crashed into him if he hadn’t caught her by the arms to cushion the impact.

“You—”

He smothered her cry of anger with his mouth.

Proof Of Their Sin goes live on all digital platforms this week, on June 19th. Print copies release on July 1st. I cannot wait to visit myself in the stores. If you happen to see Proof Of Their Sin ‘in the wild’, please send me a snap via Twitter, Facebook or through my Contact page. I’ll enter you in a draw for a signed copy and include some swag.

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Sunshine Award

I was thrilled to open an email off my contact page the other day and find that the lovely Sharon Buchbinder had nominated my blog for a Sunshine Award.

It’s a little like a chain letter–and I have hard and fast rules about those things (never)–but this is such a nice gesture and, since there were no threats about my computer getting herpes or book sales plummeting, I am delighted to participate. Here are the rules:

Post the photo
Thank the person who presented you with the award and link them in your blog post. (Thanks, Sharon)
Do the Q and A that comes with the award (see below).
Present the award to 10-12 other bloggers and link them to your blog (see way below)

Favourite colour: (spelled with U’s, ’cause I’m Canadian) Depends on the purpose. Kitchen walls? Bathroom? Clothing on me? My husband? Speaking of MrC, he is known to be a real bear when asked a question like this. If you ask him, What’s your favourite movie, he’ll say, ‘What genre?’ And when you start suggesting genres, like, say, action, he’ll say, what subgenre? Invasion? Political? Superhero? We don’t like to play favourites in this house.

Favourite animal: Here we are supposed to say, Why of course it is our cat, Buddy, but he is a complete pain the behind. He demands to be let out at 11pm and wants to come in at 4:10 am. Go ahead, ignore him. He CLIMBS TO THE BALCONY WITH MUCH SCRAPING AND THUMPING AND MEOWS AT THE BEDROOM’S FRENCH DOORS. We’ve tried putting up blockades, taking down the lattice. He’s a ninja and always turns up with an insistent yowl and a scratching of claws on the door. Seriously want to drop him off the balcony at that point, but who said the kids could have a pet in the first place? This is our punishment and we are paying our debt to society.

Favourite number: Um, what was my last advance? Times it by itself.

Favourite non-alcoholic drink: I’m writing this on a Friday night. What a silly question. I very much love coffee and my body keeps telling me to cut back on it. So far it tolerates wine just fine so I am focusing on that.

Facebook or Twitter: You can choose? I thought you had to do both, like it was law or something. Truth is, I love the Twitter. It’s my social media of choice, but now that I’ve got the hang of Facebook, I like it, too. Don’t look at my Pinterest boards. I keep begging my daughter to take over that account and apparently she’s too busy. Ungrateful…

Getting or Receiving presents: I’m lousy at both. Please lower your expectations.

Favourite pattern: I’ve never been asked this, but have to say the less busy the better and something soft, like clouds or rainbows that are not harshly delineated. That’s if we’re talking visually. My ultimate favourite pattern would be the recurring themes in astrology. They make sense to me.

Favourite day of the week: Friday. Right now, Friday night is my only ‘off’ time and I’m writing a blog. But this is a fun one so I don’t mind

Favourite flower: Okay, now I’m being asked to choose between my best friends. I LOVE flowers. What genre of flower are we talking about? Favourite flower that reminds you of someone? Flowers you can eat? Flowers that deer don’t eat?

Favourite blogs: I’m sure some of these blogs have received the Sunshine Award before. They’re awesome peeps. Here goes:

The gals at Moody Muses
Jennifer Crusie’s Blog, ArghInk
Peter at HowToWriteFast
Lucy Monroe (I recently rediscovered her Career Plan articles. They are GOLD)
Wonk-o-mance
Alma Katsu at Endpaper Notes (tons of good info on social media)
Under The Abaya (fascinating blog that I stumbled on doing research for a book)
Lisa Pietsch (more good stuff on social media)
Kristen Lamb at WarriorWriters
Paloma Beck at Romance Beckons (has an incredibly loyal band of followers)

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WOTI Wednesday – LT Getty

I’m late, I’m late, for a very important date! Due to unforeseen circumstances (writers on both sides dropping the juggling pins) my interview with LT Getty from Worlds Of The Imagination is going up at the end of Wednesday night.

I don’t want to post a Thursday Thirteen on top of it so I’ll be skipping that again this week. Expect all my posts to be a bit off kilter as I finish up some projects and family comes to town for my daughter’s graduation. I’m aiming for the July 1st long weekend to start herding my kittens back into their baskets.

In the meantime, I’m delighted Leia has joined me here today.

Leia, what makes your fantasy world different from ours?

Tower of Obsidian is set in the 10th century of our world – the difference, of course, is that magic exists, if only a very small amount, however I gave a good reason for it to go away towards the end of the novel.

What inspired this book?

There were a good many inspirations – I had previously tried to write a collection of short stories where I was essentially retelling the same story again and again, but it just wasn’t jiving. I was watching my niece a lot around the time I was forming Tower of Obsidian’s story, and I started to notice how the new versions of cartoons I grew up with differed from the versions I knew – not only in art style, but how much more educational and safety-sanitized the new versions tended to be. So when I wrote ToO, I basically wanted tell a fantasy story about the nature of story, and retell the tale within the text, meanwhile, considering how interpretation of story changes.

Cool! Are your characters human? What talents do they have?

For the most part they are human – Kale one of the main characters, becomes “cursed” with immortality and bound to the aforementioned tower halfway through the novel.

I already want to know more. Is this part of a series?

No, Tower of Obsidian stands alone, and I have no intention to revisit the story at this point in time.

What’s your process like when it comes to worldbuilding? Any tips for other fantasy authors?

I usually come from an idea for a plot, then I work out the characters. When I create characters, I usually think of their personalities, then think about the world that they would need to come from, then, after I’ve developed the world, I go back and make them a product of their world.

For example, I might come up with someone who I’m going to say is spoiled from a life of privilege and I want this character to be adventuresome as well. So I develop the world – are they of a higher social or wealth class? What would be these defining factors? Let’s say I wanted to write a story about a young man who commands his own ship, but he thinks he’s better then the men he commands – I’ll make this character of a merchant class, wealthy but not necessarily royalty. I’ll consider trade and what their family might deal with – the opportunities are endless, but a family that deals with something more refined like spice or manufactured goods denotes a different social class then one who is dealing with the slave trade or shipping raw ore or lumber. I’ll come up with what that port is known for – what the rules are, what the people eat, what day to day life is, and develop that character – at this point, I might say to myself, “I want him to be ignorant of what most working people go through – but still kind of outdoorsy and strong.” So I’ll make him come from a wealthy family of shipmakers – now, this is important if the society denotes only certain classes can make boats, or handle whatever materials or whatever – I need to figure out what kind of ships we’re dealing with, and what sort of education his family would require of him. If he’s the heir – he needs to know his father’s business and his life is probably very planned out. If he’s the spare – he might have some freedom but no inheritance – perhaps this society makes second-sons enter the priesthood or he receives a ship from his father to start his own business. So let’s assume I want my character to come from relative wealth, education and freedom – I’ll make him the third-born in a society where women inherit, so he’s not essentially needed unless disaster strikes. I’ve now developed a system that explains why a relatively young and ignorant character would own a ship, and I can use that world-building I’ve done to give him individual characteristics. In addition to his own dreams and goals, how does he see his family? How does he see society? Is he resentful of his older sister gaining the family business, or is he happy to make his own way in the world?

So I guess my advice is regardless of wherever you start in your story – whether you create the character first, or you come up with the world and plunk a character in it, is to ask some questions as to how they came to be the way they came to be – it might not match your original vision and you might do a ton of work that no one will ever see, but it’ll help you develop more rounded characters that feel authentic to whatever world you dream up.

Every good author should probably follow this back and forth refining of world and character to help develop believability, regardless of genre. Can you share an excerpt?

“You’d think you were a princess, the way you carry yourself.”

“Don’t talk to him,” said Ruairí. He stood directly above the grating and graced his captive with a downward glance before speaking in their mother tongue. “You look like a thief, not the husband of a princess.”

“We will see who appears princelier by voyage’s end.”

Ruairí laughed, bending down. “There’s a skin–thief in Wizeo. He specializes in teeth. You’ll have no need of them—many masters like to feed their slaves only broth, knowing if their property flees they’ll starve. I may keep your teeth for Aoife and string them into a necklace for her.”

“Say what you’d like, Ruairí, but you and I both know you will be a favored exile at best,” Kale said. “Aoife is beyond your grasp.”

“I’ll keep you around long enough to prove otherwise,” Ruairí said, but looked away when a man shouted. Ruairí opened his eyes wide and sprinted away from the hold’s grate.

Kale tried to see, but all he could see were the stars, bits of sail, and the bottoms of the boots from the men walking above the grating. The men shouted in alarm. Kale remembered Ruairí’s earlier words to slit Kale’s throat before letting him be rescued, but in the chaos of battle, the men would be more worried about their own skins than any lingering orders.

He thought of the men above, those like him who were unused to sailing, and suddenly he was thrust forward. The ship leaned and creaked, and he heard a terrible, foreign crunching. His cell filled with water. He was not experienced in nautical tactics, but he assumed their ship had been rammed. Someone yelled, “Sea serpent!”

Perhaps mercy, Kale thought as the cold water quickly filled his hold. He was cold already but the large space filled slow enough that he could tread water which lifted him to the grate. He heard the sounds of dueling and the screams of men dying.

Once he could grasp the metal bars, he thrust out an arm. He shouted that he’d drown, but no one seemed to care as the men panicked above. How much water was the ship taking on?

The icy water was near his shoulders when someone smashed the lock to his prison with their blade. “Up and fight, damn you,” the corsair ordered, helping him out and handing Kale a blade.

He took the blade and was about to say he would never aid pirates when he saw the creatures before them and joined in the fray.

At first, he thought they were Vikings. Their attackers were large men with broad faces and full beards. He did not recognize their dark leather and metal dress or their pale, grayish skin painted white. It was late in the battle so their true color was easily seen underneath the smeared segments which weren’t spattered with blood. Braided into their hair and beards were the teeth and bones of both men and beasts.

Despite the chaos, he could see their ship, and then he heard a reptilian chortle from above. Not a sea serpent, but a great silver dragon, smaller than the ship he was on.

It rained down fire toward the sails. Several warriors from both sides were caught in the flames; some of who leapt into the waves. Kale took cover but was instantly dry; his back burned, for the corsair’s ship was already on fire, forcing him toward the ship’s stern. He had talked with Vikings before, their merchant allies, and even some captured enemies. He had tried not to listen to their pagan stories but became interested when they spoke of their ghosts.

One large, pale warrior was struck by a corsair’s blade, and he bled as dark as any man. Ghost or mortal, Kale had no idea, but the word draugr burned into his mind as he fought. He tried to remember the stories, but with what seemed like death battling him, his mind was of survival, not folklore.

The dragon then dove beneath the waves. He barely had time to parry the attack from a one–armed draugr. Parrying, Kale caught his scent. The warrior was no ghost. He’d received a cut to his head.

He knocked Kale backwards, only for a corsair to shoot him from behind.

“Show them no mercy,” shouted the corsair. “I thought you were a great swordsman. Fight!”

Their ship was sinking faster now, smashed midway, and water lapped at Kale’s heels as he fought alongside the corsairs. Someone lanced his shoulder, rendering his right arm slow, so he fought with his left, defending his patch of deck like a mad man. Were they driving them into the sea, to feed the monster?

When the dragon emerged from the deep, it knocked the ship onto its side, sending men from both armies into the water. Kale managed to clutch the railing, though he almost let go when the dragon swooped down and picked off one of the corsair archers who had been shooting the draugr from the crow’s nest.

The ship slowly careened back onto its proper side, and as the flames threatened to encircle the survivors, the draugr no longer advanced. Instead, the pale men formed a line and stomped their feet.

A horn sounded from behind their line, and they skittered backward.

The patch of deck Kale stood on began to sink, but a talon snatched him, and he was thrown forward onto the draugr’s ship. It was a craft not like a Viking long ship, but larger, with sails and a hold, such as a merchant vessel.

He was grabbed and disarmed, but rather than be killed, he was forced to his knees with several other survivors. Kale looked at the dragon, which descended a final time to the corsair’s ship and dug its massive claws into the hull, forcing it to sink even quicker.

The dragon leapt to the air once again, but in the darkness, changed.

He strained to watch the creature while he was held down, but he saw the dragon descend to the draugr’s vessel as a man.

He was possibly the largest man Kale had ever seen, almost built to a different scale; his features were too angular and his movements fluid, feline, intentional. He wore black armor, not with bones or white paste of the draugr or the mail of the Vikings, but something which felt like it radiated heat when he walked past Kale.

“Take the survivors to the hold,” he instructed the warriors.

Ooooh, trouble. Where can readers find out more about you and your books?

My Blog: http://ltgetty.wordpress.com/ or Amazon | Nook | Champagne | Goodreads

 

 

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#SampleSunday – Proof Of Their Sin

I’m losing track of the excerpts I’ve posted. At some point I want to add links to each book page so you can click into all of them, but that’s pretty far down my To Do list. I need an assistant, one who doesn’t mind being paid in romance novels.

The working title of this book was Kidnapped For Keeps. Paolo hustles Lauren into his car as she arrives off the plane in Milan. He’s come home for Christmas and doesn’t fancy having her parading herself around his town where all his family might see her. She just saw him in New York the night before so she’s pretty surprised he got there ahead of her.

~*~

“I thought you were living in Quebec?” he said.

“I am. Was. Paolo, how?” She opened her palms in bafflement, wishing away the skip that plucked at her heart when she looked at him, but he was so masculine and sure. His sunglasses obscured his eyes, setting off his blade straight nose, his stern jaw, his mouth with its narrow upper lip and the squared off, but full, bottom one.

That mouth had travelled everywhere on her, tender and wicked and determined to draw forth every last ounce of pleasure. Her stomach contracted in a clench of desire remembering the way he’d devoted himself to kissing the arch of her foot, the backs of her knees, her inner thighs…

Flushing, burning in a hell of sins, she jerked her gaze back to streets she didn’t see. “You didn’t say anything about coming to Italy last night,” she said in a strained voice. “Your assistant said you were leaving town after the benefit and gone until the New Year, but she didn’t say where you were going. How are you here ahead of me? Were you on my flight, too?”

“No, I arrived ahead of you.” He pursed his lips with dismay before saying, “I didn’t wish anyone to know we were associating beyond our brief conversation last night. You have put me in a difficult position. You understand that, si?”

She had put him…? Defensive anger poured through her. She’d grown up with step-siblings who had always pointed to her as being at fault and she didn’t take that sort of blame any longer.

“I didn’t rape you and steal your sperm, Paolo.”

“Who knows you are pregnant?” he demanded.

“Just my doctor.”

“Who else?”

“No one! All the books said to wait three months before telling anyone.”

“They don’t mean the father, Lauren. Or did you try telling him and things didn’t work out? Is that why you’ve come to me? What happened with the real father? Tell me. I’ll help you.”

Lauren stopped thumbing the clasp on her pocketbook, annoyance making her heart ring and come out fighting. “The real father didn’t believe me and is behaving like an ass.”

He shot her a sharp glance until he read her meaning in the withering look she offered. His sexy mouth firmed into a hard line.

“You are being an ass,” she asserted. “I needed time to figure out what my life would look like as a single mother so I kept it to myself. Why didn’t you call?” she challenged. “You knew we hadn’t used any condoms.”

A muscle twitched under his eye. “I believed you were unable to get pregnant so even though I didn’t mean to take that risk, the likelihood of conception didn’t seem high enough to follow up on.”

All she heard was the first part and it caused her a sensation like a knife had been thrust into her throat. Another one turned slowly about eight inches lower, deeper in her chest.

“Ryan told you I couldn’t get pregnant?” she strangled.

~*~

Remember, I’m giving away a copy to my newsletter subscribers. Scroll to the bottom of this page to sign up now.

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TGIF

It’s not quite Friday. For me it’s only Thursday night, but I’ve been falling down on the blogging lately and thought I should catch you up with all that I’m up to–not that it’s earth shattering. I’m writing of course.

What am I writing? Well, I just sent off what will be my fourth Harlequin Presents. I may have a few more revisions on that one before all heads are nodding. It’s a revenge premise, my first, so I’m struggling with whether I made my hero likable enough. He’s really mad.

I’d like to have a partial to my editor in the next few weeks for my fifth. That way it’ll be full steam ahead on that manuscript through the summer when some of the promotional commitments back off.

Promo! I’ve been blogging everywhere about Proof Of Their Sin. I’m planning a Thursday 13 recap soon so if you’ve missed some and you’re bored at work, you’ll have some light reading to look forward to.

I’ll keep up the #SampleSunday, but I’ve been thinking that I’d like to do a serial here. I was going to write a novella, but it just occurred to me that I have a pair of perfectly good manuscripts I want to rework anyway…  Hmm. Something to think about after conference.

I’m attending the National Conference of Romance Writer’s of America in Atlanta this July. My friend Cathryn Parry and I will be giving a workshop called: The Joy Of Writing, With Or Without A Contract. Fun for all stages (of a writer’s career.) Cathryn has been a stalwart friend through a lot of tough rejections and other heartbreaks so I’m really looking forward to sharing some of the coping strategies we’ve developed (sometimes more like interventions) to keep each other positive. Of course that means I need to write them down so that’s another item on the To Do list in the next few weeks.

I’ll be attending the literacy autographing at the conference as well–something I’ve always envied other writers so I’m very much looking forward to that. Of course I’d like to offer a few giveaways so that means getting my swag in order. (Bookmarks and adhesive note pads at this point.)

Something else I’m very stoked about is my first opportunity to meet my editor with Harlequin Presents/Mills & Boon Modern, Megan Haslam. We’ve chatted on the phone and emailed plenty, but in person is always better for getting to know someone, right? I expect it to be a mostly social thing, but I don’t want to be caught unprepared if she asks, “So what’s next?” That means getting my next projects out of my head and sketched onto a napkin at the very least. (Feel free to send me a wishlist of your favourite tycoon/setting/premise combo. I’ll see what I can do.)

I’m also working on another pair of books that I’ll talk about when the time is right. There’s some conference prep to do for that project as well.

And what if the agent of my dreams walks up and says, “I can get you a six figure deal. What do you have?” Hint, the correct answer is not, Duhhh. So I want to know what I’m going to say if that happens.

Along those lines, I’ve been making notes for a career plan and I’d like to gel that into something more formal before I’m surrounded by industry professionals. It includes a book trailer, but I need to write the script before I can go anywhere with that.

So, as usual, my plate is full, my hands are full, my mouth is full. I think I’ve dropped some down my T-shirt into my lap and if we had a dog, he’d be cleaning the floor. Did I mention that contest season is starting and I have books to enter? Plus I’ve been promising to post a printable book list which seems like nothing, but it’s One More Thing.

I’ve made one solid decision, though: to learn all I can at conference about Street Teams before I dive headlong into starting one.

I know, I know! I was planning a post for The Writer’s Vineyard about over-committing. I was going to post it on my day last Wednesday, but if you can believe it, I got the dates mixed up and had already missed my slot by a week. No, I don’t know how it happened. Weird, right?

Have a great weekend and let me know what you think about my serial idea.

 

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#SampleSunday – Proof Of Their Sin

Proof Of Their Sin has gone live on the Mills & Boon UK and eHarlequin, I just discovered!!. I’m so excited. I loved Lauren and Paolo from the second they arrived in my imagination. She’s always been a wallflower, but starts to sparkle from page one, when she takes control of her life. As for Paolo, what can I say? He’s Italian. Swoon.

Here’s an excerpt to whet your appetite.

~*~

“So?” he demanded when the elevator doors enclosed them. “Whose is it?”

She dragged her gaze from his magnetic reflection and looked scathingly up at the man himself, mortified to acknowledge that desire still gripped her. It had always been there of course, sublimated, rejected, and ignored. That’s why she’d so rarely stood near him or held a real conversation with him. That’s why, after trying to speak to him at Ryan’s thirtieth birthday and receiving nothing but disparagement, she’d told herself she hated him.

She had convinced herself she would never see him again, but three months ago she’d had nowhere else to turn. At best she’d hoped for a civil phone call that might or might not have shed light on Ryan’s disappearance.

Twenty-four hours after the pleading message she’d left on his voicemail, however, he had walked into the Bradley’s cold, silent mansion like an avenging angel, eyes only for her. It was the last thing she had expected and inexplicably, despite all the turmoil around her, her inner freeze had thawed into a flood of warmth and relief. Her heart had begun to beat again.

Let me take you out of here, cara. He’d been like a mug of cappuccino, all coffee tones in a fawn leather jacket over dark chocolate pants. His jaw had been sprinkled with a sexy, overnight stubble and his brown eyes had been liquid with empathy and sorrow.

She’d gone with him because she had trusted him. The painfully awkward interactions in the past had fallen away and they’d been two people in the same crisis willing to cling to each other to survive it. She hadn’t gone to his penthouse because she was sexually attracted to him. She hadn’t wanted—

Well, that wasn’t true. She had always wanted on some level. Involuntarily.

She dropped her defiant gaze from his, swallowing back embarrassment over the way she hadn’t stopped herself reaching for him in the dark.

Forget it, she commanded herself, trying to ignore the clamor in her that said, I don’t want to forget. It was over. If he’d had a weak moment of randiness then it was her good fortune. She had the baby she’d longed for. Every time she thought of the life growing in her, her heart expanded to fill her chest with the sweetest ache. All she was really concerned with now was proceeding with life as a mother.

“It’s yours, Paolo,” she said in a husky voice aimed at his shoes, then realized she was doing it again, hanging her head like she had something to be ashamed of. Jerking her chin up, she set her jaw and braced herself against the feeling of teetering like a plate on a stick. “I don’t care whether you believe me,” she declared.

“Good,” he said as the car floated to a halt and the doors opened. “Because I don’t.”

She choked on offended fury. She cared. Of course she cared. This was their baby. All the maternal instincts she’d kept in stasis for years rushed forward to stand up for their child.

“How dare you call me a liar over something so important?” She made no move to exit the elevator.

He put out a hand to hold the doors, his scornful gaze flaying her into sandwich meat.

“I’ve been down this road. How could you think I’d take your word for it?”

~*~

If you like what you see, it’s available for preorder in N. American on Amazon, Amazon Canada, Nook, Kobo, and eHarlequin.

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WOTI Wednesday – R.J. Hore

R.J. (Ron) Hore joins me from the Fantasy Folk at Worlds Of The Imagination this week. R.J.’s novel, The Queen’s Pawn, is a medieval-style fantasy available in print and ebook.

How long have you been writing? How does it fit into the rest of your life? What are you besides a writer?

I have been writing fiction for over thirty years, piling up unpublished manuscripts. Wrote a lot of non-fiction in my day job. When I retired I went back to spending more time on the fiction and have published two short stories, co-authored a history book, and then linked up with Burst Books. So far I have published two novels and a novella in the medieval-fantasy style, and two fantasy detective novellas in a series (the Housetrap Chronicles) that will see two more issued in 2013.

Spare time? Very little. Family, photography, travel, and a sailboat. Oh yes, and attending writer’s conferences.

What is your process like? Did this book give you any trouble or flow better than others?

I have no problem coming up with ideas. The Queen’s Pawn grew out of a single scene, an innocent young man in a fallen city about to be overrun. From there the story flowed, adding a wizard, a sensuous Queen, and her spoiled daughter. Our hero has to rescue them and get them to safety. Lots of flirtations, bits of humor, and plenty of villains. It was fun to write and readers seem to enjoy it.

What can readers look forward to next from you?

I’m just wrapping up two more novellas in the fantasy detective series: The Housetrap Chronicles. My first medieval-style fantasy novel, The Dark Lady came out in February 2012. I have written two sequels and they are now sitting on the publisher’s desk awaiting judgment. There is also a novel about a bickering couple swept away to an alternative universe sitting in the wings. While the smoke clears from these, I plan to go back and re-visit an earlier novel, a tale of a lady archeologist, her teenage daughter, and an alien who looks like Harrison Ford. I originally stopped at 70,000 words and thought I was finished. I have since decided it needs something more, so the next major project will be adding 30,000 or so words.

What’s The Queen’s Pawn about?

On his way to study for the priesthood, Harow is mistaken for a bold and infamous duke. Instead of study, he finds himself thrust into action to rescue a beautiful queen and her spoiled daughter, as they flee the city. Now, a rebel army is hot on their heels and Harow must keep his wits about him as he leads the small group of survivors to safety.

Will you share an excerpt?

“Well, I’m not going anywhere!” came a sharp voice from the crowd. “And I’m certainly not leaving the Palace with that pair of ruffians! Did you say the Usurper has been slain?”

A girl of about fourteen summers stomped out to stand beside the Queen, hands on slender hips, glaring first at Harow, then at Machia. Her black hair, tied with a blue ribbon, hung halfway to her waist. A high necklace of gold and pearls bound her pale neck. Before he turned his face away, Harow caught a blaze of fire from her grey-green eyes.

“You come here unannounced, looking like street beggars. You tell my mother that the King is dead, and then you calmly expect us to fling ourselves into your protection and rush off, saints know where!” Her nostrils flared and she stamped her silk-clad foot. “I will not allow it!”

“Ah…”

“I, for one, do not care if you are the Duke of Asturas, Castor, and the Whatever Plains.”

“Ah… I …”

“Have you no manners?” Her voice rose a notch or seven, venturing into what Harow would have described as shrill. “I am speaking! I am the Royal Princess! You will not interrupt!”

Queen Reginee placed her arm gently around the girl’s shoulder. “Duke Rickard, I would like you to meet my daughter, the Princess Desiree-Rose. She is normally a bit high-strung, I’m afraid, and the events of the last few days have us all on edge. And now… with the death of the King…” A tear glistened on the Queen’s cheek and her giant companion quickly offered a silk handkerchief from within her ample bosom.

Where can readers find you and your books?

You can find me at:

www.ronaldhore.com

www.facebook.com/RonaldJHore

Books are available through the usual on-line outlets such as Amazon or directly through the publisher: www.burstbooks.ca.

Thanks for visiting, Ron!

 

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