Marlow Kelly's Blog, page 18
June 5, 2015
A VIXEN IN VENICE by Kate Deveaux
First of all, thanks Marlow for having me as your guest. I’m so glad to stop by and share a little bit of my own history with you and your readers.As you know from my bio, I’ve lived in the UK, Canada and the US, but I’ve also lived in Italy as well. And as any author will attest to, we take a piece of everyplace we’ve ever been with us and it seeps into our writing. Sometimes subtly — sometimes not so subtly.
My personal experiences always play a role in the settings I chose for my books. Naturally, I am prone to write books set places I know well. This would be London, as I spent my time growing up there and think it offers such fabulous landmarks, architecture, moody weather and a sense of tradition that is perfect for the juxtaposition of erotic romance. Cockpit, my next upcoming release, is set in London and it was a complete joy to write.
I often write about the many cities in the US that I have lived or spent time in, from large to small, from D.C to Coronado, from the USVI to Beverly Hills, from Miami to Montecito. Sometimes it is the small out of the way towns that make the most interesting settings for books, I think. I have yet to pen a book set in Canada, but I am sure one will be coming soon, amidst the rich settings of Banff nestled in the Rocky Mountains and the cosmopolitan gem of Vancouver are both beckoning. Readers who follow my work will know of my unrestrained love of Italy. Venice is one of my favorite cities and one I have spent much time in as, well as Florence. But what they might not know is that I spent time living in Italy, in an exquisite town on the Amalfi Coast. References to my time in Positano are throughout my writing, whether the book is set there or not.
Setting is essential to me, it’s the inspiration for any new book and it is the first thing that usually takes shape in my mind before I launch into dreaming up the characters and plotline. Even Sail Away With Me is based on my love of cruising and the time I’ve spent in the Caribbean. Same goes one of newly finished books, Bimini Bound, set in the Bahamas and the time I spent sailing there.So, for me, where I have lived and traveled is a cornerstone of my writing. Good thing I’m not a science fiction author, Lol!
I’d love to hear from you and your readers where they would love to set a book.
Best,
Kate
xx
A VIXEN IN VENICE
Available at Totally BoundHe’s an art thief on the run…with her heart
Look closer, into Hotel Totally Five Star Venice, where art curator Monique Le Bres has just walked through the doors of the newly opened swanky luxury hotel to assist with their art collection.
Alessandro Bonnard, the world-renowned art connoisseur and collector has been sent incognito to supervise Monique and oversee her acquisitions for the hotel.
Concealing his true identity, Alessandro is intrigued by the art-loving vixen with an appetite for kinky sex. He pursues Monique, charming her at every turn — taking her to places she’s never been — both in and out of bedroom.
Monique falls hard for the man who has utterly captured her body and soul. Only to find out he isn’t who she thought he was after all…he’s an art thief on the run…with her heart.
Excerpt:
Glancing down at the small map she clutched in one hand, Monique looked back up at the tiny storefronts crammed along the waterway, trying her best not to be overrun by the barrage of tourists filling the tight corridors that ran between buildings and the canal’s murky edge. Searching for landmarks and any discernable signage, she bumped her way between tourists who were busy ogling the unusual architecture that at that moment proved more of an impediment than an attractant.
Tugging at her suitcases, Monique forged on.
The last thing she wanted to do was be late for her new job.
Lurching sideways to avoid a family carrying ice cream cones and pointing enthusiastically at the sights, Monique teetered on her heels to avoid bearing the brunt of their gelatos as they passed. Oblivious to the obstacle they presented to Monique, they carried on, leaving her in their wake.
The wheels on her cumbersome luggage stuck on a rogue stone at the same time her heel gave way. Tumbling down towards the uneven cobbles Monique gasped out loud.
A hand reached out from the crowd and grabbed for her just as her bottom grazed the ground, protecting her from the brunt of her fall by swooping her back up on her feet in one motion.
“Mademoiselle, soyez prudent,” a deep voice urged her to be careful in French.
Monique squinted into the late day sun at nothing short of a vision. A majestic man, early forties, with chin length sandy blonde hair, a goatee and deep set blue eyes that were rimmed by thin metal glasses stood before her. Her hand clasped in his. The man’s tailored camelhair overcoat told her he was distinguished as did the flash of his fancy watch, probably Swiss and very expensive from the sparkle of the crystal that caught her eye as she steadied herself.
“Stai bene Signorina?” he asked if she was okay in a beautiful swoosh of Italian. The words slipping between his lips like honey pooling onto the cool stones.
First he spoke French, then Italian. It was official. Monique must be in heaven. She’d heard the stereotypes and the holiday stories of her friends vacationing in Europe, but nothing had prepared her for the man who still had her hand in his.
“Fine, yes, thank you, merci…I mean grazie,” she offered, flustered and realizing she was quite able to stand on her own. Reluctantly she let go of his hand to reach down and remove her broken-heeled shoe. “Just tripped on a stone. Una scarpa verso il bass… dieci per andare.” She hoped her Italian wasn’t too rusty.
He just looked at her. Oh damn, it must be more rusty than she’d thought.
“One shoe down, ten to go,” she repeated in English with a nervous laugh, motioning to her luggage. Hoping to make a joke of how many shoes were crammed in her overstuffed bags to cover her embarrassment of very nearly being splayed out on the canal sidewalk if not for the efforts of her handsome saviour.
“Are you sure? I can fetch someone for you if you need assistance Signorina,” the man asked and then glanced anxiously over his shoulder. Monique suspected from his unease that he must have a wife who no doubt would appear any moment and be less than happy to find her hubby fraternizing with Monique. It wasn’t the first time that had happened.
“No, I’m fine, really. Mille grazie.” She thanked him as she looked into his eyes, their depth making her off balance as well as her having only one shoe on and the way he called her Signorina. The word slipping from his mouth like silk.
“Just tell me where I am, that would be very helpful,” she shifted her weight to the shoeless foot and immediately dropped down a few inches, making her even shorter against his tall stature.
“Calle Ostreghe,” he said the name of the street as she dipped her head down to remove her other shoe.
“See much better,” she said, now even footed in her stocking feet, now firmly planted on the cool stones.
But her words were met by empty space.
The man was gone as quickly as he’d appeared, the swish of his long coat disappearing through the crowds, barely visible around the corner as Monique looked on as if it had been an apparition. A tall handsome apparition. And one that was seemingly desperate to get away from her before his wife showed up. Lucky woman having a man like that.
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
Kate Deveaux is a contemporary erotic romance writer and die-hard romantic. A former wedding planner, she has always been “in love” with love! Kate is currently working on several fictional stories – each filled with sexy romance, heroines who are no shrinking violets and heroes who make your heart skip a beat. She currently resides with her husband in the U.S. When Kate is not busy writing, she can be found on the tennis court –yes, there’s even ‘love’ in that game too.
SOCIAL MEDIA:
Author website: http://www.katedeveaux.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Kate-D...
Twitter: https://www.twitter.com/KateDeveaux
Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/katedeveaux
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/list...
Google Plus: https://www.plus.google.com/104114173...
Join Kate’s Kitten’s, the official STREET TEAM of Kate Deveaux:
https://www.facebook.com/groups/15619...
Kate will be awarding a $20 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.
Follow the tour and comment; the more you comment, the better your chances of winning. The tour dates can be found here:
http://goddessfishpromotions.blogspot.com/2015/03/vbt-vixen-in-venice-by-kate-deveaux.html
a Rafflecopter giveaway
June 3, 2015
Misadventures in Social Media and Other Reasons Why You Need a Virtual Marketing Assistant
Someday Lady Publishing, LLC
somedayladypublishing@gmail.com I’ve been living a double life.
There I said it.
I always wanted to be a writer, and in 2013, that dream became a reality. But with that realized dream came all of the obstacles for which I luckily was prepared. I say luckily, because early on in my writing endeavors I got a great piece of advice from a great writer: go to business school or be prepared to hire a business manager.
At the time I received this advice, I was a history/English undergrad with all intentions of avoiding becoming a teacher, and these words scared the snot right out of me. I was going to be a writer. Period. But I went along with it, earning my MBA with a focus in marketing and spending nearly ten years in various marketing roles at companies that ranged from venture capitalist start ups to international multi-channel retailers until that lucky day when my manuscript became a book that other people could read.
I began meeting and chatting (and sometimes commiserating) with other authors in earnest, and I happily floated along on my cloud of euphoria as I released the next book and the next and the next. All along this euphoric highway, I revisited the business plan I had created before launching my writing career. This included realigning goals to changing market conditions or new technology and redrafting marketing plans according to new available media outlets. I did all of this in a near haze at it was virtually the same thing I did 40 hours a week for almost ten years.
At some point, I realized I continually received what were, to me, odd questions.
Do you design your own book covers? How did you do them?
What is that thing at the top of your Facebook page that shows the cover of your book?
How did you get so many people to retweet you?
What is Goodreads?
You can just contact blog hosts for a guest spot? I paid someone $200 to get me five guests spots, and I saw no return on it!
This is where I admit I am a complete and total nerd living a double life. Even though I was adamant in my early years about only wanting to be a writer, it turns out life had other plans. While my fellow authors struggled with creating a Facebook page, I was exploring Tsu and Ello with a keen eye toward possible expansion of my social media reach. While friends asked me what was the difference between Weebly and Blogger, I was tinkering with changing the HTML structure behind WordPress templates just to see if I could do it without breaking the whole darn thing. And I’m still too embarrassed to discuss my excitement at the release of Periscope.
It was then that someone said to me the phrase I needed to wake up: I would pay someone like you to do those things for me.
I gathered up all the advice of my fellow writers, all the questions I had been asked, all of the scratched heads bent in my direction, and I formed a plan to offer those services that were most needed by my fellow authors.
Let me share another great piece of advice I once received: there comes a time when you need to decide what it is most deserves your time and what doesn’t.
I took this to mean that it was time to hire someone else to scrub my toilets (possibly the most exciting day of my life!), but for you, it may mean hiring a virtual marketing assistant.
What does a virtual marketing assistant do?
It can be something as simple as managing your Facebook page to something as complex as building a WordPress website and setting up an e-newsletter with sign-up apps plugged into your website and social media outlets. A virtual marketing assistant tackles those marketing thingies you always said you would do but either a.) never understood what you were told to do or b.) never knew you had to do.
You hire a virtual marketing assistant to do those things that help your book gain exposure while you are doing the most important thing for your writing career: writing the next book.
Visit somedayladypublishing.com for more on how I can help you. Have a crazy idea you want to try but don’t know how? I like those, too! Shoot me an email to somedayladypublishing@gmail.com.
And seriously, hire someone else to scrub your toilets. It’s worth every penny!
About Jess McQuaid
Jess McQuaid always wanted to be a writer.
Then she found out you had to market your books.
While she went on to write Regency romance as Jessie Clever, Jess McQuaid kept to the practical course and earned her MBA with a focus in marketing, gaining hands on experience in companies ranging from entrepreneurial start-ups to multi-channel international retailers. She now uses her knowledge and experience to help authors expand their readership and deepen the loyalty of their readers. Learn more at somedayladypublishing.com.
May 29, 2015
The Lady Mentor by G.E. Taylor
My Writing Style
When I’m creating a new story, it’s all I think about. After I have the plot in my mind, I talk about it aloud to myself. I like to drive alone so when I’m talking to my characters, there is no one to look at me funny and ask what am I doing. That’s one reason why I like to drive alone. After I put my characters on paper, I draw a line down the middle between the hero and heroine listing who would be involved with them, what would happen and where it would happen. From this framework, I build my story.
Early morning, usually at four or five o’clock when the family is still asleep is the best time for me to think, so that’s when I get up and go to my writing room. Some mornings I’m frustrated because I want to begin to write straight away but nothing is coming. I find that if I relax, do some relaxation breathing exercise, not think so hard my thoughts will begin to flow. Once I get started, I write for a good four or five hours. When the family is up, well, it’s time to switch hats. Later, if I’m able to write another two or three pages in the evening, then that’s wonderful. Consistency is what counts. Therefore, I try to write on a daily basis. I may not be able to write as much as I did the day before but everything I do is counted toward my targeted word count.
I’ve learned though, sitting for more than two hours can be very painful. My neck and shoulders hurt. So I try to move fairly often which I sometimes find difficult to do especially if the story is flowing well, I don’t want to stop.
One of the things I’ve found with writing though, it can be very lonely and I’m trying not to isolate myself. I don’t mind quietness and solitude. In fact, I crave it especially when everything is falling into place-my characters are doing what I want them to do, but that contact of sharing I miss and am trying to do something about it.
On a whole, I enjoy writing and creating a story that hopefully romance readers can enjoy. My pleasure comes from readers who are satisfied and who want to read more or my work.
Buy Links
Amazon
Nook
When beautiful Joanna Huntington left the law firm of Petersberg, Ryan and Cole, she never dreamed the storm would force her into the path of the car driven by Vaughn Gordon, the man whom she thought she would never see again. Coming face –to- face with Vaughn at the hospital brought back memories of their first encounter when she‘d lived in Chester. How she’d boldly asked Vaughn to kiss her after she’d sensed the attraction between them was mutual. His touch made her forget any cautious teachings she’d heard and his kisses had sent so much heat flowing through her that every cell in her body clamored for his full possession. But now she wanted to hide.
Vaughn had everything he wanted, except the woman of his dreams. Joanna had been marked off limits, not because she was biracial and he was white but because that was demanded of him. He agreed to back off…for a time. But then she disappeared. Now here she was lying before him possibly hurt.
Fate would not be so cruel to take her from him again just when he found her.
Excerpt:
“At last,” said Vaughn’s deep voice.
Joanna was so shocked she flopped down into the nearest chair.
“Are you there, Joanna?”
She cleared her throat. “Yes, I’m here. What can I do for you?” she asked, politely while her heart raced away like an unstoppable train.
“I take it you have fully recovered from the accident?”
“Yes. And it’s not necessary for you to continue to call.”
“It’s not necessary?”
“No. As a matter of fact, I wish you wouldn’t. I think you should forget you ran into me. Forget you saw me.”
“But I can’t do that,” came the husky reply. “We’ve been over this already, Joanna. Please have dinner with me this evening.”
“Now, why would I do that when I just told you−−−?”
“Joanna, I’m picking you up this evening. I’m not playing the waiting game anymore. If you’re not ready when I get there, it will be my pleasure to personally dress you.”
Arrogant bastard! “Why don’t you go harass someone else? I’m sure that banker’s daughter wouldn’t mind. Both of you look like a nice little couple in the papers.”
“I don’t mess around with married women, which she is now. At the time, I was asked to escort her to the function. Besides, I want to be with you, no one else.”
Well, he’d told her he would not waste time, and apparently he’d meant it. He was moving forward with the relationship. Truthfully, she wanted to see him again. They had a lot of unfinished business. Some she couldn’t make go away. Having dinner with him should give her some answers.
“Joanna, is eight okay?”
“Yes, that will be fine. Where are we going?”
“Downtown Newark, to the Neck, to one of the Spanish restaurants. You liked Spanish food, as I recall.”
“You remembered,” she stated quietly, blown away that he would remember such a small thing about her after all this time.
“There’s very little I don’t remember about you, Joanna. Give my regard to your lovely mother, and I’ll see you at eight.”
She replaced the phone in its cradle thoughtfully, a deep frown creasing her brows. There was no going back now. Truth be told, she was excited and was actually looking forward to being with him. There was no denying the fact that nobody else made her heart race with such speed or sing with such joy. The time spent away from him made her body even more responsive to him. She craved his touch and felt so alive when she was with him. She didn’t want to look too deeply into why. She only knew that from the first day they’d met, something special, magical was between them. Apparently that had not changed.
As Katherine entered the apartment, she sensed a change, and she looked at Joanna seated on the chair. “Is everything all right, Joanna?” she asked anxiously.
“Yes. I’m going to dinner with Vaughn tonight.”
“Are you sure this is what you want to do?”
Joanna understood this was no ordinary question.
About G.E. Taylor
I became hooked on reading romance novels during my teen years and my attempt at writing began in high school. All of my manuscripts were mailed under my bed. Eventually, I threw out most of them. That was painful especially since I’d hand written them first, then typed them on my old typewriter.
In college I majored in English but ended up with a Master in Social Work and a Master in Education.
Though I had these different career paths, I never gave up my passion for writing. Now I’m much more committed to it and writing full time. I’ve drawn on my years of practicing social work to give my work authenticity and realism.
I live in New Jersey with my family.
Website: http://bit.ly/1E6pNal
When I’m creating a new story, it’s all I think about. After I have the plot in my mind, I talk about it aloud to myself. I like to drive alone so when I’m talking to my characters, there is no one to look at me funny and ask what am I doing. That’s one reason why I like to drive alone. After I put my characters on paper, I draw a line down the middle between the hero and heroine listing who would be involved with them, what would happen and where it would happen. From this framework, I build my story.
Early morning, usually at four or five o’clock when the family is still asleep is the best time for me to think, so that’s when I get up and go to my writing room. Some mornings I’m frustrated because I want to begin to write straight away but nothing is coming. I find that if I relax, do some relaxation breathing exercise, not think so hard my thoughts will begin to flow. Once I get started, I write for a good four or five hours. When the family is up, well, it’s time to switch hats. Later, if I’m able to write another two or three pages in the evening, then that’s wonderful. Consistency is what counts. Therefore, I try to write on a daily basis. I may not be able to write as much as I did the day before but everything I do is counted toward my targeted word count.
I’ve learned though, sitting for more than two hours can be very painful. My neck and shoulders hurt. So I try to move fairly often which I sometimes find difficult to do especially if the story is flowing well, I don’t want to stop.
One of the things I’ve found with writing though, it can be very lonely and I’m trying not to isolate myself. I don’t mind quietness and solitude. In fact, I crave it especially when everything is falling into place-my characters are doing what I want them to do, but that contact of sharing I miss and am trying to do something about it.
On a whole, I enjoy writing and creating a story that hopefully romance readers can enjoy. My pleasure comes from readers who are satisfied and who want to read more or my work.
Buy Links
Amazon
Nook
When beautiful Joanna Huntington left the law firm of Petersberg, Ryan and Cole, she never dreamed the storm would force her into the path of the car driven by Vaughn Gordon, the man whom she thought she would never see again. Coming face –to- face with Vaughn at the hospital brought back memories of their first encounter when she‘d lived in Chester. How she’d boldly asked Vaughn to kiss her after she’d sensed the attraction between them was mutual. His touch made her forget any cautious teachings she’d heard and his kisses had sent so much heat flowing through her that every cell in her body clamored for his full possession. But now she wanted to hide.
Vaughn had everything he wanted, except the woman of his dreams. Joanna had been marked off limits, not because she was biracial and he was white but because that was demanded of him. He agreed to back off…for a time. But then she disappeared. Now here she was lying before him possibly hurt.
Fate would not be so cruel to take her from him again just when he found her.
Excerpt:
“At last,” said Vaughn’s deep voice.
Joanna was so shocked she flopped down into the nearest chair.
“Are you there, Joanna?”
She cleared her throat. “Yes, I’m here. What can I do for you?” she asked, politely while her heart raced away like an unstoppable train.
“I take it you have fully recovered from the accident?”
“Yes. And it’s not necessary for you to continue to call.”
“It’s not necessary?”
“No. As a matter of fact, I wish you wouldn’t. I think you should forget you ran into me. Forget you saw me.”
“But I can’t do that,” came the husky reply. “We’ve been over this already, Joanna. Please have dinner with me this evening.”
“Now, why would I do that when I just told you−−−?”
“Joanna, I’m picking you up this evening. I’m not playing the waiting game anymore. If you’re not ready when I get there, it will be my pleasure to personally dress you.”
Arrogant bastard! “Why don’t you go harass someone else? I’m sure that banker’s daughter wouldn’t mind. Both of you look like a nice little couple in the papers.”
“I don’t mess around with married women, which she is now. At the time, I was asked to escort her to the function. Besides, I want to be with you, no one else.”
Well, he’d told her he would not waste time, and apparently he’d meant it. He was moving forward with the relationship. Truthfully, she wanted to see him again. They had a lot of unfinished business. Some she couldn’t make go away. Having dinner with him should give her some answers.
“Joanna, is eight okay?”
“Yes, that will be fine. Where are we going?”
“Downtown Newark, to the Neck, to one of the Spanish restaurants. You liked Spanish food, as I recall.”
“You remembered,” she stated quietly, blown away that he would remember such a small thing about her after all this time.
“There’s very little I don’t remember about you, Joanna. Give my regard to your lovely mother, and I’ll see you at eight.”
She replaced the phone in its cradle thoughtfully, a deep frown creasing her brows. There was no going back now. Truth be told, she was excited and was actually looking forward to being with him. There was no denying the fact that nobody else made her heart race with such speed or sing with such joy. The time spent away from him made her body even more responsive to him. She craved his touch and felt so alive when she was with him. She didn’t want to look too deeply into why. She only knew that from the first day they’d met, something special, magical was between them. Apparently that had not changed.
As Katherine entered the apartment, she sensed a change, and she looked at Joanna seated on the chair. “Is everything all right, Joanna?” she asked anxiously.
“Yes. I’m going to dinner with Vaughn tonight.”
“Are you sure this is what you want to do?”
Joanna understood this was no ordinary question.
About G.E. TaylorI became hooked on reading romance novels during my teen years and my attempt at writing began in high school. All of my manuscripts were mailed under my bed. Eventually, I threw out most of them. That was painful especially since I’d hand written them first, then typed them on my old typewriter.
In college I majored in English but ended up with a Master in Social Work and a Master in Education.
Though I had these different career paths, I never gave up my passion for writing. Now I’m much more committed to it and writing full time. I’ve drawn on my years of practicing social work to give my work authenticity and realism.
I live in New Jersey with my family.
Website: http://bit.ly/1E6pNal
May 27, 2015
Permanent Spring Showers by Scott D. Southard
Beautiful Illogical Messes: The Art of Writing and Permanent Spring Showers
I wish this could all make sense.
It would be wonderful if the arts worked in the same side of the brain as logic and math. But it doesn't, creativity lives with dreams. It resides in that wonderful land people visit when they want to “think outside the box.” And if you try to control that part of the brain with deadlines and rules, it turns off, creating that painful writer’s block.
The trick, I have found, is learning to go with it. It’s almost zen in a way, allowing the river to take you, as compared to fighting against the current. So when someone asks me where my ideas come from, I never know exactly how to start. When you are in a river, the last thing you are thinking about is how you got there, you are more curious about where you are going and when you will reach shore again.
I have had ideas come to me in dreams, as hooky as that sounds. My novel My Problem With Doors is a time travel story and it began as a nightmare. I had walked through a door and ended up in a different land, in another time and I knew in my heart I would never be able to get home again. I woke up from that one in a sweat.
Two of my other novels (A Jane Austen Daydream and Maximilian Standforth and the Case of the Dangerous Dare) began as jokes. And one of my novels appeared fully formed in my mind on a car ride. I remember this moment vividly, my wife and I were driving home from my parents, and I asked her to write down a sentence on a piece of paper. I think she ended up using her lipstick. That sentence became my novel Megan.
My latest novel is Permanent Spring Showers and when it first entered my head it was a mess. I saw a bunch of eccentric characters, each with their own plots and needs. An early inspiration was the classic Woody Allen film Hannah and Her Sisters. Yet, what drew everything and everyone together for my story was a painting.
I can still see this painting in my head. It is not in any art gallery, and it wouldn’t fit in one.
It is massive, filling up the entire side of a building. The painting says something about our connection to nature, birth, life, sex… and it moves. I can’t explain it exactly, but based on where you stand it can look a little different. In the blur of the painting is a woman; she is nude, and gasping with head outstretched, neck taunt. And if you walk back and forth the woman gasping seems to tilt her head ever so slightly. It is a pure moment captured.
When I think of my novel Permanent Spring Showers, the images and stories in my head all begin with that piece of art.
See, each of the unpredictable plots that make up Permanent Spring Showers is connected to that painting. From the professor frantically trying to hide her affair to the Olympic hopeful who is falling in love with her partner to the painter himself, a charismatic young man who is pretending to be British and goes only by the name Vince.
Logic would tell you that a dream is not enough to form a book, and jokes can’t last for over three hundred pages. Logic would also say that a painting (that doesn't even exist) couldn’t inspire a novel filled with multiple characters and intertwining plotlines.
But logic would be wrong about all of that.
Sometimes the best writing advice is not to listen to your head and just go along with the flow. If it is a good idea, you’ll find your way to shore.
I hope you check out my new novel Permanent Spring Showers.
Permanent Spring Showers
Is on Sale for $1.99
Until 30th May
Available at:
Amazon
Itunes
Smashwords
B&NProfessor Rebecca Stanley-Wilson is having a very bad season. The ramifications of one torrid evening with one of the great upcoming painters of his generation, will not only be felt across her life but over the entire art world. Sexy, funny, and very surprising, Permanent Spring Showers is the tale of one very memorable springtime and how it impacts a group of unique artists and dreamers. From the the hopeful Olympian with the failing marriage to the writer who is creating a new literary movement (through outright manipulation) to the romantic wondering what he did wrong to drive away the love of his life, each tale walks the line between reality and fantasy. And waiting at the end of the line is a very important painting... and possibly the revolver used in the Lincoln Assassination.
Excerpt:
“What are you thinking? She’s an escort!”
“I’m in love, Steve. After sitting through the first twenty minutes of this lunch, it’s obvious you certainly still remember what that feeling is like.” He pushed his plate forward.
"But Clark…” I began.
He interrupted, “And it’s not like she wants to do that her entire life, Steve, if that is what is troubling you. She is doing it to pay for college.”
I stopped, the car of my mind shifting gears again. “Wait, did you say ‘is’? Do you mean she is still doing it?”
“Well, times are tough all over,” Clark replied far too calmly for my taste. “Have you seen college tuition rates this year?”
“And she’s really in college?” I asked, shocked. I began to wonder if I was on one of those TV shows and a camera was hidden in a bush nearby me.
My shock was perfectly mirrored by the opposite reflection of the casualness of my brother.
“You didn’t think I would marry an idiot did you, Steve? I need to be mentally challenged, you know that. She is studying education; her dream’s to teach third graders.”
“You’re engaged to a hooker…”
“Escort,” he corrected quickly for a third time.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said sarcastically. “You are engaged to an active escort who wants to be an elementary school teacher?”
“Yes,” Clark said with a dramatic point across the table at me. “And Steve, this is where you come in. You need to help me introduce her to mom and dad.”
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
Scott D. Southard is the author of A Jane Austen Daydream, Maximilian Standforth and the Case of the Dangerous Dare, My Problem With Doors, Megan, 3 Days in Rome and Me Stuff in addition to his latest release, Permanent Spring Showers. His eclectic writing has also found its way into radio, as Scott was the creator of the radio comedy series The Dante Experience. The production was honored with the Golden Headset Award for Best MultiCast Audio and the Silver Ogle Award for Best Fantasy Audio Production. Scott received his Master's in writing from the University of Southern California. Scott can be found on the internet via his writing blog “The Musings & Artful Blunders of Scott D. Southard" where he writes on topics ranging from writing, art, books, TV, writing, parenting, life, movies, and writing. He even shares original fiction on the site. His blog can be found at http://sdsouthard.com. Scott is also the fiction book reviewer for WKAR's daily radio show Current State.
http://www.amazon.com/Permanent-Spring-Showers-Scott-Southard-ebook/dp/B00T74HH0Q
https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/permanent-spring-showers/id964243135?mt=11
http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/512831
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/perma...?
ean=2940149923335
Scott D. Southard will be awarding a $10 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.
Follow the tour and comment; the more you comment, the better your chances of winning. The tour dates can be found here:http://goddessfishpromotions.blogspot.com/2015/04/vbt-permanent-spring-showers-by-scott-d.html
a Rafflecopter giveaway
I wish this could all make sense.
It would be wonderful if the arts worked in the same side of the brain as logic and math. But it doesn't, creativity lives with dreams. It resides in that wonderful land people visit when they want to “think outside the box.” And if you try to control that part of the brain with deadlines and rules, it turns off, creating that painful writer’s block.
The trick, I have found, is learning to go with it. It’s almost zen in a way, allowing the river to take you, as compared to fighting against the current. So when someone asks me where my ideas come from, I never know exactly how to start. When you are in a river, the last thing you are thinking about is how you got there, you are more curious about where you are going and when you will reach shore again.
I have had ideas come to me in dreams, as hooky as that sounds. My novel My Problem With Doors is a time travel story and it began as a nightmare. I had walked through a door and ended up in a different land, in another time and I knew in my heart I would never be able to get home again. I woke up from that one in a sweat.
Two of my other novels (A Jane Austen Daydream and Maximilian Standforth and the Case of the Dangerous Dare) began as jokes. And one of my novels appeared fully formed in my mind on a car ride. I remember this moment vividly, my wife and I were driving home from my parents, and I asked her to write down a sentence on a piece of paper. I think she ended up using her lipstick. That sentence became my novel Megan.
My latest novel is Permanent Spring Showers and when it first entered my head it was a mess. I saw a bunch of eccentric characters, each with their own plots and needs. An early inspiration was the classic Woody Allen film Hannah and Her Sisters. Yet, what drew everything and everyone together for my story was a painting.
I can still see this painting in my head. It is not in any art gallery, and it wouldn’t fit in one.
It is massive, filling up the entire side of a building. The painting says something about our connection to nature, birth, life, sex… and it moves. I can’t explain it exactly, but based on where you stand it can look a little different. In the blur of the painting is a woman; she is nude, and gasping with head outstretched, neck taunt. And if you walk back and forth the woman gasping seems to tilt her head ever so slightly. It is a pure moment captured.
When I think of my novel Permanent Spring Showers, the images and stories in my head all begin with that piece of art.
See, each of the unpredictable plots that make up Permanent Spring Showers is connected to that painting. From the professor frantically trying to hide her affair to the Olympic hopeful who is falling in love with her partner to the painter himself, a charismatic young man who is pretending to be British and goes only by the name Vince.
Logic would tell you that a dream is not enough to form a book, and jokes can’t last for over three hundred pages. Logic would also say that a painting (that doesn't even exist) couldn’t inspire a novel filled with multiple characters and intertwining plotlines.
But logic would be wrong about all of that.
Sometimes the best writing advice is not to listen to your head and just go along with the flow. If it is a good idea, you’ll find your way to shore.
I hope you check out my new novel Permanent Spring Showers.
Permanent Spring Showers
Is on Sale for $1.99
Until 30th May
Available at:
Amazon
Itunes
Smashwords
B&NProfessor Rebecca Stanley-Wilson is having a very bad season. The ramifications of one torrid evening with one of the great upcoming painters of his generation, will not only be felt across her life but over the entire art world. Sexy, funny, and very surprising, Permanent Spring Showers is the tale of one very memorable springtime and how it impacts a group of unique artists and dreamers. From the the hopeful Olympian with the failing marriage to the writer who is creating a new literary movement (through outright manipulation) to the romantic wondering what he did wrong to drive away the love of his life, each tale walks the line between reality and fantasy. And waiting at the end of the line is a very important painting... and possibly the revolver used in the Lincoln Assassination.
Excerpt:
“What are you thinking? She’s an escort!”
“I’m in love, Steve. After sitting through the first twenty minutes of this lunch, it’s obvious you certainly still remember what that feeling is like.” He pushed his plate forward.
"But Clark…” I began.
He interrupted, “And it’s not like she wants to do that her entire life, Steve, if that is what is troubling you. She is doing it to pay for college.”
I stopped, the car of my mind shifting gears again. “Wait, did you say ‘is’? Do you mean she is still doing it?”
“Well, times are tough all over,” Clark replied far too calmly for my taste. “Have you seen college tuition rates this year?”
“And she’s really in college?” I asked, shocked. I began to wonder if I was on one of those TV shows and a camera was hidden in a bush nearby me.
My shock was perfectly mirrored by the opposite reflection of the casualness of my brother.
“You didn’t think I would marry an idiot did you, Steve? I need to be mentally challenged, you know that. She is studying education; her dream’s to teach third graders.”
“You’re engaged to a hooker…”
“Escort,” he corrected quickly for a third time.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said sarcastically. “You are engaged to an active escort who wants to be an elementary school teacher?”
“Yes,” Clark said with a dramatic point across the table at me. “And Steve, this is where you come in. You need to help me introduce her to mom and dad.”
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
Scott D. Southard is the author of A Jane Austen Daydream, Maximilian Standforth and the Case of the Dangerous Dare, My Problem With Doors, Megan, 3 Days in Rome and Me Stuff in addition to his latest release, Permanent Spring Showers. His eclectic writing has also found its way into radio, as Scott was the creator of the radio comedy series The Dante Experience. The production was honored with the Golden Headset Award for Best MultiCast Audio and the Silver Ogle Award for Best Fantasy Audio Production. Scott received his Master's in writing from the University of Southern California. Scott can be found on the internet via his writing blog “The Musings & Artful Blunders of Scott D. Southard" where he writes on topics ranging from writing, art, books, TV, writing, parenting, life, movies, and writing. He even shares original fiction on the site. His blog can be found at http://sdsouthard.com. Scott is also the fiction book reviewer for WKAR's daily radio show Current State.
http://www.amazon.com/Permanent-Spring-Showers-Scott-Southard-ebook/dp/B00T74HH0Q
https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/permanent-spring-showers/id964243135?mt=11
http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/512831
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/perma...?
ean=2940149923335
Scott D. Southard will be awarding a $10 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.Follow the tour and comment; the more you comment, the better your chances of winning. The tour dates can be found here:http://goddessfishpromotions.blogspot.com/2015/04/vbt-permanent-spring-showers-by-scott-d.html
a Rafflecopter giveaway
May 25, 2015
Twist of Fate by Patti Forsythe
When today’s guest told me she was published under a myriad of pen names I asked her to write a post on the subject. As someone who was forced to use an alias – my real name is already in use by a fellow author – I was curious about her experience using pseudonyms.
I hope you enjoy her post as much as I do.
What’s In A Name? by Patricia Forsythe
Shakespeare asked that question, and my answer is, “Lots of confusion.”
When I first began my career as an author, I didn’t even think about what pen name I would use. As it turned out, the first two books I sold to a publisher were written with a partner. We were told we couldn’t have both our names on our first published book so we cast about for a pseudonym and came up with Charlotte Nichols – my co-author’s mother’s first name and my mother’s maiden name. Before you ask, if it had been the other way around, it would have been Orzola Baldwin -- unique, but not what one would picture as the name of a romance novelist.
That worked fine for two books, but then my co-author moved away and we each began writing on our own. As a solo author, I sold to Harlequin Books and when asked what name I wanted to use, I said Patricia Knoll. That was my married name, and while it would be wonderful to think that all romance authors have lifelong, loving commitments with a partner of their choice, it doesn’t always work out that way. By the time I discovered that, though, I’d published a couple of dozen books under that pen name.
After I got divorced, I decided to go back to writing under my maiden name of Forsythe. This is where the name became a problem because I didn’t legally change my name back to Forsythe. Thus began my career of publishing as Patricia Forsythe and Patti Forsythe, while already having a website and Facebook page as Patricia Knoll. I recently added Forsythe in there to help quell some of the confusion, but that turns out to be quite a mouthful with seven syllables – eight if I add my middle name, Ann.
So, I guess what I’m saying is that an author must choose a writing name carefully. It can be an emotional choice, but the name itself is one an author wants to always be associated with enjoyable books. Speaking for myself, whichever one of my pen names you look for, I hope you find a book you’ll love.
In the meantime enjoy reading Twist of Fate is a contemporary romance, part of the Book Boyfriends Café Summer Lovin' Anthology. Release day on Tuesday, May 19. Fourteen books for 0.99. What could be better?
Twist of Fate
is available as part of the
Book Boyfriends Café Summer Lovin' Anthology :
Amazon
iTunes
Kobo
Google
Excerpt from Twist of Fate by Patti Forsythe
“So you are here for both pleasure and business?”
At the word ‘pleasure’, Rebecca’s gaze jerked up to Aaron’s. Because she was afraid her voice would shake, she cleared her throat and said, “Yes.”
Gratefully, she saw that the form he was completing had an official letterhead at the top. No doubt, it was some kind of authorization for her to travel around the city. Even though her first instinct was to grab the paper and run from the room, she wondered if she could convince him to authorize travel further afield. It was worth a try.
“I want to see all of Côte de Diamant City. I’ve heard and read a great deal about the city’s efforts to modernize its infrastructure.”
“Wait.” He held up his hand. “It’s April. School is still in session. Shouldn’t you be teaching?”
She bit her bottom lip. “I’ve taken some time off. Personal time.”
“To study Côte de Diamant?” He lifted a skeptical eyebrow.
“That’s part of it.” She took a breath, determined to get through it. “Also, if I can, I plan to see the ruins at Wadi Akbar as well as the archaeological dig at Sik Ru.”
He glanced up sharply, his green eyes searing into her. She had to force herself not to jump in alarm. At the intensity of his expression, her heart pounded and her mouth went dry.
“Sik Ru? That isn’t wise. In fact, that could be dangerous. It is very close to the border of Isbahar, where chaos is the rule of the day.”
“I know, but that’s where I hope to find someone to help me . . . .” Too late, she bit her tongue. Dismayed, she looked at him. Color washed over her face, a sure sign to anyone who knew her that she had made a slip of the tongue. Would Aaron remember that about her? Damn this exhaustion! She couldn’t think clearly.
“Help you do what?” His green eyes were piercing.
She couldn’t come up with a convincing half-truth or even an outright lie. And she had given up lying years ago. She was going to have to tell him the truth. He was going to find out eventually.
She lifted her chin and met his eyes. “They are going to help me find my sister.”
“Your sister?” Confusion warred with suspicion in his tone.
“Yes.” Rebecca cleared her throat again.
He went very still, except for his fingers, those swift, agile fingers which continued to slide over the smooth surface of his sleek pen. He turned it from one end to the other, fingers at the tip, sliding down, turning the pen, turning it again.
Desire clawed at Rebecca’s throat even as she realized that what she had feared, what she had tried to avoid was screaming down upon her head, bringing to light that which she’d tried to keep secret.
Aaron looked up, his eyes fierce, his lips stiff. “I only knew you to have one sister. Jennifer.”
The name dropped between them like a stone hitting mud. She swallowed, nodded.
“Rebecca, you told me Jennifer was dead.”
About the Author:
Patti Forsythe grew up in a small copper mining town in Arizona where she had the opportunity to observe a great many interesting people who have since turned up in her books. She has written many romances for Harlequin books, as well as indie-published books and enjoys creating the kinds of stories she hopes people want to read. She’s the mother of four grown children who all have lives and families of their own. Patti has had a number of jobs, including being a librarian, running a care home for handicapped children, and teaching school. She retired from teaching a couple of years ago and now writes full time. Her writing career has had many fits and starts, setbacks and triumphs along the way. Nothing gives her greater pleasure than creating a compelling story with characters she loves, and which she hopes her readers will love.
Visit Patti at patriciaforsythebooks.com
Twitter @PatriciaKnoll1
I hope you enjoy her post as much as I do.
What’s In A Name? by Patricia Forsythe
Shakespeare asked that question, and my answer is, “Lots of confusion.”
When I first began my career as an author, I didn’t even think about what pen name I would use. As it turned out, the first two books I sold to a publisher were written with a partner. We were told we couldn’t have both our names on our first published book so we cast about for a pseudonym and came up with Charlotte Nichols – my co-author’s mother’s first name and my mother’s maiden name. Before you ask, if it had been the other way around, it would have been Orzola Baldwin -- unique, but not what one would picture as the name of a romance novelist.
That worked fine for two books, but then my co-author moved away and we each began writing on our own. As a solo author, I sold to Harlequin Books and when asked what name I wanted to use, I said Patricia Knoll. That was my married name, and while it would be wonderful to think that all romance authors have lifelong, loving commitments with a partner of their choice, it doesn’t always work out that way. By the time I discovered that, though, I’d published a couple of dozen books under that pen name.
After I got divorced, I decided to go back to writing under my maiden name of Forsythe. This is where the name became a problem because I didn’t legally change my name back to Forsythe. Thus began my career of publishing as Patricia Forsythe and Patti Forsythe, while already having a website and Facebook page as Patricia Knoll. I recently added Forsythe in there to help quell some of the confusion, but that turns out to be quite a mouthful with seven syllables – eight if I add my middle name, Ann.
So, I guess what I’m saying is that an author must choose a writing name carefully. It can be an emotional choice, but the name itself is one an author wants to always be associated with enjoyable books. Speaking for myself, whichever one of my pen names you look for, I hope you find a book you’ll love.
In the meantime enjoy reading Twist of Fate is a contemporary romance, part of the Book Boyfriends Café Summer Lovin' Anthology. Release day on Tuesday, May 19. Fourteen books for 0.99. What could be better?
Twist of Fate
is available as part of the
Book Boyfriends Café Summer Lovin' Anthology :
Amazon
iTunes
Kobo
Excerpt from Twist of Fate by Patti Forsythe
“So you are here for both pleasure and business?”
At the word ‘pleasure’, Rebecca’s gaze jerked up to Aaron’s. Because she was afraid her voice would shake, she cleared her throat and said, “Yes.”
Gratefully, she saw that the form he was completing had an official letterhead at the top. No doubt, it was some kind of authorization for her to travel around the city. Even though her first instinct was to grab the paper and run from the room, she wondered if she could convince him to authorize travel further afield. It was worth a try.
“I want to see all of Côte de Diamant City. I’ve heard and read a great deal about the city’s efforts to modernize its infrastructure.”
“Wait.” He held up his hand. “It’s April. School is still in session. Shouldn’t you be teaching?”
She bit her bottom lip. “I’ve taken some time off. Personal time.”
“To study Côte de Diamant?” He lifted a skeptical eyebrow.
“That’s part of it.” She took a breath, determined to get through it. “Also, if I can, I plan to see the ruins at Wadi Akbar as well as the archaeological dig at Sik Ru.”
He glanced up sharply, his green eyes searing into her. She had to force herself not to jump in alarm. At the intensity of his expression, her heart pounded and her mouth went dry.
“Sik Ru? That isn’t wise. In fact, that could be dangerous. It is very close to the border of Isbahar, where chaos is the rule of the day.”
“I know, but that’s where I hope to find someone to help me . . . .” Too late, she bit her tongue. Dismayed, she looked at him. Color washed over her face, a sure sign to anyone who knew her that she had made a slip of the tongue. Would Aaron remember that about her? Damn this exhaustion! She couldn’t think clearly.
“Help you do what?” His green eyes were piercing.
She couldn’t come up with a convincing half-truth or even an outright lie. And she had given up lying years ago. She was going to have to tell him the truth. He was going to find out eventually.
She lifted her chin and met his eyes. “They are going to help me find my sister.”
“Your sister?” Confusion warred with suspicion in his tone.
“Yes.” Rebecca cleared her throat again.
He went very still, except for his fingers, those swift, agile fingers which continued to slide over the smooth surface of his sleek pen. He turned it from one end to the other, fingers at the tip, sliding down, turning the pen, turning it again.
Desire clawed at Rebecca’s throat even as she realized that what she had feared, what she had tried to avoid was screaming down upon her head, bringing to light that which she’d tried to keep secret.
Aaron looked up, his eyes fierce, his lips stiff. “I only knew you to have one sister. Jennifer.”
The name dropped between them like a stone hitting mud. She swallowed, nodded.
“Rebecca, you told me Jennifer was dead.”
About the Author:Patti Forsythe grew up in a small copper mining town in Arizona where she had the opportunity to observe a great many interesting people who have since turned up in her books. She has written many romances for Harlequin books, as well as indie-published books and enjoys creating the kinds of stories she hopes people want to read. She’s the mother of four grown children who all have lives and families of their own. Patti has had a number of jobs, including being a librarian, running a care home for handicapped children, and teaching school. She retired from teaching a couple of years ago and now writes full time. Her writing career has had many fits and starts, setbacks and triumphs along the way. Nothing gives her greater pleasure than creating a compelling story with characters she loves, and which she hopes her readers will love.
Visit Patti at patriciaforsythebooks.com
Twitter @PatriciaKnoll1
May 22, 2015
Adding Lib by Kathryn Elliott
Today, I’m delighted to host a fellow author from The Wild Rose Press, Kathryn Elliott, as she shares with us some of her experiences writing her debut novel, Adding Lib.
Hi Marlow and thanks for hosting!
In its early stages, Adding Lib felt more like a child than a book. The only difference was instead of chasing a naked two year old around with an abandoned diaper, I was chasing a series of unnamed voices around my head, struggling to combine their wit and quirks with the heavy subject matter – dementia. One of the loudest screamers was my late grandmother, Jane.
Jane was a smoker, a chimney in fact and as such her voice was hard to ignore. That distinctive two pack-a-day gravel is spooky. She drank, too. Not going to sugar coat it, scotch builds character or so she told me and when it came time to wrangle those voices into a workable plot, Jane’s voice kept sneaking in.
Well, no, that’s not accurate. I’m a reporter by day and accuracy is my bible. Jane’s voice didn’t sneak; it stormed in like a bloody freight train hell bent on making me listen.
“Crimers, Kathryn Elizabeth!” (Does anyone know what crimers means? She said it constantly!) “Crimers, stop trying so hard – life is funny, make ‘em laugh! Sure, they’ll cry, but if you don’t laugh you’re not living!” Of course this was followed by deluge of profanity smothered in a phlegmy nicotine cough – but her message was nonetheless clear.
Laughter heals.
Centered on Libby O’Rourke’s relationship with her mother Mae, Adding Lib explores the early stages of dementia and its impact on a family known for its Irish tempers and love of all things exaggerated. Mae’s denial, a common early symptom in dementia patients only fuels Libby’s already simmering home life.
Through work with the Alzheimer’s Association of America and the Brain Injury Association of Connecticut, dementia was a familiar subject matter. I had years of research writing experience on the subject – the hard part was finding the delicate balance between humor and heartstrings to craft the facts into a relatable story.
Turns out, I’m a pantser – an on the fly writer; no outline and lots of rambles. Trust me, Lib’s first draft was a typo-ridden manifesto of grammar errors; my participles dangled so much they needed a sports bra! But once I stopped doubting my mastery of the English language and made peace with the fact that levity helps even in the hardest of times, the pages of Adding Lib started to fill with the familiar tones and sage advice garnered through years of personal and professional relationships.
Adding Lib is the first in the McGinn series, and my only hope other than the elusive movie deal with Paramount, is this story sheds a new light on dementia – a light that dims a little less with laughter.
Thank you!
Available at:
The Wild Rose Press
Amazon
Nook
iBook
Libby O'Rourke has a short fuse. Her mother, Mae, carries a big match. Engulfed in the never-ending life-juggling of suburbia, Libby fails to notice Mae's emerging dementia symptoms until a kitchen fire puts the problem on the front burner.
Proficient in the art of denial, Mae brushes the shattering diagnosis aside and sets her sights on a matchmaking crusade for her eldest son. After all, if her lucid days are numbered, Mae’s going to make damned sure he makes it down the aisle while she still recognizes the groom.
It’s going to take a razor wit and an iron stomach to handle Mae's diagnosis. Thankfully, just like her mother Libby has both.
Excerpt:
At three o’clock, excess wine and a bladder weakened by two pregnancies woke Libby from a sound sleep. She crept to the bathroom as quietly as two-hundred-year-old floor boards would allow and, on the way back, noticed the phone’s blinking message light.
“Crap.” Mae’s message taunted from the answering machine. “What to do?” she said to herself. “Check it, or go back to bed?” Years of maternally ingrained guilt won out as she pressed play.
“Hi Lib,” Mae’s recorded message played. “It’s your mother.”
“Color me surprised.” Libby groaned.
“I just got back from my visit with Dr. Cooper. You remember him, he removed Daddy’s planter’s wart.”
“TMI Mom, TMI.”
“Anyhow, he did a splendid job with my colon and said I had none of those dirty pollocks.”
“Polyps, unless you’ve got a ten-foot abstract in your small intestine.”
“You can watch now. Did you know that? They have a camera in your bum the whole time, fascinating really. Anyway, a few of my other test results were a bit off, and he wants me to see a neurologist for some silly reason. Nothing to worry about, just a little blip to check out. Anyhow, I need someone to take me for the appointment, and I was hoping you could find the time. If not, don’t worry, I’ll call your brother Sean. I’m sure he can drop anything less important than his mother.”
“Of course. He’s Jesus.” Libby’s eyes rolled.
“Take care, sweetie. Call me when you can, love to all.”
Libby replayed the message and returned to bed. Blip speculation haunted her dreams.
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
Kathryn Elliott is a lifetime journalist with awards in political satire, human interest, and commentary. A Connecticut native, she is a happily married mother of two sons with high hopes one of them will pay for a delightful rest home.
A true believer in laughter's healing power, Kathryn writes characters whose flaws resonate with readers long after "The End."
ADDING LIB is her debut novel, and the first in The McGinn Series.
FACEBOOK: https://www.facebook.com/KathrynEllio...
TWITTER: @CandidKathryn
BLOG LINK: http://candidkathryn.com/
GOODREADS: https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/5...
Giveaway
Kathryn will be awarding a $25 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.
Follow the tour and comment; the more you comment, the better your chances of winning. The tour dates can be found here:
http://goddessfishpromotions.blogspot.com/2015/03/vbt-adding-lib-by-kathryn-elliott.html
a Rafflecopter giveaway
Hi Marlow and thanks for hosting!In its early stages, Adding Lib felt more like a child than a book. The only difference was instead of chasing a naked two year old around with an abandoned diaper, I was chasing a series of unnamed voices around my head, struggling to combine their wit and quirks with the heavy subject matter – dementia. One of the loudest screamers was my late grandmother, Jane.
Jane was a smoker, a chimney in fact and as such her voice was hard to ignore. That distinctive two pack-a-day gravel is spooky. She drank, too. Not going to sugar coat it, scotch builds character or so she told me and when it came time to wrangle those voices into a workable plot, Jane’s voice kept sneaking in.
Well, no, that’s not accurate. I’m a reporter by day and accuracy is my bible. Jane’s voice didn’t sneak; it stormed in like a bloody freight train hell bent on making me listen.
“Crimers, Kathryn Elizabeth!” (Does anyone know what crimers means? She said it constantly!) “Crimers, stop trying so hard – life is funny, make ‘em laugh! Sure, they’ll cry, but if you don’t laugh you’re not living!” Of course this was followed by deluge of profanity smothered in a phlegmy nicotine cough – but her message was nonetheless clear.
Laughter heals.
Centered on Libby O’Rourke’s relationship with her mother Mae, Adding Lib explores the early stages of dementia and its impact on a family known for its Irish tempers and love of all things exaggerated. Mae’s denial, a common early symptom in dementia patients only fuels Libby’s already simmering home life.
Through work with the Alzheimer’s Association of America and the Brain Injury Association of Connecticut, dementia was a familiar subject matter. I had years of research writing experience on the subject – the hard part was finding the delicate balance between humor and heartstrings to craft the facts into a relatable story.
Turns out, I’m a pantser – an on the fly writer; no outline and lots of rambles. Trust me, Lib’s first draft was a typo-ridden manifesto of grammar errors; my participles dangled so much they needed a sports bra! But once I stopped doubting my mastery of the English language and made peace with the fact that levity helps even in the hardest of times, the pages of Adding Lib started to fill with the familiar tones and sage advice garnered through years of personal and professional relationships.
Adding Lib is the first in the McGinn series, and my only hope other than the elusive movie deal with Paramount, is this story sheds a new light on dementia – a light that dims a little less with laughter.
Thank you!
Available at:
The Wild Rose Press
Amazon
Nook
iBook
Libby O'Rourke has a short fuse. Her mother, Mae, carries a big match. Engulfed in the never-ending life-juggling of suburbia, Libby fails to notice Mae's emerging dementia symptoms until a kitchen fire puts the problem on the front burner.
Proficient in the art of denial, Mae brushes the shattering diagnosis aside and sets her sights on a matchmaking crusade for her eldest son. After all, if her lucid days are numbered, Mae’s going to make damned sure he makes it down the aisle while she still recognizes the groom.
It’s going to take a razor wit and an iron stomach to handle Mae's diagnosis. Thankfully, just like her mother Libby has both.
Excerpt:
At three o’clock, excess wine and a bladder weakened by two pregnancies woke Libby from a sound sleep. She crept to the bathroom as quietly as two-hundred-year-old floor boards would allow and, on the way back, noticed the phone’s blinking message light.
“Crap.” Mae’s message taunted from the answering machine. “What to do?” she said to herself. “Check it, or go back to bed?” Years of maternally ingrained guilt won out as she pressed play.
“Hi Lib,” Mae’s recorded message played. “It’s your mother.”
“Color me surprised.” Libby groaned.
“I just got back from my visit with Dr. Cooper. You remember him, he removed Daddy’s planter’s wart.”
“TMI Mom, TMI.”
“Anyhow, he did a splendid job with my colon and said I had none of those dirty pollocks.”
“Polyps, unless you’ve got a ten-foot abstract in your small intestine.”
“You can watch now. Did you know that? They have a camera in your bum the whole time, fascinating really. Anyway, a few of my other test results were a bit off, and he wants me to see a neurologist for some silly reason. Nothing to worry about, just a little blip to check out. Anyhow, I need someone to take me for the appointment, and I was hoping you could find the time. If not, don’t worry, I’ll call your brother Sean. I’m sure he can drop anything less important than his mother.”
“Of course. He’s Jesus.” Libby’s eyes rolled.
“Take care, sweetie. Call me when you can, love to all.”
Libby replayed the message and returned to bed. Blip speculation haunted her dreams.
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
Kathryn Elliott is a lifetime journalist with awards in political satire, human interest, and commentary. A Connecticut native, she is a happily married mother of two sons with high hopes one of them will pay for a delightful rest home.
A true believer in laughter's healing power, Kathryn writes characters whose flaws resonate with readers long after "The End."
ADDING LIB is her debut novel, and the first in The McGinn Series.
FACEBOOK: https://www.facebook.com/KathrynEllio...
TWITTER: @CandidKathryn
BLOG LINK: http://candidkathryn.com/
GOODREADS: https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/5...
Giveaway
Kathryn will be awarding a $25 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.
Follow the tour and comment; the more you comment, the better your chances of winning. The tour dates can be found here:
http://goddessfishpromotions.blogspot.com/2015/03/vbt-adding-lib-by-kathryn-elliott.html
a Rafflecopter giveaway
May 20, 2015
Romantic Road by Blair McDowell
Author Blair McDowell has graciously agreed to share her insights into her research. I hope you enjoy reading her post as much as I did.
There is always a significant body of research involved in the writing of any of my books. There is on-site research on settings, historical research through books, museum visits, interviews where possible, and yes, Google, although I always double check the latter. Sometimes and in some areas there is as much misinformation as information on Google. It’s a valuable resource as long as the information on it is checked in other ways.
Research on people and their jobs or professions I do by interviewing people in those positions. The Vancouver Police were wonderfully forthcoming with information when I was writing Sonata. Much of the research needed for the island culture in Delighting In Your Company came directly from people in that small island community.
If possible, I research locales first hand. A friend who sings with the Vienna Opera gave me a backstage tour for the setting of a scene I wanted in Romantic Road. Friends in Hungary gave me a tour of their Lake Balaton vineyard for another scene in the same book.
I realize not everyone can visit book settings first hand. I am fortunate. I’m a retired university professor. I’ve traveled all my life as a part of my job, and the travel habit is still with me. Now, when I visit a place, as often as not, it’s because I am setting a book or a part of a book in that locale.
People are wonderfully forthcoming about the places in which they live, about their work, about even their political, religious, and philosophic views. On the small Greek island of Hydra I sat on a stone wall next to a musician who was playing on a beautiful old stringed folk instrument. When he tired of playing I was delighted to learn he spoke fluent English. (Greeks and Italians often do. The French, almost never do.) We talked for an hour, and some of the opinions and philosophy in The Memory of Roses came directly from that Greek musician.
This kind of experience is happenstance. It isn’t something I planned. But it was very important to the book I was working on at the time.
My trip, two years ago, though Germany Austria and Hungary was specifically to trace the path my heroine, Lacy Telchev, was fleeing down, in Romantic Road.
Last Fall I visited the Amalfi Coast specifically to make sure of my facts when writing Where Lemons Bloom, (to be released later this year).
Of course place is only one aspect of writing. History is a necessary component background to me, even when writing a contemporary work, because history impacts on characters. Someone who lived through the Russian occupation in Hungary would likely have very different views than someone born two generations later in the U.S.
Hungarian Dr. Zsuzsa Szilard’s views of history vastly differ with those of my young American heroine’s in Romantic Road. Zuszsa’s are almost verbatim from a conversation I had with an elderly woman in the Matra Mountains of Hungary some time ago. I have a good memory, aided by a collection of notebooks that go back many years.
It is a wonderful gift given to authors that we can express opposing viewpoints through different characters.
Research. It takes time and patience. But I believe solid research always makes a more believable book.
Available at:
Barnes and Noble
Amazon
AllRomance.com
When Lacy Telchev buries her husband she finds herself in treacherous waters. Igor, much older than Lacy, had secrets. Suddenly Lacy is being chased across Europe by men who believe she can lead them to those secrets. Evading her pursuers with the aid of a chance acquaintance, the handsome and mysterious Max Petersen, Lacy travels across Germany, Austria and Hungary, to a shattering discovery in Budapest.
Along the way, she meets three women from Igor's past. As Igor's story unfolds through them, Lacy is less and less certain who her husband really was. Who can Lacy trust? Will she survive to find out?
Excerpt:
Her head was pounding. Aspirin. Surely she must have some aspirin in her purse. She rummaged through it to no avail. Maybe Max had some.
When she opened her room door, he was leaning against the wall. In one hand he had a small glass filled with a clear liquid. He handed it to her. “Drink,” he said. “Think of it as medicine.”
She looked from Max to the shot glass, back to Max.
“You have a headache?” he asked.
Numbly Lacy nodded, the very action hurting. “Drink.”
She took the proffered glass and swallowed the fiery alcohol in one gulp that left her gasping for breath.
When she stopped sputtering, she asked, “What on earth was that?”
“Schnapps. Just sit down for a moment and let it do its work.” He led her to an ancient carved wooden bench placed along the wall of the large center room. “You had quite a bit to drink at lunch time.”
As she revived, it began to come back. Lunch. Apple fritters and mulled wine. And after lunch…
“What happened after lunch?” she asked, afraid of the answer.
“You mean you don’t remember?” He sounded hurt, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “How could you not remember?” He leaned into her and kissed her insinuatingly.
Lacy pushed him away and put her head in her hands. “No. Oh, no.”
Max took her hands away from her face and looked into her eyes, dead serious. “Nothing happened between us after lunch, Lacy. There are rules about that sort of thing. I promise you when…that is…if we make love, it will not be when you’ve had too much to drink.”
“You beast.” Lacy pummeled him with her fists. “You let me think …”
“Feeling better now?” he asked, laughing, catching her hands in his and holding them.
Lacy realized indeed she did feel better. She felt fine.
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
Blair McDowell wrote her first short story when she was eleven and has never ceased writing since, although only recently has she been able to return to her first love, writing fiction. During her early years, she taught in universities in the United States, Canada and Australia, and wrote several highly successful books in her field.
Her research has taken her to many interesting places. She has lived in Europe, Australia, the United States and the Caribbean and Canada, and spent considerable time in still other places, Iceland, the Far East, and the Torres Strait Islands off the coast of New Guinea. Now she travels for pleasure. Portugal, Greece and Italy are favorite haunts.
Her books are set in places she knows and loves and are peopled with characters drawn from her experiences of those places. The Memory of Roses takes readers to the Greek Island of Corfu, where a young woman finds her future while searching for her father's past. In Delighting in Your Company, the reader is transported to a small island in the Caribbean, with a heroine who finds herself in the unenviable position of falling in love with a ghost. The setting for Sonata is the city of Vancouver, with its vibrant multicultural population and its rich musical life, and the heroine is a musician who finds herself in unexpected danger.
In her most recent release, Romantic Road, Lacy Telchev, is pursued along Germany’s famous Romantische Strausse as she follows clues left by her late husband in order to solve a mystery that she doesn’t understand, while being chased by dangerous and cunning adversaries.
She hopes her readers will enjoy reading these books as much as she enjoyed writing them.
Blair is a member of the Romance Writers of America, Romance Writers of America (Greater Vancouver Chapter), the Romance Writers of America (Women's Fiction), and The Writers’ Union of Canada.
Contact, Website, etc.
Website: http://www.blairmcdowell.com/
Blog: http://blairmcdowellauthor.blogspot.ca/
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/...
Visit my Facebook Page https://www.facebook.com/BlairMcDowel...
Visit me at Twitter https://twitter.com/mcdowell_blair
Visit my Google+ https://plus.google.com/b/10517166105...
Giveaway
Blair will be awarding a $15 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour, and a $15 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn host.
Follow the tour and comment; the more you comment, the better your chances of winning. The tour dates can be found here:
http://goddessfishpromotions.blogspot.com/2015/03/vbt-romantic-road-by-blair-mcdowell.html
a Rafflecopter giveaway
There is always a significant body of research involved in the writing of any of my books. There is on-site research on settings, historical research through books, museum visits, interviews where possible, and yes, Google, although I always double check the latter. Sometimes and in some areas there is as much misinformation as information on Google. It’s a valuable resource as long as the information on it is checked in other ways.
Research on people and their jobs or professions I do by interviewing people in those positions. The Vancouver Police were wonderfully forthcoming with information when I was writing Sonata. Much of the research needed for the island culture in Delighting In Your Company came directly from people in that small island community.
If possible, I research locales first hand. A friend who sings with the Vienna Opera gave me a backstage tour for the setting of a scene I wanted in Romantic Road. Friends in Hungary gave me a tour of their Lake Balaton vineyard for another scene in the same book.
I realize not everyone can visit book settings first hand. I am fortunate. I’m a retired university professor. I’ve traveled all my life as a part of my job, and the travel habit is still with me. Now, when I visit a place, as often as not, it’s because I am setting a book or a part of a book in that locale.
People are wonderfully forthcoming about the places in which they live, about their work, about even their political, religious, and philosophic views. On the small Greek island of Hydra I sat on a stone wall next to a musician who was playing on a beautiful old stringed folk instrument. When he tired of playing I was delighted to learn he spoke fluent English. (Greeks and Italians often do. The French, almost never do.) We talked for an hour, and some of the opinions and philosophy in The Memory of Roses came directly from that Greek musician.
This kind of experience is happenstance. It isn’t something I planned. But it was very important to the book I was working on at the time.
My trip, two years ago, though Germany Austria and Hungary was specifically to trace the path my heroine, Lacy Telchev, was fleeing down, in Romantic Road.
Last Fall I visited the Amalfi Coast specifically to make sure of my facts when writing Where Lemons Bloom, (to be released later this year).
Of course place is only one aspect of writing. History is a necessary component background to me, even when writing a contemporary work, because history impacts on characters. Someone who lived through the Russian occupation in Hungary would likely have very different views than someone born two generations later in the U.S.
Hungarian Dr. Zsuzsa Szilard’s views of history vastly differ with those of my young American heroine’s in Romantic Road. Zuszsa’s are almost verbatim from a conversation I had with an elderly woman in the Matra Mountains of Hungary some time ago. I have a good memory, aided by a collection of notebooks that go back many years.
It is a wonderful gift given to authors that we can express opposing viewpoints through different characters.
Research. It takes time and patience. But I believe solid research always makes a more believable book.
Available at:
Barnes and Noble
Amazon
AllRomance.com
When Lacy Telchev buries her husband she finds herself in treacherous waters. Igor, much older than Lacy, had secrets. Suddenly Lacy is being chased across Europe by men who believe she can lead them to those secrets. Evading her pursuers with the aid of a chance acquaintance, the handsome and mysterious Max Petersen, Lacy travels across Germany, Austria and Hungary, to a shattering discovery in Budapest.
Along the way, she meets three women from Igor's past. As Igor's story unfolds through them, Lacy is less and less certain who her husband really was. Who can Lacy trust? Will she survive to find out?
Excerpt:
Her head was pounding. Aspirin. Surely she must have some aspirin in her purse. She rummaged through it to no avail. Maybe Max had some.
When she opened her room door, he was leaning against the wall. In one hand he had a small glass filled with a clear liquid. He handed it to her. “Drink,” he said. “Think of it as medicine.”
She looked from Max to the shot glass, back to Max.
“You have a headache?” he asked.
Numbly Lacy nodded, the very action hurting. “Drink.”
She took the proffered glass and swallowed the fiery alcohol in one gulp that left her gasping for breath.
When she stopped sputtering, she asked, “What on earth was that?”
“Schnapps. Just sit down for a moment and let it do its work.” He led her to an ancient carved wooden bench placed along the wall of the large center room. “You had quite a bit to drink at lunch time.”
As she revived, it began to come back. Lunch. Apple fritters and mulled wine. And after lunch…
“What happened after lunch?” she asked, afraid of the answer.
“You mean you don’t remember?” He sounded hurt, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “How could you not remember?” He leaned into her and kissed her insinuatingly.
Lacy pushed him away and put her head in her hands. “No. Oh, no.”
Max took her hands away from her face and looked into her eyes, dead serious. “Nothing happened between us after lunch, Lacy. There are rules about that sort of thing. I promise you when…that is…if we make love, it will not be when you’ve had too much to drink.”
“You beast.” Lacy pummeled him with her fists. “You let me think …”
“Feeling better now?” he asked, laughing, catching her hands in his and holding them.
Lacy realized indeed she did feel better. She felt fine.
AUTHOR Bio and Links:Blair McDowell wrote her first short story when she was eleven and has never ceased writing since, although only recently has she been able to return to her first love, writing fiction. During her early years, she taught in universities in the United States, Canada and Australia, and wrote several highly successful books in her field.
Her research has taken her to many interesting places. She has lived in Europe, Australia, the United States and the Caribbean and Canada, and spent considerable time in still other places, Iceland, the Far East, and the Torres Strait Islands off the coast of New Guinea. Now she travels for pleasure. Portugal, Greece and Italy are favorite haunts.
Her books are set in places she knows and loves and are peopled with characters drawn from her experiences of those places. The Memory of Roses takes readers to the Greek Island of Corfu, where a young woman finds her future while searching for her father's past. In Delighting in Your Company, the reader is transported to a small island in the Caribbean, with a heroine who finds herself in the unenviable position of falling in love with a ghost. The setting for Sonata is the city of Vancouver, with its vibrant multicultural population and its rich musical life, and the heroine is a musician who finds herself in unexpected danger.
In her most recent release, Romantic Road, Lacy Telchev, is pursued along Germany’s famous Romantische Strausse as she follows clues left by her late husband in order to solve a mystery that she doesn’t understand, while being chased by dangerous and cunning adversaries.
She hopes her readers will enjoy reading these books as much as she enjoyed writing them.
Blair is a member of the Romance Writers of America, Romance Writers of America (Greater Vancouver Chapter), the Romance Writers of America (Women's Fiction), and The Writers’ Union of Canada.
Contact, Website, etc.
Website: http://www.blairmcdowell.com/
Blog: http://blairmcdowellauthor.blogspot.ca/
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/...
Visit my Facebook Page https://www.facebook.com/BlairMcDowel...
Visit me at Twitter https://twitter.com/mcdowell_blair
Visit my Google+ https://plus.google.com/b/10517166105...
Giveaway
Blair will be awarding a $15 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour, and a $15 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn host.
Follow the tour and comment; the more you comment, the better your chances of winning. The tour dates can be found here:
http://goddessfishpromotions.blogspot.com/2015/03/vbt-romantic-road-by-blair-mcdowell.html
a Rafflecopter giveaway
May 15, 2015
Carpe Demon, By J.C. McKenzie
Ever notice “Demon” in the word Pandemonium?
Available at:
All Romance Ebooks
Amazon
BookStrand
Chapters
iTunes
Kobo
The Wild Rose Press
As an ambassador with the Supernatural Regulatory Division, Andy McNeilly is responsible for acting as the Liaison for the Vancouver Vampire horde. The problem? She detests the Vampire Master, and the SRD can’t discover the beast she keeps locked inside.
After a menacing Demon throws an important Vampire event into chaos, Andy finds herself sniffing out crime scenes to identify and locate the mystery fiend from the nether realm. What she learns chills her bones.
Threatened by the Master Vampire to deal with the Demon, Andy's complicated personal life doesn't make things easier. She's willing to risk her life and pride to keep loved ones safe. But how can she make a choice that will break one heart…and complete another?
Excerpt:
The Demon’s grin widened. Standing a foot away from him with no room to maneuver and nothing to separate us, the serrated details of his shiny enamel glared at me.
My fingertips tingled as I started to shift.
Not fast enough.
The Demon lunged. His long nimble fingers closed around my neck as I shot my hands out, inside his arms, and dug my claws into his face. My elbows pushed against the insides of his arms. His hold should’ve weakened, but this Demon possessed uncanny strength. His frame stretched, growing to almost eight feet in height and giving his body an emaciated appearance. He pulled me close, his nose touching mine. I wrenched to the side, but my toes dangled above the floor.
“Bola sends his regards,” he said, his breath hitting my face.
My gums stung as fangs protruded and I hissed at him, ready to make the full change and get my fight on. I yanked on the mountain lion and spurred her into action.
“By all means, little nugget, shift into one of your animals.” He gnashed his sharp teeth together. “I love to rend the flesh of livestock, to mutilate the bodies of creatures, and to smash the bones of beasts.”
About the Author:
Born and raised on the Haida Gwaii, off the West Coast of Canada, J.C. McKenzie grew up in a pristine wilderness that inspired her to dream. She writes Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance.
Contact Information:
J.C. McKenzie’s Website | Blog | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | TWRP | Amazon | Newsletter
J.C. will be awarding a $25 Amazon GC during her virtual book tour. To follow the tour and for more chances to enter go to:
http://www.jcmckenzie.ca/appearances.html
a Rafflecopter giveaway
Available at:
All Romance Ebooks
Amazon
BookStrand
Chapters
iTunes
Kobo
The Wild Rose Press
As an ambassador with the Supernatural Regulatory Division, Andy McNeilly is responsible for acting as the Liaison for the Vancouver Vampire horde. The problem? She detests the Vampire Master, and the SRD can’t discover the beast she keeps locked inside.
After a menacing Demon throws an important Vampire event into chaos, Andy finds herself sniffing out crime scenes to identify and locate the mystery fiend from the nether realm. What she learns chills her bones.
Threatened by the Master Vampire to deal with the Demon, Andy's complicated personal life doesn't make things easier. She's willing to risk her life and pride to keep loved ones safe. But how can she make a choice that will break one heart…and complete another?
Excerpt:
The Demon’s grin widened. Standing a foot away from him with no room to maneuver and nothing to separate us, the serrated details of his shiny enamel glared at me.
My fingertips tingled as I started to shift.
Not fast enough.
The Demon lunged. His long nimble fingers closed around my neck as I shot my hands out, inside his arms, and dug my claws into his face. My elbows pushed against the insides of his arms. His hold should’ve weakened, but this Demon possessed uncanny strength. His frame stretched, growing to almost eight feet in height and giving his body an emaciated appearance. He pulled me close, his nose touching mine. I wrenched to the side, but my toes dangled above the floor.
“Bola sends his regards,” he said, his breath hitting my face.
My gums stung as fangs protruded and I hissed at him, ready to make the full change and get my fight on. I yanked on the mountain lion and spurred her into action.
“By all means, little nugget, shift into one of your animals.” He gnashed his sharp teeth together. “I love to rend the flesh of livestock, to mutilate the bodies of creatures, and to smash the bones of beasts.”
About the Author:
Born and raised on the Haida Gwaii, off the West Coast of Canada, J.C. McKenzie grew up in a pristine wilderness that inspired her to dream. She writes Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance.
Contact Information:
J.C. McKenzie’s Website | Blog | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | TWRP | Amazon | Newsletter
J.C. will be awarding a $25 Amazon GC during her virtual book tour. To follow the tour and for more chances to enter go to:
http://www.jcmckenzie.ca/appearances.html
a Rafflecopter giveaway
May 13, 2015
Wicked Wager by Mary Gillgannon
A Dashed Plummy Way of Speaking
Like most writers, I love words. And I especially love slang. It can instantly transport you to another place and time and make you feel like you are in a world much different than your own. Several of my first romances were set in the medieval era and I had great fun using using terms like tosspot and lout-headed, swive and futtering. The slang of the Regency era isn’t quite as crude and earthy, but it’s still delightfully distinctive.
The expressions used by lords and ladies often sought to make things sound better than they were. Instead of saying someone was drunk, you would say they were foxed, disguised or lurched. A loose woman was a fashionable impure or a Cyprian, and the establishment where she worked wasn’t called a brothel but a house of Venus or even a nunnery. If someone was on a higher social level, they were above one’s touch.
You didn’t speak of someone as depressed, but as blue-deviled. If they did something foolish, they made of a cake of themselves, or they might be called henwitted, addle-pated or bacon-brained. Gossip was the rattle, the hum, the on-dit or tittle-tattle.
A gentleman who was good at handling a team of horses was known as a tulip of the goers, a crack whip or a dab hand with the ribbons. A poor one was called cow-handed. A fine team of horses might be described as a bang-up pair, fast trotters, sweet-goers or prime cattle.
The era’s passion for gambling resulted in many colorful gaming terms. To cheat was to gull or gammon. If you had plenty of money, called the ready or blunt, people would say you had deep pockets or were a high flyer. When you bet more than you could afford, as my heroine’s cousin and guardian does in the beginning of Wicked Wager, you are playing deep. And when you lost more than you could afford, as he does, you were done up, dished up or deep in dun territory.
Women of this era didn’t have much power or independence. All their status was derived from the males in their lives. As a result, many of the terms for females were condescending. A young woman might be referred to as a chit, an article, a bit of muslin or even baggage (as in, “she’s a cunning baggage”). If she was tall, she was a long meg or, serious and well-educated, a bluestocking. A false woman was a jade or jilt. A stupid one, a milk and water miss or wet goose.
If no one offered for a young woman after a Season or two, she was said to be on the shelf. If she was boisterous or wild, she was called a hoyden. Because she’s tall and a tomboy, Penny’s cousin Adrian refers to her as both a long meg and a hoyden. Getting married was snidely called getting leg-shackled. For a man, it was clearly a fate to be avoided, although my hero Marcus has no dread of marriage since he believes it won’t affect his life in any significant way.
Slang enlivened the speech of the upper classes, but for the lower classes it became almost another language, called cant. Later in the book Marcus encounters a group of children living on the street, and they converse with him using some of these expressions. They call him guvnor, refer to Penny as a mort, another man as a cove and a bloke. They also discuss paying a penny for a noggin of ruin, which turns out to be a container of gin.
Even though I didn’t use a lot of the terms I discovered in my research, immersing myself in the words and expressions used in the Regency era made it real for me and helped me bring my characters to life. I could imagine myself in the glittering ballrooms where the quality danced and flirted and grew foxed and disguised. Among the diamonds of the first water and the dandified nibs dressed in fine twig, and the wags and old tabbies sharing the latest tittle-tattle.
Mary’s latest release is Wicked Wager:
Available at:
Amazon
Barnes and Noble
The Wild Rose Press
When hardened gamester Marcus Revington wins Horngate Manor in a card game, he is delighted to finally own property. Even discovering he must marry the heiress of the estate doesn’t deter him. The heiress, Penny Montgomery, is happy with her life raising horses at Horngate and has no desire to wed anyone. When she learns about her guardian’s Wicked Wager, she schemes to convince Marcus she’s unsuitable as a wife so he’ll forget his plan to marry her. Who will win this battle of wits and wills? Or will they both discover the name of the game is love?
Excerpt:
He might have known she’d take hours, Marcus thought with irritation as he waited in the drawing room. Offer to take a woman somewhere, and she fussed and fiddled half the day. He’d thought Penny was more practical than that, but it appeared she was as tardy as other members of her sex. A pity if she’d already been corrupted by Madame Dubonet and lost that ingenuous charm of hers. He rather liked the grubby hoyden he’d met in the drive of Horngate. She’d been a delightful change from the coy, manipulative women of the ton.
He paced across to the window to check on the phaeton and team. Hearing a faint sound, he turned.
For a moment, he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. His gaze moved down Penny’s slender form, then returned to the expanse of lush creamy flesh exposed by the low neckline of her dress. He swallowed hard, then choked out, “What the devil are you wearing?”
She gave him an innocent smile. “It’s my new daydress. Do you like it?”
Gone was the sweetly pretty young miss he’d brought to London. She’d been transformed into a sensual, sophisticated, breathtaking… goddess. It wasn’t only the lush décolletage the gown revealed, but the color of the fabric. Some subtle shade of pink that made her look edible. He longed to kiss and lick and nibble every inch of the silken, creamy skin the garment exposed. And then move on to the parts concealed by the soft, shimmery fabric. The very thought made him instantly aroused.
He took a deep breath and tried to focus on Penny’s face. “The dress is very fashionable, I’m certain. But if you don’t want to catch a chill, you’d best put on your pelisse.”
Penny hurried to do as he suggested. Despite having carefully planned this moment, when it actually came time to appear before Revington in the skimpy gown, she’d experienced an attack of nerves. It had taken all her willpower to walk boldly into the drawing room, despite feeling half-naked.
Revington’s expression had turned quite strange, almost savage. But then a moment later, his normal reserve had prevailed and he’d carried on in his usual impatient style.
She put on her pelisse and started for the door. Then she remembered the other part of her plan. Turning, she said, “I wondered if rather than driving today, you could have footman take the reins and sit in the carriage with me. That way you’ll be able to tell me about the sights as we travel through the city.”
Seeing a muscle twitch in his jaw, she wondered whether he disliked the thought of spending time with her. Too bad, she thought stubbornly. For her plan to work, she needed to force him into close proximity.
Mary Gillgannon is the author of fifteen novels, mostly set in the dark age, medieval and English Regency time periods. She’s married and has two children. Now that they’re grown, she indulges her nurturing tendencies on four very spoiled cats and a moderately spoiled dog. When not writing or working—she’s been employed at the local public library for twenty-five years—she enjoys gardening, reading and travel.
Mary is offering two give-aways :
One is for a gorgeous shamrock solar lantern. Contest ends May 31st.
https://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/91181bf930/?
The other, in conjunction with several other authors, is for a $500 gift certificate and ends June 21st.
https://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/91181bf929/?
Like most writers, I love words. And I especially love slang. It can instantly transport you to another place and time and make you feel like you are in a world much different than your own. Several of my first romances were set in the medieval era and I had great fun using using terms like tosspot and lout-headed, swive and futtering. The slang of the Regency era isn’t quite as crude and earthy, but it’s still delightfully distinctive.
The expressions used by lords and ladies often sought to make things sound better than they were. Instead of saying someone was drunk, you would say they were foxed, disguised or lurched. A loose woman was a fashionable impure or a Cyprian, and the establishment where she worked wasn’t called a brothel but a house of Venus or even a nunnery. If someone was on a higher social level, they were above one’s touch.
You didn’t speak of someone as depressed, but as blue-deviled. If they did something foolish, they made of a cake of themselves, or they might be called henwitted, addle-pated or bacon-brained. Gossip was the rattle, the hum, the on-dit or tittle-tattle.
A gentleman who was good at handling a team of horses was known as a tulip of the goers, a crack whip or a dab hand with the ribbons. A poor one was called cow-handed. A fine team of horses might be described as a bang-up pair, fast trotters, sweet-goers or prime cattle.
The era’s passion for gambling resulted in many colorful gaming terms. To cheat was to gull or gammon. If you had plenty of money, called the ready or blunt, people would say you had deep pockets or were a high flyer. When you bet more than you could afford, as my heroine’s cousin and guardian does in the beginning of Wicked Wager, you are playing deep. And when you lost more than you could afford, as he does, you were done up, dished up or deep in dun territory.
Women of this era didn’t have much power or independence. All their status was derived from the males in their lives. As a result, many of the terms for females were condescending. A young woman might be referred to as a chit, an article, a bit of muslin or even baggage (as in, “she’s a cunning baggage”). If she was tall, she was a long meg or, serious and well-educated, a bluestocking. A false woman was a jade or jilt. A stupid one, a milk and water miss or wet goose.
If no one offered for a young woman after a Season or two, she was said to be on the shelf. If she was boisterous or wild, she was called a hoyden. Because she’s tall and a tomboy, Penny’s cousin Adrian refers to her as both a long meg and a hoyden. Getting married was snidely called getting leg-shackled. For a man, it was clearly a fate to be avoided, although my hero Marcus has no dread of marriage since he believes it won’t affect his life in any significant way.
Slang enlivened the speech of the upper classes, but for the lower classes it became almost another language, called cant. Later in the book Marcus encounters a group of children living on the street, and they converse with him using some of these expressions. They call him guvnor, refer to Penny as a mort, another man as a cove and a bloke. They also discuss paying a penny for a noggin of ruin, which turns out to be a container of gin.
Even though I didn’t use a lot of the terms I discovered in my research, immersing myself in the words and expressions used in the Regency era made it real for me and helped me bring my characters to life. I could imagine myself in the glittering ballrooms where the quality danced and flirted and grew foxed and disguised. Among the diamonds of the first water and the dandified nibs dressed in fine twig, and the wags and old tabbies sharing the latest tittle-tattle.
Mary’s latest release is Wicked Wager:
Available at:
Amazon
Barnes and Noble
The Wild Rose Press
When hardened gamester Marcus Revington wins Horngate Manor in a card game, he is delighted to finally own property. Even discovering he must marry the heiress of the estate doesn’t deter him. The heiress, Penny Montgomery, is happy with her life raising horses at Horngate and has no desire to wed anyone. When she learns about her guardian’s Wicked Wager, she schemes to convince Marcus she’s unsuitable as a wife so he’ll forget his plan to marry her. Who will win this battle of wits and wills? Or will they both discover the name of the game is love?
Excerpt:
He might have known she’d take hours, Marcus thought with irritation as he waited in the drawing room. Offer to take a woman somewhere, and she fussed and fiddled half the day. He’d thought Penny was more practical than that, but it appeared she was as tardy as other members of her sex. A pity if she’d already been corrupted by Madame Dubonet and lost that ingenuous charm of hers. He rather liked the grubby hoyden he’d met in the drive of Horngate. She’d been a delightful change from the coy, manipulative women of the ton.
He paced across to the window to check on the phaeton and team. Hearing a faint sound, he turned.
For a moment, he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. His gaze moved down Penny’s slender form, then returned to the expanse of lush creamy flesh exposed by the low neckline of her dress. He swallowed hard, then choked out, “What the devil are you wearing?”
She gave him an innocent smile. “It’s my new daydress. Do you like it?”
Gone was the sweetly pretty young miss he’d brought to London. She’d been transformed into a sensual, sophisticated, breathtaking… goddess. It wasn’t only the lush décolletage the gown revealed, but the color of the fabric. Some subtle shade of pink that made her look edible. He longed to kiss and lick and nibble every inch of the silken, creamy skin the garment exposed. And then move on to the parts concealed by the soft, shimmery fabric. The very thought made him instantly aroused.
He took a deep breath and tried to focus on Penny’s face. “The dress is very fashionable, I’m certain. But if you don’t want to catch a chill, you’d best put on your pelisse.”
Penny hurried to do as he suggested. Despite having carefully planned this moment, when it actually came time to appear before Revington in the skimpy gown, she’d experienced an attack of nerves. It had taken all her willpower to walk boldly into the drawing room, despite feeling half-naked.
Revington’s expression had turned quite strange, almost savage. But then a moment later, his normal reserve had prevailed and he’d carried on in his usual impatient style.
She put on her pelisse and started for the door. Then she remembered the other part of her plan. Turning, she said, “I wondered if rather than driving today, you could have footman take the reins and sit in the carriage with me. That way you’ll be able to tell me about the sights as we travel through the city.”
Seeing a muscle twitch in his jaw, she wondered whether he disliked the thought of spending time with her. Too bad, she thought stubbornly. For her plan to work, she needed to force him into close proximity.
Mary Gillgannon is the author of fifteen novels, mostly set in the dark age, medieval and English Regency time periods. She’s married and has two children. Now that they’re grown, she indulges her nurturing tendencies on four very spoiled cats and a moderately spoiled dog. When not writing or working—she’s been employed at the local public library for twenty-five years—she enjoys gardening, reading and travel.Mary is offering two give-aways :
One is for a gorgeous shamrock solar lantern. Contest ends May 31st.
https://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/91181bf930/?
The other, in conjunction with several other authors, is for a $500 gift certificate and ends June 21st.
https://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/91181bf929/?
May 7, 2015
Ghost of Death by Chrys Fey
Thank you, Marlow, for letting me hijack your blog for the day. I am going to share a special scene spotlight for your wonderful readers. :)
Scene Spotlight from Ghost of Death:
Jolie followed her body to the Coronerâs Office where a petite woman with licorice-black hair and pale gray eyes waited. She talked aloud while examining Jolieâs body, as though Jolie lay on the metal slab for a deep-tissue massage, not an autopsy.
âIâm Dr. Rose, but you can call me Simone,â she said. âI know you donât want to be here, sweetie. Donât deserve to be here for that matter, but youâre safe now. Iâll take good care of you, and you can bet Avrianna will find and lock up the asshole responsible for this.â She had a sultry voice with a hint of honey and small hands that worked gently on Jolieâs body.
Simone went about her business with care. She dabbed at the slash in Jolieâs neck with a long cotton swab, searching for something. Jolie didnât know how anyone could look that closely at a wound, let alone dead flesh, but Simone even inspected the exposed bone of her spine, noting the scratches there in the delicate calcium. To tell the truth, it fascinated Jolie. Everything Simone did had a purpose, from scraping beneath her fingernails to looking for abrasions on her skin. Everything she saw, felt, touched, and even smelled she documented. Seeing Simone work was like spying on Beethoven as he wrote a symphony.
The door opened and Avrianna breezed in. âHey, Simone.â
The two women couldnât have been more different. Avrianna towered over Simone by a foot, and Simoneâs hourglass shape shadowed Avriannaâs athletic build.
Jolie moved in front of Avrianna on the other side of her body. She knew a lot about Avrianna Heavenborn from studying articles about her in journalist class, but never before had she had the opportunity to get near her. She liked being able to scrutinize the detective.
Avrianna had an oval face, sharp cheekbones, and a small nose. Her slim brows were arched perfectly, although Jolie doubted she ever brought tweezers to them. She didnât even appear to have a spot of makeup on her face. Lucky for her; she didnât need it.
Jolie arched one of her own brows and spoke aloud, âPeople say youâre a freak because sailors found you floating in the ocean as a newborn, but they donât say how freakishly beautiful you are.â
Avrianna turned away from Jolieâs corpse then. âWhat do you have for me?â she asked Simone.
Simone joined her on the other side of the slab. âWell, obviously, her throat was cut, but you were right when you said an amateur did it. The blade came out when it hit her trachea.â She pointed at Jolieâs neck. âThe cut is jagged there because the blade had to be reinserted. The first attempt, being so sloppy, wouldnât have been successful. The killer realized that and slashed her throat again in nearly the same line, severing her arteries and trachea.â
Avrianna shook her head. âThatâs a horrifying way to die.â
Jolieâs gaze moved from Avrianna to her body. âYeah, but I donât remember. I donât know how I got to the alley or what I was doing there. I donât remember a thing.â
QUESTIONS:
1. Which actors/actresses would play the characters present in this scene?
Dr. Simone Rose was inspired by Amy Lee, the singer of Evanescene.
Avrianna Heavenborn is actually a character I struggled to find an actress to portray. I like Milla Jovovich for her ability to do any kick-ass female role and Alezx Johnson for her youth and the fact that sheâs not a mega-star. Iâd want the actress the play Avrianna to be relatively unknown.
Jolie Montgomery, the ghost, was originally inspired by Vanessa Marano from Switched at Birth, when Jolie was a sixteen-year-old-girl.
2. What do you love the most about this scene?
I love how Jolie pretty much gets into Avriannaâs face to scrutinize her. I think that would be the fun thing about being a ghost; you could get into peopleâs faces and talk about them without them knowing it.
3. Can you tell us a secret about this scene? (Something we donât know.)
There is a huge secret in this scene and it involves the lead detective, Avrianna Heavenborn. If you caught that interesting tidbit about her being found in the ocean as a newborn, youâre probably curious about that, right? Well, all I can tell you is that this isnât first time Iâve written about Avrianna. Sheâs actually the protagonist in my unpublished supernatural-thriller series. And she actually doesnât live on Earth.
Title: Ghost of DeathAuthor: Chrys FeyGenre: Supernatural/SuspenseFormat: eBook Only
Page Count: 41 (short story)Release Date: April 22nd, 2015Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
Blurb:
Jolie Montgomery, a twenty-one-year-old woman, wakes up in an alley next to her corpse. She has no memories of her murder or the night she died. She didnât even see the killerâs face before he or she took her life. Wanting justice, Jolie seeks answers in the only way a ghost can...by stalking the lead detective on the case.
Avrianna Heavenborn is determined to find the person responsible for a young womanâs death. She gets closer to the killerâs identity with every clue she uncovers, and Jolie is with her every step of the way.
But if they donât solve her murder soon, Jolie will be an earth-bound spirit forever.
Book Links:Amazon US / Amazon UK / The Wild Rose Press / NOOK / KOBO
Available for PRE-ORDER:
Blurb:
Detective Reid Sanders doesnât believe in the supernatural, but when heâs faced with a crime scene that defies the laws of nature, he has no other choice but to start believing. And solving a magical murder involves working with a witch.
Liberty Sawyer embodies the look of your classic evil witch, so, itâs no surprise when she uncovers the murderer is a witch that she becomes Reidâs number one suspect. If she canât convince him otherwise, more people could lose their lives to dark magic, including her.
Book Links:Amazon US / Amazon UK
BIO:
Chrys Fey is the author of Hurricane Crimes and 30 Seconds. She is currently working on the sequel to Hurricane Crimes thatâll serve as book two in the Disaster Crimes series.
When Fey was six years old, she realized her dream of being a writer by watching her mother pursue publication. At the age of twelve, she started writing her first novel, which flourished into a series she later rewrote at seventeen. Fey lives in Florida where she is waiting for the next hurricane to come her way.
You can connect with her on Facebook and her blog, Write with Fey. She loves to get to know her readers!
Author Links: Facebook / Blog / Website / Goodreads
Thank you all for visiting and hopefully commenting. ;)
Scene Spotlight from Ghost of Death:
Jolie followed her body to the Coronerâs Office where a petite woman with licorice-black hair and pale gray eyes waited. She talked aloud while examining Jolieâs body, as though Jolie lay on the metal slab for a deep-tissue massage, not an autopsy.
âIâm Dr. Rose, but you can call me Simone,â she said. âI know you donât want to be here, sweetie. Donât deserve to be here for that matter, but youâre safe now. Iâll take good care of you, and you can bet Avrianna will find and lock up the asshole responsible for this.â She had a sultry voice with a hint of honey and small hands that worked gently on Jolieâs body.
Simone went about her business with care. She dabbed at the slash in Jolieâs neck with a long cotton swab, searching for something. Jolie didnât know how anyone could look that closely at a wound, let alone dead flesh, but Simone even inspected the exposed bone of her spine, noting the scratches there in the delicate calcium. To tell the truth, it fascinated Jolie. Everything Simone did had a purpose, from scraping beneath her fingernails to looking for abrasions on her skin. Everything she saw, felt, touched, and even smelled she documented. Seeing Simone work was like spying on Beethoven as he wrote a symphony.
The door opened and Avrianna breezed in. âHey, Simone.â
The two women couldnât have been more different. Avrianna towered over Simone by a foot, and Simoneâs hourglass shape shadowed Avriannaâs athletic build.
Jolie moved in front of Avrianna on the other side of her body. She knew a lot about Avrianna Heavenborn from studying articles about her in journalist class, but never before had she had the opportunity to get near her. She liked being able to scrutinize the detective.
Avrianna had an oval face, sharp cheekbones, and a small nose. Her slim brows were arched perfectly, although Jolie doubted she ever brought tweezers to them. She didnât even appear to have a spot of makeup on her face. Lucky for her; she didnât need it.
Jolie arched one of her own brows and spoke aloud, âPeople say youâre a freak because sailors found you floating in the ocean as a newborn, but they donât say how freakishly beautiful you are.â
Avrianna turned away from Jolieâs corpse then. âWhat do you have for me?â she asked Simone.
Simone joined her on the other side of the slab. âWell, obviously, her throat was cut, but you were right when you said an amateur did it. The blade came out when it hit her trachea.â She pointed at Jolieâs neck. âThe cut is jagged there because the blade had to be reinserted. The first attempt, being so sloppy, wouldnât have been successful. The killer realized that and slashed her throat again in nearly the same line, severing her arteries and trachea.â
Avrianna shook her head. âThatâs a horrifying way to die.â
Jolieâs gaze moved from Avrianna to her body. âYeah, but I donât remember. I donât know how I got to the alley or what I was doing there. I donât remember a thing.â
QUESTIONS:
1. Which actors/actresses would play the characters present in this scene?
Dr. Simone Rose was inspired by Amy Lee, the singer of Evanescene.
Avrianna Heavenborn is actually a character I struggled to find an actress to portray. I like Milla Jovovich for her ability to do any kick-ass female role and Alezx Johnson for her youth and the fact that sheâs not a mega-star. Iâd want the actress the play Avrianna to be relatively unknown.
Jolie Montgomery, the ghost, was originally inspired by Vanessa Marano from Switched at Birth, when Jolie was a sixteen-year-old-girl.
2. What do you love the most about this scene?
I love how Jolie pretty much gets into Avriannaâs face to scrutinize her. I think that would be the fun thing about being a ghost; you could get into peopleâs faces and talk about them without them knowing it.
3. Can you tell us a secret about this scene? (Something we donât know.)
There is a huge secret in this scene and it involves the lead detective, Avrianna Heavenborn. If you caught that interesting tidbit about her being found in the ocean as a newborn, youâre probably curious about that, right? Well, all I can tell you is that this isnât first time Iâve written about Avrianna. Sheâs actually the protagonist in my unpublished supernatural-thriller series. And she actually doesnât live on Earth.
Title: Ghost of DeathAuthor: Chrys FeyGenre: Supernatural/SuspenseFormat: eBook OnlyPage Count: 41 (short story)Release Date: April 22nd, 2015Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
Blurb:
Jolie Montgomery, a twenty-one-year-old woman, wakes up in an alley next to her corpse. She has no memories of her murder or the night she died. She didnât even see the killerâs face before he or she took her life. Wanting justice, Jolie seeks answers in the only way a ghost can...by stalking the lead detective on the case.
Avrianna Heavenborn is determined to find the person responsible for a young womanâs death. She gets closer to the killerâs identity with every clue she uncovers, and Jolie is with her every step of the way.
But if they donât solve her murder soon, Jolie will be an earth-bound spirit forever.
Book Links:Amazon US / Amazon UK / The Wild Rose Press / NOOK / KOBO
Available for PRE-ORDER:
Blurb:
Detective Reid Sanders doesnât believe in the supernatural, but when heâs faced with a crime scene that defies the laws of nature, he has no other choice but to start believing. And solving a magical murder involves working with a witch.
Liberty Sawyer embodies the look of your classic evil witch, so, itâs no surprise when she uncovers the murderer is a witch that she becomes Reidâs number one suspect. If she canât convince him otherwise, more people could lose their lives to dark magic, including her.
Book Links:Amazon US / Amazon UK
BIO:
Chrys Fey is the author of Hurricane Crimes and 30 Seconds. She is currently working on the sequel to Hurricane Crimes thatâll serve as book two in the Disaster Crimes series.
When Fey was six years old, she realized her dream of being a writer by watching her mother pursue publication. At the age of twelve, she started writing her first novel, which flourished into a series she later rewrote at seventeen. Fey lives in Florida where she is waiting for the next hurricane to come her way.
You can connect with her on Facebook and her blog, Write with Fey. She loves to get to know her readers!
Author Links: Facebook / Blog / Website / Goodreads
Thank you all for visiting and hopefully commenting. ;)
