S.C. Wynne's Blog, page 6

Whitley Gray is coming in for a Crash Pad landing…

I just finished reading Crash Pad by Whitley Gray and I felt it was imperative that I get into Jamie’s head a little bit. He’s a complex guy so I was thrilled he was willing to answer some questions.

S.C.-So…rollerblading. You’re usually a runner. What possessed you to try wheels?

Jamie-**sighs** I’d just moved to the area, and there was this rollerblader with copper-colored hair…I wanted to meet him. Not one of my brighter ideas. On the other hand, I did meet Remy.

S.C.-Remy’s job as an Emergency Medicine doctor must keep him busy at work for long hours. Does that bother you?

Jamie-Remy has more regular hours than a lot of doctors, but sometimes if he’s on nights we don’t see each other awake for a couple of days. I’m pretty independent, so it’s not a problem. We make the most of the time we have together.

S.C-What do you do when you’re on your own?

Jamie-I love superheroes and collect T-shirts and comic books featuring those characters. My two nephews share my obsession, and I like to take them off my sister’s hands sometimes and go out to comb the comic book stores or see a movie.

S.C.-Isn’t it true your nephews also have a pet snake?

Jamie-Yeah. It’s a corn snake named Corny. Snakes and I don’t get along. There’s something creepy about the way they move without the benefit of legs. And that tongue…blech!

S.C.-Winter is coming. Are you and Remy planning to go skiing or try other sports on snow or ice?

Jamie-That’s a loaded question, isn’t it, S.C? Ice skating is too much like rollerblades, so that’s out. I’d be up for skiing as long as we stick to the green slopes—the easy ones. No black diamonds for me! The best part about skiing is warming up in the lodge afterward…or maybe in a cozy condo with a fireplace.

S.C.-What are you planning for Halloween?

Jamie-Remy and I are taking the nephews trick or treating. I’m going as Iron Man. Remy is going as an ER doctor. **grins** The boys will be dressed as Batman and Superman. Hopefully they’ll be superhero friends for the night.

S.C.-Is Whitley Gray planning any further adventures for you and Remy?

Jamie-You never know. **winks** I hear there’s a mansion under restoration up in Crooked Creek Colorado. Maybe Whitley will have us check it out.

S.C.-Thanks for talking with me, Jamie. How about a taste of Crash Pad for those who haven’t snatched it up yet?

Blurb for Crash Pad:

Physician Remy Marshall has two loves: Emergency Medicine and running. Work doesn’t leave much time to meet guys, and most seem more interested in his bank account than him. With a week off to train for a marathon, Remy plans to make the most of his precious vacation. The last thing he needs is a distraction.

Jamie Sutton is new to the area. He hopes to make a fresh start after leaving an abusive relationship with an orthopedic surgeon. He’s got a new job as a massage therapist and wants to meet some nice guys. Against his better judgment, Jamie decides the best way to meet a cute rollerblader he’s seen in the park is on wheels.

With attention on his watch and not where he’s going, Remy crashes into Jamie and fractures the first-time rollerblader’s ankle. Jamie has no one to help him after the injury; Remy proposes Jamie stay with him. Jamie is reluctant, but it’s a better option than staying with the odd guy in the neighboring motel room. As the two get acquainted, Jamie’s past comes calling. Remy discovers the prize he really wants isn’t a medal in a marathon, but the man right in front of him.

It’s a great short story! Be sure and pick up your copy:

Buy @ Loose id

Buy @ Amazon

Buy @ ARe

Website: www.whitleygray.com

THE WEIRD SITUATION I FIND MYSELF IN…

I find myself in a strange predicament.

I have two brand new books from Ellora’s Cave that have released recently. But in the time between me working my ass off to write them and them being released the world around me has gone mad. Ellora’s Cave is suing Dear Author and I am feeling as if I have no right to even mention I have these two books out. Those who believe I shouldn’t promote them at all say I will most likely never see any royalties for them from my publisher. But my thought is if I don’t promote or mention the books I am GUARANTEED no royalties from these books. I don’t want to appear disloyal to fellow authors or Dear Author, because I support them. But I have TWO BOOKS and I feel I have to at least mention they exist!

I can only hope that others don’t judge me. I can’t control what they do or think anyway, but I have to at least minimally promote these two books. I’m proud of them and I love these stories and characters. Whether I see a dime or not, perhaps these books will help new readers discover my other books.

The only thing I know for certain, is that I know nothing for certain. So Peace to this crazy situation, and may it all work out for the best.

S.C. Wynne

DAMAGED HEART BY S.C. WYNNE IS OUT TODAY FROM LOOSE ID

My latest from Loose Id, Damaged Heart is out today, September 23rd. This story has lots of angst. I loved Cory and Rhys and enjoyed every moment I spent with them writing their story. I absolutely adore the cover, thank you GD Leigh! And thank you, Kathleen Calhoun for doing such a great editing job!

How about a little snippet to wet your appetite? :)

BLURB:

Just twenty years-old, Cory Johnson fled Bayville after his father’s suicide to escape his abusive mother. He made a life for himself in Los Angeles, as different from Bayville as a place could possibly be. While his successful legal career is rewarding, Cory can’t connect with the people in his life. He’s terribly alone. When his mother dies, he must–reluctantly–return home to handle her estate, which he knows will only make those feelings worse.

Rhys Tucker owns the construction company that will renovate Cory’s childhood home. He’s harbored a crush on Cory since high school, so he seizes the unexpected opportunity to get close to Cory. Or at least try to. Their physical chemistry is immediate and undeniable, but Cory’s so closed-off, Rhys worries he’ll never penetrate that guarded, damaged heart.

Cory wants Rhys. He does. But can someone as scarred and broken as he is ever really come home?

He picked up the boy and held him in a relaxed manner. The miniature monster apparently didn’t freak him out in the least. “He looks like Lydia’s kid.” The hunk looked around the restaurant and called out to a waitress. “Is this Tyler?”

“What’s he doing out of his playpen? I’ll get Lydia.” The waitress disappeared into the back area.

“You know, he doesn’t bite,” the stranger said, studying me. The kid was trying to slap the man’s cheeks, and he avoided the child’s hands deftly.

“I know for a fact he has teeth. I saw them both,” I said, trying to regain some composure. It wasn’t easy with him standing so close to me. His blue jeans hugged his strong legs, and he smelled like fresh air and confidence. I wondered if his self-assurance would slip any if I flirted with him.

“Names Rhys Tucker.” He held out his hand.

I hesitated briefly before taking it. His skin was as warm and firm as I’d imagined, and my stomach had a little visit from some butterflies. “Cory Johnson.”

There was obvious recognition in his gaze, but then it was gone. “I knew that was you. We went to school together.”

“Did we?” I was certain I’d have remembered him. Though my school days were a depressing blur, I should recall knowing someone like Rhys.

“Briefly. You left a couple of months after I arrived.” He swallowed, and for the first time he looked nervous. Well, not as nervous as me, but I would take what I could get. “I was the new kid in town. Some of the other students were assholes to me, but you were different. You were kind.”

“Oh,” I said.

“Are you back for good?” He adjusted the cooing kid in his arms.

I shook my head. “Oh, God no.”

He frowned. “Not a fan of Bayville?”

I shrugged. “I prefer LA.” Obviously he’d had a different experience than I had growing up here.

A plump woman, who I assumed was Lydia, came hurrying up to us, her worried gaze locked on the child. “Tyler, you’re driving me nuts.” She took him from Rhys and laughed. “I’m sorry. I think he’s part monkey.”

“No, it’s fine. He didn’t hurt anything,” Rhys answered her. “He’s grown a bunch since I last saw him.”

Lydia hefted the kid on her hip and sighed. “He’s a handful; that’s for sure.” She turned her apologetic gaze on me. “I’m sorry if he interrupted your meal.”

What could I say, Thank you for that; he was pretty annoying? I decided to be polite instead. “It’s fine. You might want to get him a piece of bread. He seemed fixated on mine.”

“Yeah, he loves the carbs. That’s probably why he’s so huge.” She grinned and wandered away.

I kept silent, and Rhys met my stare, continuing to stand near me. Even with all the patrons in the bright little dining room, I had an odd compulsion to run my hand up his firm, jean-clad thigh. I wasn’t the kind of person who picked people up in restaurants, but I couldn’t help wishing I was more assertive that way. It might have been nice to have someone like him for a diversion while I was stuck here, but odds were he was straight.

“You must have kids. You seemed so relaxed with that little…boy.” I’d almost said creature.

“I don’t have kids. But I would love to one day.” He laughed, and the warmth of it washed over me. “I’m going to take a wild guess you aren’t yearning for a child of your very own.”

I grimaced. “Not really.”

For some reason he wasn’t leaving. He just kept hovering, and I was having the oddest reaction to his nearness. It almost felt like hunger. I racked my brain; how would a normal person behave? Would it be weird to ask him to join me? I enjoyed a flash fantasy of touching his hands, so near to me, and stroking the fine, dark hairs on his wrist. Instead, I sipped my soup self-consciously.

“So, you said you’re not staying permanently. But how long are you going to be here?” he asked, apparently in no hurry to get away.

“I’ll be here a couple of weeks for sure. Maybe longer. My mother passed, and I’m seeing about selling the house and things like that.”

“Yeah, I heard about your mom. My condolences.”

I didn’t say anything. I’m sure that wasn’t the normal response, but I couldn’t seem to drum up feelings on the matter. Or maybe I had too many feelings, and I wasn’t capable of processing them on the spot. I only knew she’d made my life a living hell. When I thought of her, it wasn’t grief that surged; it was anxiety mixed with resentment. I was a grown man, but if I was honest with myself, her death gave me a tiny bit of relief. She couldn’t hurt me anymore. I don’t know, maybe that made me seem odd, or heartless, but the awful reality was we hadn’t cared about each other when she was alive, so why start pretending now?

“Do you know when the funeral will be?” he asked.

I had a momentary thrill at the idea of running into him again, but unless I was going to hold a fake burial, there would be no opportunity for that. “She’s being cremated.”

He nodded. “Will you still have a memorial service of some sort?”

I guess that was what the average son would do, hold a poignant service and invite all our friends and family to wax poetic about what a wonderful wife and mother she’d been. However, we didn’t have any friends or family anywhere that I knew of. But most importantly Beatrice Johnson had been a horrible, heartless bitch of a woman, and there was no fucking way I would spend another dime or moment of my life on her memory. Not exactly something I was going to share with Rhys.

“No.” It was, after all, the truth.

Fortunately his phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out before sliding his thumb along its face. “Work, sorry.” He smiled, looking back to me. “It was great seeing you again, Cory. Hopefully I’ll see you around before you leave.” His voice was like velvet, and he started to say something else but stopped. Then he smiled and walked away and out of the restaurant.

Loose ID Buy Link

S.C. Wynne’s latest from Ellora’s Cave: GUARD MY BODY

My latest one is now live on Amazon and Ellora’s Cave website. I’ll leave links below if you are interested in purchasing this one.

It’s a little different for me because the two MC’s are both in their fifties. I really enjoyed writing this short story even though the tale begins with a man who is broken, and struggling to heal after the death of his lover. But digging deep to figure out what healing from a loss that great would feel like was actually very beneficial as an author. I got to explore emotions I probably had never allowed myself to feel.

Hopefully the readers will respond in a good way to Andrew’s journey. Here is a blurb to let you know a little more about the story:

Andrew James is fifty-three and struggling with the death of his longtime love Rory.  Andrew is finding it difficult to find a reason to go on, and his employer and friend Fredrick knows it’s a matter of time before Andrew just gives up even trying. But Fredrick is not a man without a plan.

Fredrick arranges a meeting between Andrew and a gorgeous psychologist friend, Michael Lawrence. There is no denying the intense physical attraction between the pair, but will it be enough to help Andrew overcome his grief at this age in his life? Is he too old to try and love again?

EXCERPT:

I jerked awake, smearing the hot tears off my face. My heart was about to explode from my chest, and I was nauseous, drenched in perspiration. Just the sound of my labored breathing and a clock ticking somewhere in the room. So quiet. So fucking silent. That was the worst part of waking up like this. No one to hold me and tell me it was just a dream. But  that someone would be Rory. And it wasn’t a dream.

I stumbled into the kitchen, stretching my stiff muscles. Making coffee always calmed me. The heady smell of the beans grinding, pouring the water, flipping the switch. Rory had hated how strong I’d always made it. “Is this sludge or coffee?” he’d have said grinning as he leaned against the counter. I’d have ignored him and poured myself a generous cup. I should have listened to him about the coffee. I should have paid attention to a lot of things better. I wished to God he’d listened to me about my gut feeling that morning.

I washed while the java brewed and got dressed in the little bedroom we’d shared Everything looked the same as before he died. I couldn’t bring myself to change anything. On the dresser was the picture of us in Santa Barbara last summer. We looked so happy, sun kissed and relaxed. I talked to that picture sometimes. But then the sound of my hollow, bitter voice would make the house seem even more empty and cold. Maybe I should get a cat or a dog. If only so there would be some  noise in the house other than that damn ticking clock. I filled my travel mug and let myself out of the house.

The sun warmed my shoulders through my thin shirt and a blue jay screeched somewhere unseen above my head in the purple Jacarandas. It would be a beautiful day in Los Angeles, too bad I would be sitting in a court room all afternoon. I got in the car and sat for a moment. More silence. Rory would have had a story to tell, or maybe one of his dirty jokes he loved so much. “Did you hear the one about the three legged prostitute?” I flipped on the radio and winced at the perky chatterbox giving the traffic report. How did she do it? How did she muster such enthusiasm for the traffic? I shut it off, disgusted. I don’t know, maybe just people in general irritated me.

I drove the short distance to Fredrick’s office, surprised to see he was already waiting on the patio out front. He threw down his cigarette and crushed it under his designer leather shoe. He strode gracefully to the car and I climbed out to open the back door for him.

“Jesus Christ, Andrew. You’re late.” He lowered his head and slid into the car. “You’re never late, I was worried.”

“You’re never on time. I didn’t think it would matter.”

As I returned to my spot behind the wheel I observed his scowl in the rear-view mirror. He was watching the back of my head intently. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing, I didn’t sleep well, that’s all.”

“Did you have that damned dream again?” he asked, running a slender hand over his sleek graying hair.

I ignored him and pulled out into traffic. The roads were unusually quiet as we made our way toward the Los Angeles Superior Court. Maybe the other drivers knew something we didn’t. Maybe the world had ended. Was it a bad sign that I didn’t care either way?

“You need to talk to someone, Andrew.”

“Is talking going to bring him back?” I asked gruffly.

Fredrick’s face looked drawn. “It might be helpful to have professional insight.”

“Professional insight,” I snorted. “Here’s some insight, mind your own business.”

Amazon:

Ellora’s Cave:

If you enjoy the story drop me a line. I love hearing from readers! scwynne@dslextreme.com

 

HOW ABOUT A RAINBOW BLOG HOP AND A FREE E-BOOK? SOUND GOOD?

This is a fun little blog hop! Draven St. James was good enough to organize this hop and we are all going to write about what inspires us. Oh, yes and I’ll be giving away a free e-book from my backlist! Whichever one your little heart desires. :)

I was trying to think about what inspires me and often it’s something as simple as a song, or the sound of an artists voice as he sings the song. Raw emotion, just something visceral that connects with me. I hear it and I immediately get chills and want to write the story for that character that is created in the moment.

I love honor and courage. There is something about the male spirit that gets to me. You see it in obvious, and amazing ways when dealing with fireman or a police officer. Men and women who race toward the danger rather than away from it like I would. Although if someone I love was in danger I am certain I would charge forward to help. But they do it for total strangers, and that is simply awe inspiring to me. I am moved by that level of valor.

So answer this question in the comments below, and the response I like the best will win any book from my backlist that they desire!

DON’T FORGET TO LEAVE YOUR EMAIL!!!

WHAT DO YOU THINK IT IS THAT MAKES A PERSON HEROIC?

Check out all the other blogs below!!

http://dravenstjames.wordpress.com/team-taste-the-rainbow-blog-hop/

 

http://www.sc-wynne.com

http://www.amazon.com/S.C.-Wynne/e/B00FXXYS5W/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1

 

Cowboy and the Barista is on the loose!

My latest one from Evernight Publishing is available! It’s about a guy who owns a coffeehouse in the fictional town of Albin, Colorado and the tall, dark and closeted cowboy he gets involved with.

 

EXCERPT:

“He had to cancel.”

He. That was promising. “Is he a shit kicker too?” I grinned.

He almost choked on his drink, and pressed his hand over his mouth to keep from spraying me with his beer. When he finally swallowed he frowned at me. “You almost killed me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“And yes he is. We worked on a ranch together a couple of years ago and we…keep in touch.”

“I see.”

“Did you assume I was dumb?” Asher asked watching me with narrowed eyes.

“What?” I asked confused.

“I mean when you first saw me, did you think I must not be very bright?” he asked.

I was feeling buzzed now so maybe I didn’t guard my tongue like I should. “I thought you were a mighty fine-looking cowboy. And I guess if I am honest I didn’t expect much in the brain department.”

His expression registered surprise at my candor and he also looked flattered. “I thought you were against people jumping to conclusions.”

I rubbed my eyes and laughed sheepishly. “I guess only other people.”

“Don’t worry. I’m not insulted because I basically thought the same of you.” He laughed. “Until we talked.”

“And then I dazzled you with my intellect?”

“You surprised me,” he admitted. “You had more spunk in you than the average city boy.”

“Spunk? Did you seriously just say I have spunk?” I grinned. “You really have been hanging around the livestock too long.”

His cheeks flushed, and he finished off his drink. “That’s because I like taming things.”

I laughed. “This is getting interesting.” He was definitely flirting with me now, and my stomach was warm with the excitement of it.

He met my gaze and his was smoldering, but then he looked away and swallowed nervously. “You and I come from different worlds.” There was a line between his brows.

“I think we probably have more things in common than you would think.”

“Like what?”

“We were both in the rodeo circuit.”

“That’s one.”

“You like my coffee,” I said trying to figure out why he looked so unhappy all at once. “We will always have that.”

“Yeah, but I can get java anywhere.”

“Nah, you can get hot, brown tasteless water out of a machine on every corner. But what I offer is unique and special.”

He sighed. “I’m inclined to agree.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Were we even still talking about coffee?

He looked so serious suddenly I felt a little nervous. I glanced at Sal and she and her boy toy were getting along well as far as I could tell. When I checked Asher’s expression again it was still borderline grim.

“Were you going to hang around for the séance?” I asked. “I think it starts any minute.”

He shook his head. “No I seem to have enough trouble communicating with the living.”

“You seem like you’re in a bad mood.” I couldn’t help but comment. “Did I say something to bother you?”

He finished his drink and leaned forward putting his face near to mine. His breathing was slightly elevated with a hint of ale on his warm breath. “You bother me.”

I’m sure my expression registered the shock I was feeling. I was doing my best to hide the surge of lust I felt at his lips so near to mine. “That’s intriguing.”

“I preferred it when I thought we had nothing in common,” he said, his expression flirting with irritation.

“Why?”

“I like things simple,” he said gruffly, sitting back.

“I’m not following.”

“You’re easier to ignore if I’m just a dumb ass cowboy and you’re some wussy city boy.”

“Are you saying you’re having trouble ignoring me?”

“Probably because I equate you with my daily caffeine high,” he said, attempting a joke. Then he frowned again.

I took a sip off my glass and tried to control my excitement. It was obvious he was attracted to me too, but definitely fighting it. I wasn’t sure what to do. I liked him a lot, both physically and personality wise. But it wasn’t the best idea in the world to start something up with someone who was so glaringly ambivalent.

“No need to stress. We’re just two people having a drink together.” I tried to keep my tone light.

“Yep.”

“Do you live nearby?” I realized it sounded like a pick up line the minute the words left my mouth. I cringed and tried to tweak it. “I just mean because you come in the shop every morning.”

He watched me with his narrow gaze. “This town’s so small I think everyone lives nearby.”

“Very true.” I finished my drink and bumped my glass on the table top. I wanted nothing more than to drag him home with me but I knew in his confused state that was a horrible idea.

He cleared his throat. “Would you want to go do something sometime?”

He was confused but he wanted to see more of me. Good idea or the worst idea? I took a deep breath to calm myself. “You mean like skin a raccoon or something?”

He laughed. God it was such a nice tone. Warm and husky. “While that does sound like a ton of fun, I was thinking maybe hiking or horseback riding.”

“I thought I bothered you.”

“I’m attempting to work through that.” He drummed his long tanned fingers on the table, and I tried not to obsess about what they might feel like skimming over my body. “You seem like a nice guy and I’d like to get to know you better.”

“So you decided against ignoring me?” I leaned back in my chair and allowed a sly grin. I couldn’t seem to help flirting with him.

“It’s not as easy as it sounds.”

“You know you aren’t the first dumb ass cowboy who has tried to butter me up just to get free coffee.”

A wide grin split his face, and he leaned in and said softly, “Oh, I’m sure I’ll end up paying for it one way or another.”

http://www.evernightpublishing.com/the-cowboy-and-the-barista-by-s-c-wynne/

http://www.amazon.com/Cowboy-Barista-S-C-Wynne-ebook/dp/B00L8BXPZC/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1403578194&sr=1-1&keywords=the+cowboy+and+the+barista

The Dangers of Never Being Lazy.

I’ve had a very busy beginning to my writing career. If I don’t have edits to work on or something either being published, or submitted every month I feel as if I’m slacking. I think it stems from my father who tends to be a man never content with what has been accomplished. There was rarely a moment of “Yes, look at us, we’ve accomplished this thing.” No,  it was always more about “Onward! We have people to see and places to go!” Rarely a moment of enjoying having reached a goal. I guess I developed a sort of hamster on a wheel out look to life. Hurry, hurry. Someone else is going to get all the alfalfa pellets!

The way I was raised has actually made me a person who is afraid of down time. That is dangerous, especially to creative types. How do you come up with fresh and interesting  ideas if you never take the time to watch a movie or read a book? These are the things that inspired you originally to become a writer and now you have no time for them because you are WORKING HERE!

The good thing is I’ve started noticing this in myself. I’m trying to enjoy the little things in life more and not be guilty because I’m not working at all times. Even machines will over heat, and break if you never turn them off. And if you never take time off you will suffer, and so will your writing. Yes, I still feel the initial twinge of distress as I close my WORD program for the evening. But I find it easier to ignore the more I do it. I’ll admit I keep my laptop open so I could write if I wanted. It’s a weird little psychological game I play with myself. But it seems to work.

So I guess what I’m saying is; you’ll actually never get everything done if you don’t stop working. Crazy, huh?