Avalon Authors

Welcome to Chapter Two!

2012-02-12T21:00:00.007-05:00

Here's the scope: Several Avalon Authors have come together to write a novel for fun. Every author contributes one chapter without any pre-arranged plot or rules besides that we'll stick to the Avaloner guidelines of writing family friendly material. You get to enjoy it online for free!

In Chapter One, my dear friend Beate left our heroine in trouble in Seattle and a handsome stranger nose-first in his latte...maybe dead? I have the pleasure of picking up the pieces in Chapter Two. I hope you'll enjoy what happens next, and remember to check back every other Monday for the next chapter!

Seattle Underground

Photo credit: razvan.orendovici

* * *

ALONG FOR THE RIDE

Chapter Two

by Rebecca L. Boschee

My pulse slammed in my throat as I leaned my body weight into Stan’s considerably solid chest and counted compressions. On the thirtieth compression, I zeroed in on Stan’s mouth, grateful his lips weren’t yet turning blue. For a split moment, the fullness of his bottom lip mesmerized me, the gentle curve at the corners giving him the impression of perpetual good-humor despite his unaware state and the latte foam dripping from the tip of his nose. I chided myself for noticing and pressed my mouth to his to initiate rescue breathing. The pleasant cinnamon scent was definitely coming from him, mixed with something woodsy. In the corner of my vision, the barista—Annie, Stan had called her—paced a tight circle, her slender fingers alternating between twisting in her green apron and tugging at the roots of her pixie haircut.

“What happened to him? Is he breathing? Is he dead? What are you doing to him?” She looked on the verge of a breakdown.

I switched back to chest compressions and gave her my best glare, annoyed when my voice came out breathless and shaky, ruining the effect. “I am trying to save his life. You could help by calling 9-1-1.”

Something in her glassy eyes clicked. She pulled a cell phone from her back pocket and made the emergency call. The operator’s voice carried over the floor, methodically asking questions Annie seemed incapable of answering other than to repeat that Stan had sat at the table with a strange woman and collapsed a few minutes later. Finally, either she or the operator gave up and Annie handed me the phone then slumped into a worn sofa in the corner, looking relieved to have the authorities on their way.

The operator peppered me with questions. How long had I been administering CPR? I glanced at the clock I’d studied earlier when I’d been ready to bolt if Stan had showed up even a minute late. Less than four minutes had elapsed. How was that possible when it felt like four hours? The operator continued her interrogation. No, I didn’t know if he’d taken a sip of his drink, but I hadn’t tasted coffee on his lips. No, I didn’t know if he had a heart condition. Yes, he looked to be in excellent physic to me. No, I didn’t know about allergies or medications. Yes, his color looked ok, but he didn’t seem to be conscious. Had I asked him? Well, no…

I handed the phone back to Annie and leaned in close for another repetition of breathing, then tilted my mouth toward Stan’s ear and yelled. “Can you hear me? Are you okay?”

Stan’s arms and legs jerked once and his eyes flew open, pupils dilated to large black disks ringed by a narrow band of the most beautiful green I’d ever seen. How did I not notice the color of his eyes before? He blinked in confusion for a moment, then recognition dawned. “Sonya.” Those lovely lips tipped up at the edges for a fraction before panic crowded his eyes and his face drained of color. He clutched at me, curling his fingers into the wool pea coat I still wore unbuttoned over my favorite yellow silk blouse. He grappled at my sides, pulling me closer. “Go. You have to go.” His arms fell away with a little shove.

“But, I can’t just leave you—” I shot an anxious glance at Annie for reassurance. I needn’t have bothered. Apparently having recovered her senses, she had her cell phone camera pointed at Stan and was video recording the incident. I glowered at her. Somehow, I doubted he’d appreciate his Internet debut as his near-death experience broadcast on YouTube. The wail of sirens in the near-distance snapped me back to the moment. Stan must be in shock. Conducting a quick scan of the coffee shop and coming up short of anything that could be used as a blanket, I started to shrug free of my coat. A horrified moan from Stan froze me mid-motion. “What is it? Are you hurting?”

He shook his head, then winced at the movement and pinched his eyes shut. “Poisoned…”

Poisoned? Is he saying he thinks he was poisoned? I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and did a quick internal check. Aside from the adrenalin pumping through my veins leaving me a tad light-headed, I felt physically fine. But, I don’t think he’d had even a sip of his coffee, so maybe he meant he’d been poisoned before he got here? I leaned down to ask, but when he opened his eyes again, the raw terror reflected there implored me to listen. His voice was raspy as if it were painful to speak. “Please, Sonya. If you want to help, go now.”

A glimpse at Annie’s blank face told me I’d find no help there. The sirens were gone, but red strobe lights blotted through the dark front window, announcing the arrival of the ambulance. I climbed to my feet, knees aching from the prolonged time against hard tile, and made my way to the front door. The emergency response team squealed to a stop on the slick pavement. With a final glance back at Stan—I swear I saw him smile—I angled away from the shop and ran as fast as my Jell-O-y legs would carry me.

* * *

I willed my hand to stop trembling and traced the unlock pattern on my cell phone for the third time. Finally, the home screen sprang to life, and I punched the button for Mel’s speed dial. One ring, two…please pick up, Mel. I tucked a strand of dripping bangs back behind my ear and pulled my coat tighter over my blouse. The Seattle crowd, I’d come to notice, was not big on the sunshiny end of the color spectrum. If the authorities were looking for me to question in Stan’s poisoning, I’d stick out like a canary among ravens in my current outfit. It was a good thing Stan hadn’t let me cover him with my coat.

Mercifully, Mel picked up on the fifth ring. “Talk to me, darling.”

“Mel. I need to know why you insisted on meeting Stan. Why didn’t you just cancel when the conference came up? Why send me?” I tried to keep my tone even, but now that I was opening up, it squeaked in rapidly rising octaves.

“Sonya? Is that you? You hardly sound like yourself.”

“Well, excuse me, if I sound a little out of sorts. I just watched a man almost die.” Sarcasm was wasted on Mel, who was used to assuming—and getting—the best of everyone, but I couldn’t help myself.

“Oh, dear. I was afraid of that.”

I pulled my phone away from my ear and gaped at it for a beat. “Is that all you have to say? You don’t even sound surprised.” But of course, she wouldn’t. The voodoo thing would have tipped her off.

Mel’s syrupy voice oozed through the phone. “Calm down, Sonya. Where are you now?”

I looked around the Curiosity Shoppe I’d ducked into after running more than four blocks under dim streetlights and over slippery sidewalks. A motley assortment of animal antlers, bones and strange petrified fish hung from wires in the ceiling. A customer who looked like he might be going for a world’s record in facial piercing opened the door to exit and a giant puffer fish hanging in front of me caught the wind, its glossy eyes winking in the overhead light. I suppressed a shudder and forced my gaze down to shop-level. Wire rack displays sold everything from rubber rats and tarot cards to t-shirts and cheap touristy license plates embossed with common names. Mounted on the walls behind them, were shadow boxes of insects and butterflies alternating with low shelves holding terrariums of who-knows-what. On the far back wall, a tall glass case reaching from floor to mid-ceiling framed the mummified body of some primal man in a loincloth. Next to it, an arched doorway covered by a sheer curtain allowed a glimpse of a dark stairwell behind it. An eerie amber light from the overhead lamps cast a sallow glow over the whole place.

“Right now? Trapped in my worst nightmare.”

“Sonya.” Mel used a tone sterner than I’d ever heard from her. It did more to sober me than the morbid surroundings.

“Some sort of tourist shop that sells oddities.”

There was a long pause on the line. “I need you to listen to me, Sonya. They’re calling me to the podium and I don’t have much time—”

Something inside me snapped. I was tired of doing Mel’s bidding, and now it’d gotten me into trouble I had no business being involved with. “No, Mel, you listen to me for once. I need some answers. Who is Stan, how do you know him, and what did your stupid voodoo feeling see that sent me here?” I heard a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. Okay, maybe calling her premonitions stupid was crossing the line, but I figured I was entitled to a little hysteria after what I’d been through.

Mel sounded cautious when she spoke again. “I met Stan over the phone when I was booking our Seattle Valentine’s Day tour.”

I wracked my brain. We’d marketed the Valentine’s tour for couples. It paired a scenic champagne cruise on the Sound with a romantic dinner at a swanky Italian restaurant overlooking Elliott Bay. “Stan is a tour boat operator?”

“Stan inherited his stepfather’s restaurant when Angelo died late last year.”

Stan owned Angelo’s? The place was on every one of Seattle’s Best lists I’d ever seen, and I’d scoured through plenty of them trying to find pleasant outings for tourists in the soggy northwest. Given its waterfront location on Elliott Bay, it had to be worth a small fortune. Maybe even a big one.

“Anyway, we got to talking and discovered I went to school with his stepsister, Portia. He seemed nice and since we planned to be in the area, I asked him if he’d meet with me to finalize the package details.”

“Doesn’t he have people who do that?”

“He lost several long-time employees after Angelo died. I guess some of them weren’t enamored with the idea of Stan taking his place. It sounded to me like Stan was rolling up his sleeves to keep the restaurant running. I heard he even cooked for a few weeks when the head-chef walked out. He has a replacement now, of course.”

“And your plans to meet him—that was business, not a romantic blind-date?”

“I kept telling you it wasn’t, remember?”

I let out a deep breath. I guess she had tried to tell me something like that. I toyed with a shrunken head hanging from a rack of key chains and spared a moment to hope it was fake. “Wait, if he’s the heir to a successful business, why couldn’t you find anything about him online?”

“Maybe he likes to keep a low profile. Look, Sonya, I know you’re upset, but I really don’t have much time. Do you want to hear about my vision or not?”

A shiver ran down my spine like it always did when Mel started talking about her visions. Sure, some of them turned out well, but a lot of them didn’t. And when they went bad, they really went bad. I tugged my collar up to cover my ears, even though I was still inside, and stuffed my free hand into my coat pocket since I’d left my gloves with my brochure on the table at Starbucks. The brochure! I may as well have left my calling card. I groaned and fisted my hand in my pocket. Something sharp jabbed into my palm.

Mel continued, “It isn’t complicated, really. I simply saw you saving the man’s life. After that, I couldn’t cancel on him.”

I pulled my hand from my pocket and squinted at the paper I’d withdrawn with it, a ticket for a tour of the Seattle Underground at Pioneer Square. I knew it wasn’t far, though I’d never been on the tour. In 1889, some cabinet-maker had started a fire that burned down thirty-one blocks of early Seattle. They’d rebuilt some of it, placing new ground floors atop the old ones, but most of the merchants used only the street level floors these days, and a lot of the underground was still in ruins. Supposedly, there were sidewalks with dim lighting people could meander through to explore the place, and even a few seedy clubs set up shop there. In short, the whole place sounded nightmarish for someone who loved three-hundred-and-twenty days of desert sunshine year round. The ticket was dated for later this evening, in a half-hour, to be exact. Had Stan intentionally slipped it into my pocket before the ambulance came?

A bell chimed over the door and a jolt of dread sluiced through me. Annie walked in, a khaki-green coat zippered up past her chin. She bee-lined for the register where they were selling packets of herbs and bottles of organic oils. I ducked behind a rack of postcards and held a hand over the phone receiver to muffle Mel’s voice, which seemed to be getting more agitated by the second. Very un-Mel-like.

“I swear to you I never thought you’d be in any danger, Sonya. But then, I had a second vision this afternoon, and I tried to warn you but your cell must have been off.”

Of course it was off. I was on a date—more or less—and as much as I didn’t want to be on said date, it’d be rude to interrupt it with a phone call. What had Mel said about being in danger? I didn’t have time to ask, because Annie appeared again across from where I was crouched. She’d finished her purchase, looking far too chipper for someone who’d almost lost a long-standing customer, and had paused by the door to browse the city tour brochures displayed there. She plucked a brochure for a bar called The Poisoned Pear and turned to leave. Her eyes landed on me and narrowed. “You.”

Mel was practically yelling into the phone now. “Are you listening, Sonya? You have to be careful.”

I took a step back, bumping into the mounted head of a jackalope just as Annie advanced on me. “Quick, Mel. What was the vision?” I managed to ask.

“A man, I couldn’t make out his face—but definitely not someone you’d want to meet in a dark ally—is not happy.”

I eyed Annie’s reddening face. Even the spikes of her hair looked hostile. “Lots of unhappy people in the world. How is that my problem?”

“He’s following you.”

Interview with Gina Ardito

2012-02-12T10:35:00.006-05:00

Today, I have the pleasure of introducting Gina Ardito, one of Avalon's authors. She gives us a fresh insight as to how she keeps her series fresh and exciting. Many thanks, Gina.

How long have you been writing, and what inspired you to become a writer?
Officially, I’ve been writing fifteen years. Unofficially I started writing at the age of six (when I won my first writing competition). So that’s sixteen years ago.
Then I grew up and real life got in the way. I’d always talked
about writing a book one day but didn’t ever commit to it—until I was pregnant
with my son and too sick to continue working my full-time job. My husband
brought me home an old computer from his office and told me, “Write the book or
shut up about it.” I wrote the book. And then another. And then another. My son
was born in February 1997 and my first book was published with Avalon Books ten
years later. In hindsight, my husband probably wishes I had “shut up about it.”

What genre do you write, and why did you choose this particular genre?

I write romance for any number of reasons. I really do prefer a story with a happy
ending. What I love most about romance is that there’s no limit to the stories
I can create. I can use any time period (past, present or future), any locale
(on Earth or in an alternative world), and my characters can come together in
pursuit of a serial killer, a precious jewel, or even the perfect cup of
coffee. I can write historical romance, paranormal romance, futuristic romance,
romantic suspense, romantic comedy, series romance or any combination. As long as my hero and heroine fall in lovewhile seeking their goal, my imagination is never fenced in. That’s a lot of
opportunity!

Why did you choose to write a series rather than a single title novel?

While Iwas writing Book I, Nobody’s Darling, I realized how much of my heroine, April’s, conflict was tied up in her relationship with her sisters. Clearly, the Raine girls still had some
unfinished business between them. It was only natural for me to want to pursue
the sibling dynamic so that all three of my sisters could learn to love each
other as well as the new men in their lives. Lucky for me, I pitched the series
(when only the first book was written) to the Avalon editor and she loved the
idea. She bought all three based on the first three chapters of Book I and a brief
rundown of the other two books in the series.

What is the secret to writing a series? How do you keep the
plots fresh, and how do you avoid overlapping information from one book’s
content to the next title?

If there’s a secret, I haven’t figured it out yet. (And I’m currently working on
my third series!) Since each of my stories in my series centers on a different
character, I’m able to treat each book as a separate entity. I also create
unique characters for every story, whether it’s someone who appears on one page
or throughout several books. In this way, my characters don’t become
cookie-cutter so their plot lines don’t mirror each other. For example, my
Raine girls: April, Brooklyn, and Summer all have very different personalities
and different conflicts. April, the high school dropout, never felt as if she
was as successful as her sisters. Brooklyn was a sports superstar who’s been
traumatized by the press and gone into hiding. Summer thought she lived the
perfect life until the day it all fell apart.

I do overlap a little; there have to be some common threads between the stories in a
series. For example, Summer’s marriage is already showing cracks in Nobody’s Darling, starts crumbling in Nobody’s Business, but completely implodes
at the beginning of Nobody’s Perfect.

Do you incorporate some of yourself into your characters, e.g. personality traits, likes or dislikes?

Yes. But it’s not just me that winds up on the page. Everyone I know inspires me in some
way. Funny bits of dialogue, a character quirk, and whole scenes have been
lifted from my personal life. There’s actually a scene in Nobody’s Darling where April tells Jeff about the first time she brought a boyfriend home to meet her parents. What happens to April is exactly what happened to me when I brought my first boyfriend home to meet my parents.
Putting my own history on the page is cathartic, but it also helps me figure
out where my story will go since the path has already been walked by someone
else.

If you had to change genres, which would you choose and why?

I love to read thrillers, particularly stories with a peculiar twist. Characters like Tess Gerritsen’s Rizzoli and Isles, Jeff Lindsay’s Dexter, and even Hannibal Lecter all fascinate me. I would love to try my hand at writing one, but I can’t keep a secret so I’m afraid I’d give away the ending within the first twenty pages.

What research techniques do you use? How do you incorporate the information into your novels to keep it from sounding like a repeated list of facts?

Since I write both historical and contemporary romance, I have different ways of
researching each. My contemporary stories rely on a lot of hands-on research.
For Nobody’s Business, I corresponded with students and instructors of Ski-Hab style programs, and for Nobody’s Perfect, I consulted a bridal salon and wedding planner to get the details just right.

When I’m writing historicals, I do some research online, but still rely heavily on non-fiction
books for fact-checking. If I’m lucky enough to find a local historian (which has happened), I interview him/her extensively. Making sure I incorporate the information naturally is another reason why I don’t primarily use the Internet for research. It’s too easy to cut and paste, or to
incorporate too much information. By jotting down notes by hand, I’m forced to be more concise and more focused on just the pertinent details. And then I have to incorporate them into my story in my own voice.

What hinders your writing? (Distractions? Noise? Other?)

Believe it or not, silence drives me bonkers. I honed my writing skills when my son was
still in diapers, with Nickelodeon and PBS in the background, so I have to have
some kind of noise around me when I write. Whether it’s music (I love to choose
a “soundtrack” for a book and write exclusively to a playlist I’ve created) or
the television, I need background activity to do my best work.

What do you have in the works?

I’m currently working on a new series—a bit bigger and broader than the
Nobodys—that will revolve around a fictional beach resort town on the South
Fork of Long Island. There’ll be lots of fun characters, at different junctures
of life, all seeking their particular version of Happily Ever After.

Tell us about your newest Avalon book – Nobody’s Perfect.

Nobody’s Perfect is the third installment of my Nobody series. To outsiders, Summer Raine has a perfect life. But inside her perfect home, her perfect marriage has fallen apart.
Still, she never expected to have her husband's infidelity aired on Cliff
Hanger's nationally syndicated radio show. Once she's tossed the cheater out,
she hopes to start her own business as a wedding planner. Funds, however, are
in short supply. Lucky for Summer, her sister April hires her to work at
Rainey-Day-Wife until she can get back on her feet again. But...Summer? A
nanny?

Craig Hartmann spends his work days as Cliff Hanger, shock jock, but in real life, he's a quiet, divorced father of three trying to hang onto his family and his sanity. What he needs is someone who'll help him find the perfect balance. When he seeks an expert at Rainey-Day-Wife, he's
stunned to find himself face to face with the woman whose life he ruined in a
radio stunt gone awry.

Juggling sports practices, temper tantrums, and trips to the emergency room while planning the celebrity wedding of her sister's dreams, Summer discovers that the "perfect" life is one where nothing ever goes as planned. But this hunky deejay, his three rambunctious children,
and all the chaos they engender just might be a perfect fit for Summer.

Thank you, Gina. It's been great fun getting to know you. For Valentine's Day, if you're looking for a gift to give to that 'special' someone, consider giving a book. "Nobody's Perfect" is available.

An Excerpt from Carolyn Brown

2012-02-08T01:00:00.001-05:00

We usually post interviews on Wednesdays, but since Carolyn Brown has already been interviewed several times, we thought an excerpt from this prolific author would be welcome. Did I say prolific? How prolific? Well, I asked Carolyn about that. Here's her answer:

65 books sold to date.
6 to Kensington, four were published, two died on the shelf when the line died.

44 to Avalon, forty published, four more on the docket.

15 to Sourcebooks, ten published, five on the docket.

I've had books translated into nine foreign languages and have two Manga reprints, one already published and one in the works. Fourteen were reprinted in large print. Nine have sold to Rhapsody and Double Day book clubs with eight available now and one coming out in April. I sold my first two books, This Time Forever and Love is The Answer, the same day in 1997 to Kensington and sold my first one, Love Is, to Avalon in 1999. I also had the honor of being the debut historical author with Emma's Folly when Avalon decided to publish two historicals in each cycle. My Avalon book, Trouble in Paradise, won the National Reader's Choice Award and two of my other Avalon books have been finalists in that contest. My books have been reviewed in USA Today, RT Magazine, Affair de Coeur, Publisher's Weekly, Library Journal, Booklist and too many other places to list. (Sandy, I'd send you the file for the reviews but it's in excess of a hundred pages and that would be a bit of overkill. LOL) Love Drunk Cowboy was on the New York Times and the USA Today bestseller lists and is still in the top 100 B&N contemporary cowboy romance best sellers.

For any of the readers that have a Kindle or a Nook or any other ereader my first cowboy romance, Lucky in Love, is part of a Share the Love promotion for Valentine's Day and will be free for your ereader at Amazon, B&N, and most other places that sell e-books through Feb. 15.

I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm both inspired and intimated by Carolyn's numbers. Enough from me. Let's get back to Carolyn ...

Sometimes just when we’ve got life all figured out and know exactly where we are going, fate steps in and boom! Life is suddenly like putting a jig saw puzzle together a blind fold on and one hand tied behind your back.

That’s what had happened to three teenage girls, Fancy Lynn, Kate and Sophie, from Shackelford County, Texas fifteen years before. They’d been best friends their whole lives and suddenly their parents moved away and they were split up seven ways to Sunday.

And then different circumstances brought them all back to the area again when they are older and wiser than they’d been at fifteen. On the night of their reunion, they are sitting around the kitchen table and the conversation went like this:

“What I want to know is why in the devil you aren’t married yet? You’re one of those little women that men drool over. One of those I-can-protect-you and you-make-me-feel-all-big-and-macho women. So how is it you’re in the same boat with the smart and border line fool?” Kate asked.

“Haven’t found a man who can say the magic words and make me believe them.” Fancy tipped up her root beer and gulped.

Sophie giggled. “And those words would be ‘I love you?’”

“That’s part of it. But any fool with the ability to speak can say the words. I want to hear the words and know there’s one of those forever things attached to them. Why aren’t you married?” Fancy looked at Kate.

(Note: I’m skipping a bit here)

“Oh, I’d like the traditional words. But I want them said from a knight in shining …” the next word escaped her and she waved her hand in the air trying to remember it. Neither of her friends helped her out a bit. “From a knight in shining …” it still didn’t come to her. “Well, dang it, he has to say the words from a big white horse and be in my knight in shining whatever.”

“Now it’s your turn Sophie. What’ll it take for you to get married?” Fancy asked.

“You mean get married again?”

(NOTE: Skipping some more here)

“What would it take for me to get married?” Sophie asked. “He’d have to prove to me there could be life after wife. Because after I read that detective’s report there wasn’t life after wife; just lots of deception.”

And those are the reasons behind the titles for the Three Magic Words trilogy. The first book, A Forever Thing, is now available for purchase and has hit the library shelves. In Shining Whatever will be out in April and the last one, Life After Wife is due in August.

This series was so much fun to write that I thought you might enjoy an excerpt of A Forever Thing. Let me know what you think after you read it. Would you read the rest of this book? The next two?

Excerpt:

Fancy Lynn wasn’t going a single mile over the speed limit. Not that she drove within the law. Far from it, but that evening she was actually driving five miles below the limit until that silly black cat darted out from the curb and headed straight for her front tire. She would never admit to being superstitious but the first thought that ran through her mind was that cat was a blasted bad omen.

She swerved to miss it and hit the curb, bounced back, overcorrected and hit the curb again. By the time she had control of the car the black cat had shot across the street to the court house lawn, climbed the nearest tree and there were red, white and blue lights flashing behind her. She dutifully pulled over, rolled down the window and the aroma of almond extract hit her nose.

Ignoring the approaching cop she grabbed the brown bag with the leaking bottle and had it in hand when she looked up into the mossy green eyes of the policeman. His expression was pure disgust as he stared at the small brown bag.

“I can explain,” she said.

“License and insurance to begin with.”

No smile; not even a hint of one in his eyes. The man was all business.

She carefully set the bag on the floor while she fumbled through her purse for her license and the glove compartment for the insurance verification. There was barely an inch of tequila left in the bottom of the bottle. Three dollars sucked into the carpet and her car would smell like almonds for weeks.

“Fake identification if I ever saw one,” he mumbled. “This says you are thirty years old. Does it belong to an older aunt who looks like you?”

Fancy narrowed her blue eyes into slits and glared at the man. “I can explain this mess. A black cat ran out in front of me. I swerved. The bag has almond extract in it and must have fallen off the seat and broken when I stomped the brakes.”

“Would you get out of the car please?” He ignored her explanation. He’d heard better from teenagers before and never had he been snookered into believing a single one of them. He wasn’t starting that night; not with the aroma of amaretto liqueur reeking through the window and the blue eyed teeny bopper wearing cut off jean shorts and a tank top holding the evidence in plain sight.

She opened the door, crawled out and yanked her jeans down, then pulled the straps of the bright yellow tank top over to cover her bra straps. A portion of her hair escaped the pony tail and stuck to her neck within seconds of leaving the air conditioned car. She’d forgotten just how hot Texas could be in August. One step outside of a car or air conditioned house could flat suck all the breath out of a person before they could count to five.

He shoved an apparatus in front of her face. “Blow into this.”

“I have not been drinking,” she said from clenched teeth.

“Blow.”

She did.

He checked it and made her repeat the test.

“Well, I guess you were telling the truth but I’m still taking you to jail for having an open bottle inside the car. You can call your Mommy and Daddy to come get you. So hands behind your back.”

Cuffs appeared out of nowhere. The snap was as loud as cracking thunder. Fancy was surprised everyone in the little town of Albany, population less than two thousand, wasn’t out on their porch looking to the southwest to see if a tornado was on the way.

“Why are you doing this? I told you the truth.”

“We’ll see, young lady.”

“I’m thirty years old so stop treating me like a child,” she protested.

“Let’s go call your parents and find out how old you really are.” He nodded toward the court house.

She giggled. Her mother wasn’t ever going to believe this; neither were Sophie and Kate. In all her fourteen years of driving she’d never even had a speeding ticket much less been hand cuffed and dragged to jail. Leave it to a black cat to cross the street right in front of the Sheriff’s Department and the Shackelford County Court House. Was the man totally stupid? Didn’t he realize if she had been drunk she would have taken the back roads into town and not driven right into the lion’s den?

“You think that’s funny,” he said.

“Yes, I do but then you are acting just like a short man, all cocky and jacked up on ego. Never met one yet that didn’t think he had to throw his weight around to show he was just as important as a tall man,” she said.

In answer to Carolyn's question, I definitely want to read more - and, as for the other two in the series - maybe she'll share an excerpt from those when the time comes.

Free Story: "Three Little Words"

2012-02-02T00:01:00.001-05:00

Carole wasted no time in placing her order. “I’d like a piece of Triple-Chocolate Cherry Cheesecake, please,” she said. “Wait…on second thought…make that a double.”

After the waiter bowed and left, Carole glanced at the handsome man seated across the table from her. “What?” she asked.

“Wouldn’t you rather start with something more traditional?” Brad asked. “I can recommend the shrimp puffs with garlic-herb aioli for dipping. Or the Buffalo Chicken Dip. It’ll really put some hair on your chest.” He smiled his smile that, under normal circumstances, melted Carole’s heart.

“Chocolate first, then we’ll worry about nourishment.” Carole lifted the linen napkin from the table and spread it across her lap.

Carole slumped back against the Chippendale chair. What she really wanted to talk about was the cryptic message he’d left on her voice mail—Dinner tonight? I’ve got three little words for you…

Dare she even hope that Brad might, finally, be ready to profess his love? After three years of dating, there was no doubt he cared deeply for her. He showed her that daily by doing thoughtful things or leaving sentimental gifts. But he’d never actually said those three little words that every woman longs to hear.

Carole reached for a dry breadstick from the napkin-lined basket and crunched off the end. Considering her luck today, his three little words would be: Take a hike!

“Carole? Your day?” Brad gently prompted.

“Everything just seemed to go wrong. It started when I burned my toast at breakfast, setting off the smoke alarm, which had Mrs. Grouchy-pants banging on my wall and yelling for me to turn off that racket or she was going to report me to the building manager. One more noise complaint and I’ll be evicted.” Carole crunched off another bite of breadstick. “Then while reaching for the orange juice, I knocked a jar of picked jalapeños onto the tile floor and it broke. The juice splattered everywhere, including on Punchy, who then ran and wiped it all off on my new bedspread.”

Carole sent a warning glance to Brad, conveying the message that she wasn’t in the mood for any smart comments about jalapeno juice improving her cat’s odor.

Brad reached for a breadstick himself, took a bite and chewed thoughtfully.

Carole continued her day’s tally if mishaps. “Needless to say, after all that, I was running late for work and sort of rolled through a stop sign. Cop saw me. Fifty dollar ticket.”

“Bad things come in threes,” Brad said. “So according to my count, should have been your allotment for the day.”

“If only,” Carole snapped. “At lunch I tried to prevent a puppy lover’s quarrel between two third-graders and ended up with ketchup squirted down the front of my favorite white silk top. It’s ruined.”

The waiter arrived with the double order of cheesecake and Carole wasted no time in forking a large amount into her mouth. “Mmmmm. Heavenly. So where was I? Oh, yeah. Then there was the stapler incident…don’t ask!”

After another big bite of cheesecake, Carole paused long enough to dab a bit of chocolate from the corner of her mouth. “But the highlight, or should I say low-light, of my day happened when I was lecturing a classroom of impressionable young minds about the dangers of surfing the world-wide-web, when suddenly all of the computers in the lab flipped to screensaver. Only it wasn’t the standard school mascot that appeared.”

Carol brushed at some crumbs on the table cloth before continuing. “Twenty-six images of a, shall we say very well endowed man wearing nothing but a skimpy Speedo flashed around the room. He was waving a heart-shaped flag which invited anyone and everyone to ‘Be My Valentine.’” Carole finger-quoted the phrase. “And as luck would have it, Miss. Bellemy walked in at that moment she did this.” Caroline reenacted the seventy-two year old spinster librarian’s reaction by clutching her hands to her chest, then throwing her head backwards as her eyes rolled upwards, then collapsing against the back of the chair. Caroline had to grab the table lest she fall to the floor. Righting herself, she continued, “I thought for sure we were going to have to call the paramedics.”

“But she’s all right?” Brad asked.

“She’s all right, all right. Once we got her back up on her feet, she took off as if those orthopedic shoes were on fire, straight to Principal McMahon’s office. I’m to meet with him tomorrow morning at 7 a.m. to discuss the situation. Apparently Miss Bellemy doesn’t think near-nekkid men are appropriate viewing for third graders, and thinks that I do!”

Caroline waited for Brad to offer his usual kind words or sympathetic touch. Instead she heard a snort of laugher. As their eyes met across the table, he gave into a full-blown belly laugh.

This was not the reaction she’d hope for, and she couldn’t help feeling even more dejected. Carole speared another large chunk of cheesecake. What more could possibly go wrong today?

As if in answer, Carole spotted a chubby, middle-aged man dressed as a cherub entering the dining room, tip-toeing straight for their table. Embarrassment flushed Carole’s face as the diaper-clad, arrow-toting, balloon-carrying Cupid paused behind Brad.

“May your lives be filled with love, joy and laughter.” Cupid enounced and projected his statement as if delivering a Shakespearean soliloquy at the Globe Theater. With a grand gesture, he offered a bouquet of shimmering Mylar balloons to Carole.

Carole hated being the center of attention. In fact, the last time someone had tried to assemble the servers to sing “Happy Birthday” to her, she’d run screaming for the bathroom. But she couldn’t run now. Not that she didn’t want to, it’s that total mortification had turned her muscles to cement. Including her eyes. She couldn’t even redirect her gaze to Brad. All she could do was stare at Cupid.

When Carole didn’t move to take the proffered balloons, Cupid tied them to the back of Brad’s chair. With a quick bow, he turned and skipped back through the dining room, a ripple of amused chuckles following in his wake.

Carole knew by the hushed silence that blanketed the dining room that everyone in the restaurant was watching their little drama. Fire flamed her cheeks as through sheer force of will looked at Brad. “Why are you humiliating me in public this way?” she whispered.

A look of surprise flashed across his face. Then he pointed up to the balloons dancing above his shoulder.

Carole lifted her gaze. There were three red, heart-shaped balloons dancing on red and white strings. Two of the balloons had words scripted on them. One said ME and the other said PLEASE.

“I don’t understand, Brad. Please me? Like right in front of all these people?” Carole grabbed her napkin from her lap and threw it on the table, preparing to walk out and find a taxi cab home. How could Brad make such a scene like this?
Brad placed an hand on her arm, stilling her. She watched as he looked up at the balloons, then used is free hand to reach and turn the first balloon around and rearranged the other two.

Carole read the message again. Marry Me Please.

“Please?” he whispered.

“Oh, Brad…” In a heartbeat they were in each other’s arms.

“I love you, Carole. Please say ‘yes.’”

“Yes. Yes. A thousand times, yes.”

Tears streamed unchecked down Carole’s cheeks as thundering applause echoed around them. What had been the worst day of Carole’s life was now the happiest day ever. And all it took was three little words.

“Bad day, huh?” Brad leaned forward, placing his forearms on the table. “Wanna talk about it?”

Online Novel

2012-02-01T08:50:00.001-05:00

What a great start - the possibilities are endless. I can't wait to read more. Congrats on a fabulouso idea

Interview with Sarah Richmond

2012-02-01T01:00:00.006-05:00

Today I have the privilege of interviewing Sarah Richmond, whose first first Avalon book, Dulcie Crowder Gets Her Man, was released in December, 2011. Sarah is an interesting person, who brings some interesting life experiences to her writing. I think you'll enjoy getting to know her as much as I have, so ... let's get started.

Welcome Sarah. When did you first realize that writing was more than just another hobby for you?

I started in journalism, and always wanted to make a career out of writing.

Congratulations on having achieved your goal. I know that's a satisfying feeling. What part of writing do you find most satisfying?

Telling a story with fascinating characters, terrible villains and a sense of irony.

Interesting answer - three elements that promise a great story. What part do you find the most difficult?

Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

A lot of us can relate to that. Can you describe something about how you develop your story, i.e. are you a pantster of a plotter?

I’m a plotter and think a long time about the story, but once I begin writing, the characters take over and tell their own story. I like to set the story in the context of a historical event, but the character’s reaction to the event is the real story.

Where do you find inspiration?

A good idea for a villain inspires me. Other writers who tell remarkable stories inspire me. People-watching inspires me.

Tell us about your book.

My first book with Avalon, Dulcie Crowder Gets Her Man, is set in the aftermath of the gold rush in California. The Western is one of my favorite settings.

A visit to Placerville started Dulcie and Tom’s story. I wondered about the people who founded the town and how they lived back in the nineteenth century. The story of the gold rush is a good story about the American experience because people came from all over the world and from all walks of life to seek their fortune.

I’ve outlined stories for three secondary characters in DCGHM. Jasper Jenkins needs a wife and I get to play matchmaker.

My second book with Avalon is tentatively scheduled for December, 2012. The working title is: ‘A Most Suitable Gentleman.’ The spoiled English debutante heroine travels to Italy for adventure and discovers falling in love to be the grandest adventure of them all.

What did you personally like about Dulcie Crowder Gets Her Man?

Dulcie is flawed but she works to improve herself and her lot in life. Those early settlers were tough. Despite Dulcie’s small size, she packs a punch.

Did you develop the plot from something you’ve experienced personally?

Not consciously. A while back, I read an article in the Writer’s Digest suggesting a writer keep an index file of traits she noticed in people so when the time comes to ‘show’ and not ‘tell’, the file will come in handy. I have made a mental note many times of examples of human emotions and how they are expressed.

I know that you’ve lived in a number of different places, including Paris. How has this influenced your writing?

Living in Europe, you can’t help but be influenced by history, there are so many examples of historical events and places still existent. Paris nurtures artists and writers—has done so for centuries. As a student, I had access to the Opera, ballet, museums etc. for little or no cost.

Sounds like the ideal background for a writer. Any special place you think of as ‘home’?

San Diego is home.

What other authors do you especially admire?

I’m a great admirer of Julian Fellowes, author of Downton Abbey. He gets to put words in Maggie Smith’s mouth.

Ah, yes. I think a lot of us are hooked on Downton Abbey. Any others?
Other favorites include: Catherine Cookson, Anne Tyler, Anne Perry, Marion Chesney, Ian McEwan, and John Le Carre.

What do you do when you are not writing?

Research, travel, support mission work for my church.

Sounds like you're a busy lady. Do you have a schedule for writing or do you squeeze it in when you can?

I write from 6 to 10 each morning. After that, I need to exercise.

What is the most fun thing that ever happened to you as an author?

Meeting other authors, some famous, others not yet. I enjoy their inventiveness, their creativity and their ambition.

What refreshes you creatively?

Reading.

Do you have a website or participate in another blog?

Yes, and thanks so much for asking. My website is http://sarahrichmond.com/ and my blog is http://rose-adagio.blogspot.com/.

Thanks, Sarah, for taking time to answer my questions. Good luck with Dulcie Crowder Gets Her Man and all your writing. That's a great cover.

First Chapter of The Avaloner Novel

2012-01-29T15:37:00.009-05:00

Today, I have the honor to kick off our new project - The Avaloner Novel!

Here's the scope: Several Avalon Authors have come together to write a novel for fun. Every author contributes one chapter, writing it only after having received the previous one. We did not create any pre-arranged plot, and there are no rules besides the one that we'll stick to the Avaloner guidelines of writing family friendly material.

I already had great fun creating the first chapter and am sure that my fellow authors will take this novel through unexpected twists and turns. Enjoy - and come back every other Monday for the next chapter!

***

ALONG FOR THE RIDE

Chapter One

by Beate Boeker

“It’s not a big deal.” My aunt laid her well-manicured hand on my arm and gave me a smile that shamed the restaurant lights above us.

“Not a big deal?” I cleared my throat with an effort and removed her hand. “Are you kidding? You’re asking me to go on a blind date in your stead and . . .”

“It’s not really a blind date.” She lowered her voice and threw a worried look at the waiter who hovered in the vicinity.

Waiters always hover at the closest possible distance whenever my aunt is around. If they’re male, that is. Not that I blame them. Mel has cinnamon-colored hair, chocolate eyes, and skin the color and texture of strawberry cream. Appetizing, in a word.

She’s fifteen years older than I am, but for some reason, I always eclipse when she’s around - or so it feels. I’m more the “girl next door” type of girl, not the type that makes people want to kneel down and kiss the ground you walked on. Mel is that kind of woman, and even I, who should know better as I grew up with her, am not immune to her magic.

“Yes, it is a blind date.” I glared at her. “Talking to an unknown guy on the phone once and making a date at some God-forsaken-Starbucks in Seattle, of all places . . . I call that a blind date. Or semi-blind, at least.”

“I Googled him.” She said it with all the assurance as if she’d said “I met him in Kindergarten.”

“Big deal.” I drummed my fingers on the table. “And what did you find?”

“Nothing.” She gave me a sweet smile that showed her pearly teeth.

“Nothing!” A shiver crawled down my back. “If you don’t find anything at all about a guy on the Internet, he’s either a Yeti or a criminal who’s using a fake name.”

“Nonsense.” Mel shook her hair. “Besides, you know that we need to check out some package deals in Seattle, so this is the perfect opportunity.”

I sighed. “When I agreed to work with you at the travel agency, I imagined selling wonderful trips to wonderful people.”

She lifted her eyebrows. “That’s what you do.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t say I want to travel. I love Phoenix; I love it hot and warm; so I’m all for staying right where we are. However, for some inexplicable reason we only seem to specialize on rainy and cold places.”

“That’s because people like to travel to places that are very different from what they know.” She looked faintly pleased.

With a jolt, I realized that she looked happy because she had managed to get me off on a tangent, so I hastened to return to the topic on hand. “Never mind if you call it a blind date or not, but it’s definitely inacceptable that you’re asking me to take your place. There’s not even a word for it, so that just shows you!”

“Sonya.” Her chocolate eyes opened wide. “I have a special reason to ask you.”

Oh, no. “I don’t need a new man in my life. It’s been only three days that I broke off with Danny, and . . .”

“Of course not.” Mel shook her head with a slight frown.

“Then what is it?” I made sure my voice sounded gruff, but of course that didn’t stop her.

She took a deep breath. “I have a vodoo feeling about it. We have to be there.”

I swallowed with a dry throat. “A vodoo feeling?” I can’t recall when Mel first mentioned her vodoo feelings. It must have been when she was still a child and didn’t know the word for premonition, but that didn’t stop her from seeing things. By the time I was old enough to understand the concept, the family was taking them very seriously indeed.

Once, she had predicted that we should sell our house, and it turned out they were building a highway right next to it a mere six months later. Then, she told my mother to apply for a job as an art director, something she would never have dared without Mel’s encouragement. It proved to be her dream job. The same vodoo feeling made Mel turn up at our house ten minutes before the police came to tell me both my parents had been killed in a car crash. That was ten years ago, and I still felt icy whenever I remembered that evening.

Mel touched my arm. “You have to be there.”

“But I won’t be of any help!” I felt panic rising within me. It’s one thing to go on a blind date to replace a super-aunt, but that’s only a slight irregularity compared to the danger when Mel’s vodoo feelings enter the game.

“I can’t go myself.” She opened her handbag and pulled out a letter. “I got this today by special courier.”

I took the creamy paper with the embossed logo, skimmed over the lines, and felt my chin go slack. “You’re invited to speak at the Travel Agent’s Union in Santa Barbara?”

Mel gave me a happy smile. “Yes. The main speaker fell ill, and they pulled out my application instead. I have to go tomorrow.”

“Wow.” For an instant, I was diverted. The Travel Agents’ Union is the biggest congregation in our industry, and to speak at their annual event was not only an honor, but a major step forward due to the extensive media coverage. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you.” Mel fixed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I knew you would understand. So when they called an hour ago to follow up, I accepted.”

I held up a hand. “Wait. I haven’t . . .”

“He’ll recognize you by our brochure,” Mel said. “And by the way, his name is Stan.”

***

“Stan.” I rolled the word around my tongue as a test to see how it sounded. It sounded odd - matching my feelings. I sighed and looked out of the Starbuck’s window at the pouring rain. Dusk was settling between the Seattle skyscrapers. I narrowed my eyes. With the rain streaming down outside, and the window steaming up inside, my pale face was reflected like a blurred ghost. A crying ghost, to be exact. Super. I averted my gaze to stop discouraging myself and concentrated on the white foam on my latte chioccolata.

It was quiet at this particular Starbucks. Behind the counter, a bony woman was wiping down the counter with slow movements as if it was some sort of meditation. Maybe this Stan would kidnap me and ask for a million dollars as ransom. I shook myself. Stop those stupid thoughts, girl. Nobody would pay a million dollars for you - you don’t even know a millionaire!

My gaze fell onto the brochure in front of me. TIPS FOR TRIPS. Our logo in sky blue and sunny yellow brought a ray of sunshine into this grey world. At least Stan would see it immediately. I had tried hard to get more information out of Mel, but she had been in a frenzy, organizing her trip and her presentation, so I didn’t get any further particulars from her.

Darn. I spooned a bit of milk foam into my mouth. It felt velvety and sweet - quite a contrast to my mood. If only Mel hadn’t brought her vodoo feelings into the game, then I could have told her to get lost. As it was . . . I was stuck. Mel didn’t play around when it came to vodoo feelings. At least, she had never done so before.

The door opened with a woosh, and a man rushed into the café and shook himself like a dog. Raindrops flew in all directions. “Hi, Annie.” He waved at the woman behind the counter.

She smiled. “Hi, Stan. I’ll fix the usual for you.”

My heartbeat exploded. Stan. It’s him.

He looked around. His gaze rested for a moment on me, then it fell to the brightly colored brochure on the table. He smiled and advanced toward me, and all at once, it felt as if a ball of energy was making its way toward my universe.

I didn’t notice anything else, just this strange feeling of compact power being focused on me. I got up and stretched out my hand. “Hi.” It took all my concentration to get out this much.

“I’m so glad you came.” He shook my hand, just a brief touch, warm and strong, then made a move with his hand, showing me to sit down again.

Annie sidled in from the side and placed a tall glass with caffè latte in front of him.

“Thank you.” He smiled at her and sat down with ease, then focused on me again.

I returned his gaze, spellbound. The smell of cinnamon wafted toward me. Did it come from him or from his drink? With a superhuman effort, I decided to put my cards on the table, right now, before it became too difficult. “My name is Sonya.”

His eyes lost their focus. He looked at the distance, unseeing, as if grappling with some grave internal problem.

I opened my mouth to say something soothing, anything, but my throat felt as if someone had twisted it shut.

At this instant, without a word or sound, Stan toppled forward, nose first into his caffè latte.

Time for the Ladies . . . Regency Ladies from 1800 to 1810

2012-01-27T06:00:00.010-05:00

Women in the early Georgian period were powdered, perfumed, and patched. They wore extravagant towering wigs, and massive, elaborate gowns. Stiff brocades and embroidered silks of the Georgian period were replaced by lightweight fabrics in plain, subdued colors. At the beginning of the 19th century, the fashion drastically changed to the elegant Regency style.

Ladies' clothing of the early 1800's were characterized by the Empire waist dress and long flowing skirts following classical Greek lines; the styles worn by characters in Jane Austen novels. In this period, fashionable women's clothing styles were based on the Empire or Regency silhouette.

The waistline was often defined by a wide sash tied in a bow at the back of a dress and accentuated by a crossover gauze bodice or muslin neckerchief above. Properly dressed ladies wore Spencers (long-sleeved jackets cut beneath the bosom) or pelisses (long-sleeved jackets cut three-quarters down the length of a skirt) out of doors, along with a broad-brimmed hat tied under the chin with a ribbon.

In different continents, such styles are commonly called “Directoire” (referring to the Directory which ran France during the second half of the 1790s), “Empire” (referring to Napoleon’s 1800–1804 “consulate” and/or 1804–1814/1815 empire), or "Regency" (most precisely referring to the 1811–1820 period of George IV's formal Regency).

Although lawn and batiste were used, muslin was the fabric of choice. The thin muslin clung close to the body and emulated styles worn in ancient Greece. The classical influence extended to hairstyles. Often masses of curls were worn over the forehead and ears, with the longer back hair drawn up into loose buns or Psyche knots.

Shades of white predominated, with the addition of pale pastel shades for day wear. Sometimes a simple floral pattern often adorned with lace, tassels, and patterned trims around the low necklines, and small, short, puffed sleeves added distinction.

Regular wearing of white gowns was a sign of social status as white soiled so easily. White gowns generally were kept for evening and in the day pastel or colored robes were thought more suitable.

Among middle- and upper-class women there was a somewhat basic distinction between "morning dress" (worn at home in the afternoons as well as mornings) and evening attire. Morning dresses were worn inside the house. They were high-necked and long-sleeved, covering throat and wrists, and generally plain and devoid of decoration. The chemisette was a wardrobe staple for fashionable ladies.

This white undershirt, made of a flimsy fabric, was used to fill in a neckline, giving the appearance of an under-blouse for day wear. Women often changed clothes in preparation for the evening meal and possible entertainments to follow. There were also further distinguishing styles such as afternoon dress, walking dress, riding habits, travelling dress, dinner dress.

Evening gowns exposed the neckline. They were more extravagantly trimmed and decorated with lace, ribbons, and netting. Younger ladies usually wore softer shades of color, such as pinks, light blues, or lilacs. The mature matron could wear fuller colors, such as purple, black, crimson, or deep blue.

Very young ladies, just coming “out” were advised to wear white but their dresses could be embroidered with colored threads or draped with overskirts. If the necklines were a little lower, a demure young lady might wear a bit of lace in the opening for modesty.

Jewels glittered in the deeper necklines, and the sheer fabrics were covered with patterned shawls. Ball gowns might be made of silk, stain, lame, or crepe. Shoes were flat, like ballet slippers, of fine kid leather, as were gloves, worn in many colors. Fans were large and made of fabric on bone or wood.

In winter heavier velvets, cottons, linens, fine wools, and silks were used and sometimes extra warmth came from flannel petticoats or full under-slip dresses.

One of the problems of the simple classical silhouettes was their very simplicity. Between 1804 and 1807 the classical robes evolved into an eastern exotic feel with Etruscan and Egyptian decoration with woven or embroidered borders along the hem, in panels down the front, on the bodice, or throughout the fabric.

European and military influenced decoration after 1808. The Napoleonic Wars meant that a soldier's uniform had high visibility and military style details were featured and copied. Frogging, braids, cords, velvet and other trims lent a topical, jaunty, dashing air to many a garment, especially outdoor wear. A swan's down tippet, a long, thin and/or a velvet evening cape kept the lady appropriately attired until reaching her destination.

Wouldn't this lovely crimson gown make one feel "just the thing" when stepping down from the carriage?

Interview with Blanche Marriott

2012-01-25T00:01:00.003-05:00

Sometimes in this crazy publishing world you meet someone who makes you glad you became a writer. Blanche Marriott is one of those people. She was the first to welcome me to Avalon Authors loop and sat beside me when I attended my first Rhode Island Romance Writers meeting. It is my pleasure to share this warm, funny and gifted writer with you today, along with her latest Avalon Romance release, April’s Fool.

Blanche, I think it's incredibly clever how your main character, April Vaillencourt, is caught up in an April Fool’s joke that involves a fake wedding album with pictures of the very real (and unknowing) investment advisor named Michel Goode as her groom. When he gets his hand on the album, the trouble begins. This all begs the question, which came first, the premise or the title?

It was the premise. I saw a story on the local news about a wedding album that had been found and they asked if anyone knew who it belonged to to call the station. My first reaction was, "how could someone lose a wedding album?" And then the "what if" wheels began to turn and APRIL'S FOOL came at me in a flash. From that point forward, it was nothing but fun.

Every good character has a flaw. What is April’s?

April is clutzy, disorganized, and emotionally fragile because she fears she'll never find true love.

What is it about Michael that makes him irresistible?

Michael is charming, smart, and successful. But he becomes irresistible when his confirmed bachelorhood falls victim to April's lure, faults and all.

What method’s do you use to get to know your characters while writing a book?

I try to play the hero and heroine against each character...the old "if he's a fireman, she must be an arsonist." I rarely go to that extreme, but their characteristics must be somewhat opposite. I also like to create characters from people I do and don't like. Take the best from the best, and use the worst for a flaw to be redeemed later

What is your favorite scene?

I love the scene when Michael has a room full of balloons delivered to April's office. She is determined not to like him, but who can't like a guy who sends you balloons?

I read an excerpt from April’s Fool on your website, http://www.blanchemarriott.com/aprilsfool.htm and found your “voice” very engaging. Does this come naturally to you or does it take lots of intense editing to come off so carefree and funny?

I'm sure any writer you ask will say they have no idea what their voice is. I sure don't. But I know that I like to write funny, sensual and little bit sassy. Hopefully, it came across that way.

Do you plot your novels carefully before writing the first word, or do you sit down at the keyboard and let the character’s tell the story their way?

No!!!!! I have no idea how to plot, except for a rough sketch of where the story begins (lost wedding album), where it goes (Michael is determined to find out who put him in a wedding album), and how it ends (he'll do anything to make sure April doesn't get away.) Everything in between just came out when I sat at the keyboard. It can be harrowing and exciting all at the same time.

Aprils’ Fool is not your first book. Your other Avalon books Kaleidoscope and Way Out West picked up some impressive awards. You have 14 novels under your belt, one of which (His Brother’s Baby) you recently released as an e-book, along with a non-fiction book titled Born to Bitch: Volume 1 Confessions of a Bitch-a-holic (a fast and funny read, IMHO). What writing project(s) are you working on now?

I'm polishing a book about a crystal gem that brings the hero and heroine together in a mystical way. She's a career woman who hates it when she breaks a nail. He's a rugged man of the desert who knows that a high maintenance woman is the last thing he needs in his life. But Mother Nature, a mysterious Indian, and a meddling psychic aunt have different plans for the reluctant couple.

According to your website, you started writing about 20 years ago. What was the trigger that got you to sit down and start writing a story?

The characters in my head wouldn't keep quiet!! Of course, that story will never see the light of day, it was soooo bad. But it got me started, and taught me a lot of mistakes not to make again.

What inspires you to keep writing?

I think the need to see my stories in print is my motivation. I usually fall in love with my characters and I want others to do the same. My favorite compliment is when someone says they loved my story.

What book (or books) are in your TBR pile right now?

Unfortunately, I don't get to read much. I work full time and my free time is usually spent writing, gardening, or playing with the grandkids. Right now, I have 3 Avalon authors in my TBR pile and I hope to get to them soon.

As a reader, do you have a preference for tangible book or an e-book?

I like both. If I read in the day or early evening, I prefer a book in a comfortable chair. If I read at night, in bed, I like an e-book.

What do you do when not writing or working as a payroll accountant?

When the weather permits, I'm usually out in my yard gardening, mowing, trimming, cleaning up. I like physical work after being in an office all day. I spend my summers fighting the groundhog battle! Hubby and I also like to take day trips in the summer with no particular destination. We get in the car and drive the lesser traveled roads to see things out of the ordinary. That's how we found the fork in the road...we came to a fork in the road, and there literally was a FORK in the road! Someone had erected a huge fork, and of course everyone stops and takes a picture of it. The locals love it.

Looks like I’ll be taking a road trip this weekend! Thanks so much for your time, and happy sales to you with all of your publishing projects!

For anyone wishing to learn more about Blanche, you can find her at her website http://www.BlancheMarriott.com

Self-Promotion & Me & All Those Who’ve Played Their Part

2012-01-23T09:16:00.000-05:00

Whilewatching Woody Allen’s Midnight in Paris,I noticed the frequency of the self-promotion opportunities taken by theartists and writers (according to Allen’s story) portrayed in this film. Eachtime s/he came into contact with the protagonist, the artist in the scene gavea full accounting of talent and creation.

Duringthe NFL Championship game Sunday afternoon, the words of Mohammed Ali formedpart of a promotional video clip: “I am going to show you how good I am.” Weexpect these ego centric outbursts from the greats in their fields. Ali wasfamous for his one line stingers: “I’m so mean, I make medicine sick.”

But,I wonder just how confident any performer, athlete or artist really is. We arehappy to promote one another, our companies, our publishers, our friends andcolleagues. When it comes to putting our own talents on the stage, some of ushesitate.

Courageto say to yourself you’re good is one thing. Courage to shout it out loud issomething else. More and more, writers are expected to fling their solitary work-modeinto the bottom drawer and step onto the stage, limelight and greasepaint allaglow.

Beforemy career as a professional writer took hold, I had no qualms about promotingmy marketing company to potential clients, with no sense of reserve orembarrassment. With my first published novel a mere three months from release,I am at a loss as to what I should and need to do.

PerhapsI am in a state of shock or a creative coma. My training in marketing is of nohelp. I know I must promote the book, myself, the story, attract readers, buildsuspense, start the buzz, ignite the fire. All my marketing instincts have goneon vacation, perhaps because I have no physical evidence of my Avalon novel.

Ihave a JPEG image of the book cover. I have a digital file of the copy-editor’swork. I have the final computer file of my revisions, but I have no book tohold in my hands. I can only imagine, by comparison to other Avalon novels I’veread, how good my own book will be.

Whena painter or sculptor or musician presents their efforts, they stand alone. Thecanvas or the marble or the sound are completely, utterly their own. For awriter, about to be published, the extent of the team involved becomes clear.In many ways, this makes promoting the book much easier.

Alongthe way, many hands add to the final product and before I tell you how much youwill enjoy the story of Sylviana’s bold search of a love she lost, I want tohold the book and read again what my Avalon editor, Lia Brown, called a“terrific romance”, revel in the splendor of Matthew Simmons’s gorgeous bookcover design, wonder at the stroke of fortune the I won a contract from thepublisher in the first place, delight in the efforts of my copy-editor, marvelat the typesetter’s skill in composing space and line and letters on the pageand be awed by the printer’s magical transformation.

Dishing Up Romance

2012-01-19T00:01:00.001-05:00

Dishing Up Romance, due for release next month, was truly a labor of love for me. Every chef I know dreams of having their own cookbook, and I’m no exception. When Avalon asked me to write this series, I was over the moon knowing my dream was about to come true. And, what better way to combine two of my favorite subjects: romance and food, but also, to write the sequel to Cupid's Web. I hope you enjoy reading the excerpt I’ve included below.

Washing vegetables during my externship for the last month at Chez Francoise hadn’t taught me anything about my aspiring career in the culinary arts except to give me chapped hands. I blocked a yawn using my forearm and drained the water, only to refill it for the third time and watch the spinach float to the top.

Charlie Johnson, the executive chef and owner of Chez Francoise entered, and I gasped as I gawked at Mr. Rock-hard Chest Guy standing next to him. I stood up a little straighter. Oh yeah, flashed through my mind. Things were indeed looking up—big time.

I quickly moved behind a wall that jutted out to get a better look at him so those close by wouldn’t witness my girlish fantasies coming to life. He said something to Charlie and as his mouth moved, I watched his sexy lips and crooked smile. Charlie said something to him and pointed in my direction. I jolted back to the sink, my heart now wildly pulsating and watched him head my way. I tried to calm down, but as he got closer, my mind imagined he was Don Giovanni, the Italian Don Juan, and I was Princess Caterina being lured into his world by his good looks and charm. Then all of a sudden, Dad’s favorite song played through my mind.

When the moon . . . hits your eye . . .like a big-a pizza pie.

“That’s amore,” shot out of my mouth like a canyon when he stood next to me, the scent from his aftershave teasing my senses. I cleared my throat to squelch my embarrassment, but then this wasn’t the first time I’d made a fool of myself. He leaned toward me. I inhaled deeply, enjoying the woody scent of what I thought was cedar or pine, but maybe it was the wooden crate of spinach he held in his hands—the one I hadn’t noticed before.

“Amore?” he said with a devilish grin.

“Cooking!” I responded quickly, my index finger doing a standalone. “The food . . . the cooking . . . that’s love—don’t you think?” My lashes fluttered. I couldn’t believe how quickly I’d resorted to acting like a love starved woman who’d been on a deserted island most of her life. Actually, I was, but that’s my doing—darn it!

“Yes, I agree,” he said with a wink. “Food is love. Now, where would you like me to put this crate of spinach?”

“Crate?” I asked, still watching his mouth move, my legs now wavering like a limp piece of liver.

“Yeah,” he said, “Charlie asked me to bring this over to you.”

“Oh, right. More spinach,” I mumbled, too embarrassed to look him in the eyes. “Sorry.” I pointed ahead. “By the sink, please.” I followed close behind, enjoying his back view as much as the front. He placed the crate on the floor then stood and extended his hand. I was barely able to lift mine, now limp and shaking, into his warm palm.

I shook my head. This wasn’t real and I had no desire to become involved with anyone, especially now that I had a new career on the horizon. So why was I so bowled over by his looks? Because he was gorgeous, and I was lonely? Or because I had conflicting thoughts about having a love life?

“I’m Josh Benson.” He interrupted my thoughts. “Are you alright? You look a little pale.”

“Uh huh,” I said, still trying to avoid his baby blues. “I’m Cassie Pirelli,” I stammered. “I’m just getting over a cold.” I didn’t sound nasally, but hey, I thought it might work, but then maybe not so much.

He grinned, and I knew I’d been snagged. He knew exactly what I’d been thinking.
“I’d like to ask you something.”

Ohmigod rushed through my mind as my pulse picked up speed. It had been a long time since any guy had paid attention to me.

“So what did you have in mind?” I said fast and flirty.

I chastised myself, but you think I could stop acting like a jerk? I knew it, and he knew it, but here I stood while he watched me with a cautious eye and a toothy grin. My eyes glanced down at his left hand just for Yuks—you know, in case I was interested, all the while praying I wouldn’t see a ring on that finger. Ah, my prayers were answered. No wedding band. Not even a tan line. My heart skipped another beat.

“How long have you worked here?” he asked.

Dishing Up Romance includes 32 recipes, several of which are my closely guarded family recipes, like my mother’s Tomato Sauce and Meatballs that I’ve weaved into the story. And the good news is it’s currently up for pre-order at Barnes and Noble at the discounted rate of $16.16. If you like to cook, this series is for you. http://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/dishing-up-romance?store=ALLPRODUCTS&keyword=dishing+up+romance

Excerpt of Kent's latest novel

2012-01-18T14:26:00.002-05:00

Today, we originally planned to interview our prolific author Kent Conwell, but he has been interviewed twice already on this blog, and so we thought up something else for a change: Today, we'll just let his novel speak for itself. Below, you'll find the next to last scene of Kent's Tony Boudreaux mystery, cycle 6, The Diamonds of Ghost Bayou.

I turned around in time to see him pulling his revolver. I lunged at him, knocking the magnum from his hand and sending both of us to the deck of the careening powerboat.
He dug his finger into my throat. “I’ll kill you. If it’s the last thing—“
I slammed a fist into his face, smashing his nose. Blood spewed over both of us. I hit him again, sending him tumbling against the gunwale.
I jumped to my feet just as the bow of the Wellcraft smashed into a thick cypress, sending both of us flying through the night into the black water. Moments later, the boat exploded, lighting the swamp with leaping yellow flames. The blazing fire would bring every alligator within five miles.
Even before I hit the water, I was flailing my arms, swimming for the nearest cypress with all my strength.

The towering tree couldn’t have been more than ten feet away, but it seemed like ten miles.
Nothing had ever felt as good as the rough bark of the cypress against my palm. I admit I was scared when I was swimming, but nothing compared to the fear I felt that last few seconds in the water before I shinnied up the cypress, ignoring the more than even chance of running into snakes in the tree.
When I was about ten feet up, I looked down. My blood ran cold when I saw several wakes converging on the inferno.
From somewhere back in the darkness, I heard a scream, and the churning of water. I searched the firelight for sign of Sheriff Lacoutrue, but saw no sign of him.
I clung to the cypress, my feet resting on protruding branches. The fire died away as the powerboat sank beneath the black waters of the swamp. I caught my breath when I spotted a wake moving away from the boat toward me. There was just enough reflection from the fire to see the eight-foot alligator lift its scaly head and open its toothy jaws. I don’t know if that sucker could see me or not, but there was no question in my mind he knew that somewhere above him in that cypress was something good to eat.
Flexing my stiffening fingers about the branches to which I clung, I glanced over my head into the darkness of the tree above. If I could hang on until morning, then I had a chance. Maybe there was a fork above that would afford me a chance to rest.
A flickering of lights fluttered through the trees. Despite my disregard for local superstition, my first thought was of the feu follet. Then a spotlight cut through the thick stand of cypress trunks.
The strong beam wound its way through the trees, steadily growing closer. “Here! Over here,” I shouted, knowing chances were slim that anyone in the approaching boat could hear me.
Then I heard Valsin. “Boudreaux! Where you be at? Boudreaux!”
If I am ever fortunate enough to hear heavenly voices, they couldn’t be any sweeter than his.
“Valsin! Over here.”
The Ranger powerboat began to take shape in the peripheral glow of its spotlight. I made out Valsin behind the wheel, and his two brothers, August and Dolzin at his side.
Then the brilliant beam of light hit me.
“There he be,” one of the brothers shouted.
Skillfully, Valsin guided the Ranger forward, gently bouncing off the protruding cypress knees until the bow of the boat steadied against its trunk.
I lost no time in scampering down and stepping onto the bow. I grabbed each of them in a bear hug. “Where in the blazes did you come from? I figured I was out here for a couple days at least.”
August grabbed Dolzin by the shoulder. “Thank this one. He be shoeing one of T-Ball’s horses when he hear T-Ball talk to sheriff about dumping you in the swamp.”
“That be right,” Valsin added. “We call you at your friends, but them, they say you done gone to sheriff’s.”
“By the time Dolzin and me get there, he was driving away.” August put in. “Us, we see your white pickup behind Thertule’s police car, so we follow. Valsin, he was following us in the boat. When we saw where he was taking you, we jump in boat with Valsin.”
“Oui!” August said, reaching under the console and pulling out a jar of moonshine. “We got lucky. That calls for a drink, what you say?”
Far be it from me to argue with the ones who saved my life. I reached for the jar. “I say, drink up.”
A terrified scream interrupted us. Valsin grinned. “That be the sheriff,” he drawled. “What you think, Boudreaux?”
“Probably.” I squinted into the darkness behind us. “T-Ball fell out a good piece back.”
Another scream ripped through the night. Sheriff Lacoutrue’s voice seemed to rise two octaves. “Snake. I be snakebit! Cottonmouth.”
Backing skillfully through the cypress knees, Valsin followed the spotlight with his eyes as Dolzin used it to search the dark swamp. On a distant cypress, the beam found the sheriff who was shaking his arm to throw off the cottonmouth.
The black snake went flying through the air, landing with a loud splash.
“Hurry!” Lacoutrue shouted. “Me, I got to get to the hospital.”
Just before we reached the tree, Valsin throttled back. I looked at him. “What are you doing?”
He ignored me. “You want help, Sheriff? You tell truth about old Benoit and the others.”
Panic filled Lacoutrue’s eyes. “What—me? I don’t know what you mean.”
Valsin backed away. “Too bad.”
I grabbed Valsin’s arm. “You can’t leave him. We’ve got to get him to the hospital.”
The lanky young man leered at me. “Why? We all better off leaving him out here.”
“No, no!” Lacoutrue paused, clutching his forearm. “Oui! Me, I tell you. It be T-Ball. He want Theriot’s diamonds. He kill old Benoit.”
Valsin back farther away. “The truth, Sheriff. Me, I want the truth, the whole truth.”
Chewing on his bottom lip, Sheriff Thertule Lacoutrue wore a deer-in-the-headlights look on his face before dropping his chin to his chest. “Oui. Me and T-Ball, we plan it.”
I spoke up. “What about your deputy, Thibodeaux?”
“No. He know nothing. He just dumb Cajun. He do whatever I say.” Lacoutrue went on to spill it all, incriminating himself as well as T-Ball and the latter’s three thugs, Mule, Turk, and Buzz.

Deputy Thibodeaux met us at the boathouse, where I gave him the whole story. When I finished, Lacoutrue tried to crawfish, to back away from his confession, but when the deputy promised to threaten Mule with murder one, Sheriff Lacoutrue saw the proverbial handwriting on the wall.
All we found of T-Ball was half of his shirt.

Hunger Games

2012-01-16T09:51:00.000-05:00

hi folks,

recently one of our group wondered if any of us were reading hunger games by suzanne collins. curious, i got book and just finished reading it.
i'm not crazy about present tense books, but i liked the book.
it is a compelling story filled with danger, unrequited love, and a young girl's gritty determination.
i can see why it is such a hit.
At first, i didn't care for the ending but when i learned this was the first of a three-book series, i understood.
it was a good read.

kent

SISTERHOOD OF WRITERS

2012-01-16T08:37:00.000-05:00

by Carolyn Brown

Can you believe that it’s already time to register for the RWA Conference! Wow! What happened to the time? Didn’t we just fly out of NY a few weeks ago?

I got plumb giddy just thinking of seeing all my writing friends again this year. My sisters in vice so to speak. I read once that all we ever needed to know about life we learned in kindergarten. Since I didn’t go to kindergarten, I figured I must have missed out on what I needed to know about life.

I was so disappointed.

Then I read an article that declared all we need to know about life we could learn from reading T-shirts. I read lots of them. Like ...

If they don’t have chocolate in Heaven, then I ain’t going.

At my age, I've seen it all, done it all, heard it all, I just can't remember it all.

My mother is a travel agent for guilt trips.

I could surely relate to most of them, especially that part about chocolate. Can you imagine eternity with no chocolate?

But I couldn’t read every tee shirt in the world so I must not know everything about life after all. Then I realized that maybe I’d learned my lessons another way. Suddenly I knew those who went to kindergarten or those who create tee shirts don’t have a thing on me.

With that in mind I realized that all I ever needed to know about life I learned at RWA Conferences with my sisters, not of the blood but of the heart, because we understand the pains, joys and solitude of the profession we have chosen.

That reminded me of some of my favorite sister quotes:

What’s the good of news if you haven’t a sister to share it with? —Jenny DeVries

Ain’t it the truth! When I made the New York Times list last summer (I still can’t believe it!) the first folks I thought of were my author friends and I couldn’t wait to hit the lap top and send the message to them.

How do people make it through life without a sister. —Sara Corpening

Oh, my! How would I know where the best places to eat are if one of my sisters (Hi Shirley Marks) didn’t scout out the territory a day earlier than I can get to the conference. Or know how to work the elevators or where in the devil that room is that we are supposed to meet all the other Avalon authors? Without another of my writing sisters (Hello Carolyn Hughey), I would have never ventured out to get a slice of the best pizza in New York City.

Sisters are different flowers from the same garden. —author unknown

We might write in different genres. We might sell to different publishers but we are truly just different flowers. Take a look around at all the writers at the conference. Don’t you feel a kinship with every one of them? Those who are struggling to get published…I was there a few years ago. Those who are winning the big awards…oh, the glory of doing that some day!

There can be no situation in life in which the conversation of my dear sister will not administer some comfort to me. —Mary Montagu

Oh, yeah! Rejections? I whine to my writing sisters. Big news of another sale? I can’t wait to get to the phone or the lap top. Deadlines? They understand and comfort me while my eyes go blurry and my brain cells stop functioning at the end of the day.
by Carolyn Brown

In the cookies of life, sisters are the chocolate chips. —author unknown

Yes, ma’am! And they’ll save you a place at the table for the RITA’s because you were having a bad hair evening. Plus they just make everything better and sweeter!

A sister is a gift to the heart, a friend to the spirit, a golden thread to the meaning of life. —Isodora James

And that says it all. I can’t wait to see you all this summer. I’m going to sitting in my chair in front of the computer on the day the RWA folks open up for registration. If I’m not the first one to register it will be because my fingers don’t type as fast as one of my other sisters.

Interview with L W Rogers, Avalon Western Author

2012-01-11T00:30:00.000-05:00

Today, I have the pleasure of talking to L W Rogers, author of several Avalon Westerns whose latest novel, Superstition Trail was released just before Christmas 2011. I would like to thank her at the outset for her forthright responses.

Asidefrom school assignments, what was the first story you ever told/wrote that gaveyou the idea you wanted to be a writer?

I’ve always had an active imagination. I don’tremember having an imaginary friend, but my mother tells people that when I wasas young as three years old, she would hear me on the back porch talking. Myconversations were so real that she would often check to see who I was talkingto. By the time I was in the 4^th grade, I was writing andillustrating story books. At that young age, I didn’t really know I wanted tobe a writer. Since I love horses, my dream was to own a ranch in Montana andraise Arabian and Morgan horses.

Didyou run into any opposition to your decision to become a writer?

I was a teacher for twenty-seven years, and guesswhat subject I taught? Yep, language arts and social studies to 6^thgraders, as well as Composition 101 at the local community college. I lovedteaching writing. Later, I was assigned to work with Migrant Services and teachEnglish as a Second Language (ESOL). Then I decided to form the first adultESOL classes. Between day and evening classes, plus working with MigrantServices, my job became all-consuming. Writing was put on hold until I retiredat the age of 53.

Did I run into opposition? Well, the biggestobstacle was me, myself and I. Two years after I’d retired, my husband said hewas tired of hearing me talk about writing a book. Then my excuse was, “I don’thave a computer.” My husband told me to go get in the car. That same day, hedrove me to Radio Shack to buy a computer. After we got home, his comment was,“Well what’s your excuse now?” As you can see—no opposition. Since that firstcomputer, I’ve worn out two and just purchased a new one.

Onceyou no longer had that excuse, what was your inspiration?

I guess you can say my husband was my inspiration.Had he not insisted we go buy a computer, I’d probably still be talking aboutwriting a novel, and wishing and hoping to someday get published. Of course, Idon’t think my hubby knew how many times he’d have to eat grilled cheesesandwiches or hot dogs for supper that day he drove me to Radio Shack. When I’mon deadline cooking goes by the wayside, and the dust bunnies in my housemultiply.

Haveyou always written Western novels?

In my early years of writing, I was told thatWesterns was a niche market that they were passé, and no one read them anymore.What did I know? I took the advice literal and tried to write comedy. That’swhen I discovered, I didn’t have a funny bone in my body. I love the old west.Anything about horses, cattle drives, outlaws, Native Americans, rodeos, I soakit up like a sponge. Sometimes I think I was born in the wrong era. Maybe that’swhy writing Westerns appeals to me; plus the fact that I grew up sneaking mydaddy’s Zane Grey and Louie L’Amour novels out of his sock drawer. Back inthose days, the word ‘damn’ was a huge no-no. Children were not to be exposedto such language, that’s why he kept the books hidden. Oh, and I was so in lovewith John Wayne, Jimmy Stewart, Audie Murphy, Clint Eastwood, Clint Walker andso many of the great western movie stars. Although, I write Westerns for AvalonBooks and Western Romance for The Wild Rose Press, my first non-western, ForbiddenSon, published by The Wild Rose Press will release March, 2012.

Myfather read the same books and we watched all the western TV shows but I wasmore interested in fairy-tales, but Americans have never lost their connectionto the West or the Frontier Spirit. After reading some of the Avalon Westernwriters’ books, I’m rediscovering my passion for the genre. When you publishedyour first novel, how did you feel?

I wrote my first novel in 2004. It’s collecting dustin a drawer. I can’t believe I had the guts to submit that piece of work toseveral publishers and agents. Every sooften I pull it out to give myself a good laugh and as a reminder of how farI’ve come. For several years, I wrote short stories for True Confessions andTrue Romance magazines. My first book was actually a novella, published, inDecember 2007. Isabelle and the Outlaw is a time-travel western romance. Ithought I had won the lottery when the editor contacted me. Shortly after that,I received a contract from Avalon Books for my first full-length novel TheTwisted Trail which was published in April of 2008. With almostback-to-back books, I felt as if I’d won the mega-ball million. A funny storyabout The Twisted Trail; this book is a “Cracker Western,” meaning itis set in1840’s Florida. I submitted to an editor (who shall remain nameless). I still have therejection letter which states, “Everyone knows that Florida is all aboutbikinis, beaches and palm trees and has no cowboy history.” Shame on thateditor for not knowing his history, and thanks to Erin Cartwright, my thenAvalon editor, for seeing the potential in that book.

Itseems once a book is out of your hands, you’re at the mercy of a quite fewother people. That editor’s comment is one of the funniest I’ve read. Your newbook is Superstition Trail.(This will link to the trailer). Like The Twisted Trail, your hero is a gunman.Tell us more about this new book.

SuperstitionTrail, my third Western, published by Avalon, releasedDecember, 2011.

Ace Donovan is bent on revenge. For fifteen years hehas tracked six men who hanged his father and brother, and left him for dead. With five notches on his gun butt, the lastbullet is for a faceless man who has a penchant for spitting on his victims.

Donovan never intended to fall in love with DulcieSlaughter. His bullet left her a widow. Set in the backdrop of the SuperstitionMountains of Arizona, Superstition Trail is filled withaction-packed adventure that includes an Apache legend about the ScreamingWoman. The Apache believe the Screaming Woman spirit is angry because theydidn’t prevent the white man from invading sacred lands. Outlaws use thisApache legend in an attempt to steal the herd. Dulcie’s trust in Donovan isshattered when one of the outlaws recognizes him as the man who killed herhusband.

SuperstitionTrailis a book I’ll want to read with so many elements woven together: action,adventure, history and romance. And now you’re taking on the challenge ofanother genre. Do your readers comment on the difference between your writingfor Avalon and the books you have with other publishers?

At first, I had a separate sets of readers—men whoread only my westerns and women who read only my western romance novels. I’m not sure when the cross-over happened, butnow I seem to have as many men who read my The Wild Rose Press western romancesas I have women who read my Avalon westerns. When I wrote The Twisted Trail aMarine Lt. Col. stationed in Iraq emailed to say he was surprised a woman couldwrite such convincing fight scenes. Wow, what a great compliment! Yet, a man who read Bannon’s Brides, my TWRP westernromance, said that reading the book was like having chocolate and sex wrappedup all in one spicy package. Thatcomment really put a grin on my face. Forbidden Son is my firstnon-western. I’m not sure how my readers will respond to a vintage romance thatis primarily a series of flashbacks to include Rwandan rebels in Africa duringthe 1950’s and a segment that takes place in LaDrange Valley, Vietnam in the1970’s. If my readers aren’t happy with the new genre, perhaps I can pacifythem with the new western Cowgirl Courage that will releaseDecember 2012.

Highpraise indeed from your readers. When you set out to write a new western, wheredo you go to research the background of the story?

I have friends who know that I’m a ‘book hound.’When they find non-fiction books about the old west, they gift me with thesegems. In fact, my shelves are running over with books. In return, I give myfriends one of my new releases. It’s a win-win for all of us. Sometimes, notoften, I use the internet for research. I’m skeptical that some of the sourcesaren’t reliable. I also use the library’s inner-library loan system, which Ican access via computer. I enjoy researching, but have to be careful not to getso caught up in it that it detracts from writing.

Willyou try your hand at comedy again?

The reason I don’t tell jokes is because I can neverremember the punch-line, no one ever laughs, and I end up with a red face.Nope, absolutely not! If I ever had a funny bone, it is permanently retired andresting peacefully in the drawer with the novel that is collecting dust.

Iunderstand everything you’ve said here! I have a good sense of humor but writingcomedy is another art form. If the book that launched your writing career hadn’tbeen published, where would your career be now?

There’s no denying that my debut novella was theenergizing force to my writing career, but had it not been published, I think Imight have continued submitting manuscripts until rejection letters convinced me that I’d probablybe better off creating scrap books and watching re-runs of old western moviesand eternally dreaming about becoming a published author.

We can all be grateful Isabelle and the Outlawworked for you. Thank you very much for taking the time to answer thesequestions and all the best for your future endeavors, Loretta.

Lazy holiday activity

2012-01-09T03:46:00.000-05:00

We're having our long summer break here in Australia. Those of us involved with teaching that is. A few things indicate summer holidays have truly begun for us --the weather gets really hot (only a few hot days here so far), the cricket is on tv (this year the touring side is India), we forget what day it is and I bring out a jigsaw puzzle.

We have a board which holds a 2000 piece jigsaw, sometimes extended with paperback books depending on the measurements, but most of my puzzles are 1000 pieces so fit easily. This year we're doing the church in the main square of New Orleans which brings back memories of our 2000 visit. My son says his memory of that scene is the smell of horse poo from the carriage horses.

The jigsaw usually lasts us the whole holidays--about a month if we start after New Year. It's a lovely slow past time. This year our son stopped a few days on his way to other places but was as grabbed by the jigsaw as he always was when he was younger. We sit and talk and listen to music and discuss the shape of the clouds, the blue of the sky and whether that bit is part of a tree or the church spire.

Visitors can't resist sitting down and trying to put in at least one piece--maybe two, and doesn't that piece go there? We have a couple of old favourites--Montmartre cafes, Neuschwanstein Castle in Bavaria, the Taj Mahal, a flower garden (only 750 pieces but HARD).

We're working on sky first this time after getting the frame done. There's nothing worse than starting with the fun bits like the horse and carriage and the church and being left with a box full of blue pieces.

Free Story Thursday—"Where Are the Clowns?"

2012-01-05T00:02:00.000-05:00

Amy looked at the piles of photo books and silk flower arrangements surrounding her and thought, this wedding is turning into a three-ring circus—complete with Michael’s mother as ringleader. It wasn’t that Janet didn’t mean well. She did. Amy gave her mother-in-law-to-be a guilty smile, as if as if she could read her thoughts.

When Janet had volunteered to help coordinate the wedding arrangements, Amy had jumped at the offer. Janet had no daughters and Amy’s mother had died when she was twelve. She and Janet got along well. If only Amy had known just how “helpful” Janet could be.

And, Michael. A lot of good he was. She glanced at him lounging against the florist shop wall and he gave her that that knee-melting smile—his way of cajoling her out of any hint of a bad mood. Amy’s heart warmed. Unfortunately, it usually worked.

“Amy, Michael. This is perfect.” Janet rushed over, photo book in hand. She pointed at a gargantuan bouquet of multi-hued flowers. “It has colors to match all of your bridesmaids’ dresses.”

And the bridesmaids for several other weddings, as well, Amy thought.

“What do you think?” Janet asked expectantly. “Isn’t the Baby’s Breath just the right touch. I love Baby’s Breath.”

“Well,” Amy started. “I was thinking of something a little simpler. Maybe red and white roses.”

Janet turned to Michael. He pushed away from the wall and strolled over to peer intently at the photo. Amy smiled as his dark curls fell forward and he stroked his chin, as he had a habit of doing he was unsure of what to say.

“What do you think?” Janet repeated.

Michael straightened and combed his hair back with his fingers. “Whatever you and Amy like,” he said.

Amy fought the temptation to scream and glared at him instead. So, maybe flowers weren’t his thing. But that was his standard reply to almost anything having to do with the wedding.
He gave her a “what did I do now?” shrug.

She turned back to Janet, who had placed the photo book on the table.

“Looks like you’ll have to decide yourself,” Janet said. “I’ve got to run. I’m showing another one of those new townhouses over on Maple Avenue. They’re selling fast. You two really should reconsider buying one. The price is unbeatable.”

Amy had to bite her lip to keep from giggling as Michael rolled his eyes. Michael had told his mother countless times they weren’t ready to buy a house yet.

“Bye, Mom,” he said. He waved her out.

Amy picked up the photo book Janet had left on the table and started leafing through it.

The florist walked over. “How are you doing?” she asked. “Do you need any help?”

“No,” Amy replied more forcefully than necessary. Her voice softened. “I like this one.” She pointed at photo showing a bridal bouquet of ivory rosebuds surrounded by matching attendants’ nosegays.

“That’s one of my favorites,” the florist said. “May I suggest single matching roses for the boutonnieres?”

Amy looked at Michael, who nodded. “Yes, that would be fine,” she said.

“If that’s all, I’ll write up the order.”

Amy hesitated. “Could you add a spray of Baby’s Breath to my bouquet and the groom’s mother’s corsage?”

“Certainly.”

Amy and Michael completed the order and walked out hand in hand. When they reached his car, he bent down and gave her a quick kiss.

“What was that for?” she teased.

“Because I love you,” he answered. She smiled up at him. He kissed her longer and more thoroughly until she had to brace herself against the car to keep her knees from buckling. “And that one,” he said, “is for putting up with Mom.”

* * *

With great fortitude and Michael as a buffer, Amy was able to remain on goods terms with Janet through out the remaining weeks until the wedding. As her coup de grace, Janet threw a rehearsal dinner staged—in Amy’s view—to rival the wedding reception.

After dinner, Janet drew Amy and Michael aside. She bubbled with excitement. “I can’t wait a moment longer. Chuck and I have a surprise for you two.”

Amy’s heart sunk. She was jittery enough. She didn’t need surprises the night before her wedding.

“We’ve booked you on a singing tour of Ireland for your honeymoon.”

A singing tour of Ireland. She and Michael had made plans to rent a secluded cabin in Vermont for a week. But Amy had never been to Ireland. It could be fun. Michael squeezed her hand and she gave him a tentative smile. “Janet, that’s—"

“Don’t thank me yet.” Janet beamed. “It gets better. Chuck and I are coming, too.”

Amy’s eyes filled with angry tears. She pulled her hand from Michael’s and made her way out of the restaurant. The hot heavy summer air hit her and the tears flowed.

“Amy!” Michael caught up with her before she reached her car.

She wiped away her tears before turning toward him. “I am not spending our honeymoon with your parents.”

Michael rubbed her shoulder just the way she liked, easing some of the tension. “We’ll work it out.”

She pushed his hand away. “No, Michael. We won’t. I’m calling an end to this . . . this circus.”

He kissed her forehead. “Amy, why don’t you go home and rest. I’ll take care of things.” Michael opened the car door for her. “See you in the morning.”

“Maybe.” She slammed the door and drove off.

* * *

“Dad, can you see what’s going on?” Amy stopped herself from picking at the pearls embroidered into the lace of her gown. She looked at the long line of traffic stopped ahead of them. “We’re going to be late.” Her voice caught. “Michael will think I’m not coming.”

Her father patted her knee. “Honey, we’re not that late—”

“Yet,” she finished. “Oh, Daddy. You didn’t hear what I said. Michael will think I’m not coming. Amy frowned at the cars ahead. “I’ve got to see what’s going on.” She opened the limo door, gathered up her skirts, and stepped to the curb.

“Amy! What are you doing?” He climbed out after her and followed her up the sidewalk.

A block ahead, a colorful circus wagon lay tipped on its side across the street. Foiled by a circus. How fitting. Amy turned to her father, hysteria creeping into her voice, “Daddy, I’m going to miss my wedding.”

He looked helplessly up and down the street and, then, wrapped her in a bear hug. She buried her sobs in his shoulder.

“Toot, toot.”

Amy lifted her head and peered at the sidewalk behind her father. A clown in a miniature car grinned at her, his kinky red, white, and blue hair sparkling in the morning sun.

“Do I detect a problem, here?” the clown asked.

Amy explained.

“Ferpo, the clown, at your service.” He motioned to a little wagon attached to the back of his car.

She looked at the wagon, looked at her voluminous skirt, and looked at wagon again. Why not? “Dad, can you run back and get my veil and bouquet from the limo?”

“Sure, honey,” he answered, eyeing the clown and his vehicle with skepticism.

While she waited, Ferpo dusted the wagon with a feather duster he pulled from his sleeve. He helped her and her father into the little wagon and took off up the sidewalk, tooting and waving to everyone.

The little parade stopped at the church. Ferpo helped Amy and her father to the sidewalk.

“Thank you so much.” Amy said.

“I don’t know what we would have done without you,” her father added, shaking the clown’s hand.

“Always ready to help a damsel in distress,” Ferpo replied. “Guess I’d better get back.”

“No, stay for the ceremony,” Amy said, “if you can.” I’d really like you to.

Amy’s bridesmaids fairly pounced on her when the threesome entered the vestibule, bombarding her with questions as they whisked her off to a side room. Amy returned to the vestibule in time to see Ferpo being seated in the pew across from Michael’s parents. Stifled laughter buzzed through the crowd.

“I figured he deserved a seat of honor,” her father said.

The clown gave Janet a courtly bow before taking his seat, turning her worried expression into a big smile.

* * *

Amy took her place beside Michael. “I’m sorry,” she mouthed.

“I understand,” he laughed. “It’s not a circus without a clown.”

Amy glanced at man seated at the front of the church and weighed Michael’s words for sarcasm. Had she spoiled the ceremony for him?

He gave her that knee-melting smile and squeezed her hand. “I love you, Amy Lynn McKissick.”

“I love you,” she whispered back as the minister began, “Dearly beloved . . . .”

—Jean C. Gordon, www.JeanCGordon.com

Interview with Karen Frisch

2012-01-04T00:01:00.002-05:00

Quick math problem: what are the odds that three writers from the smallest state in the union would all have books published by Avalon (who publish 36 titles a year) in back-to-back cycles? Pretty infinitesimal, I would imagine. But it has happened. I had the pleasure of sharing in Karen Frisch’s triumphs at our local romance writers meeting, so when her name came up on the interview schedule, I jumped at the chance. (Don’t worry that I’m picking favorites, though. I’ll be interviewing the other member of our little triumvirate later in the month.) So without further ado, let’s get to know Rhode Island’s own Karen Frisch. <<pause while the crowd applauds wildly>>

First off, Jayne, thank you so much for taking the time to interview me. I received such a warm welcome when I was first introduced on the Avalon loop. I’m honored to belong to such a warm, knowledgeable group of writers.

I agree. A more welcoming and supportive group you will never find. And in the spirit of support, let’s get talking about your book, an Avalon Historical Romance titled What’s in a Name. According to my Internet research, the basic premise has a professor’s daughter and a fish market owner overcoming their differences to give two young runaway relatives a home–but first they must find the children, who appear to have run away with the traveling circus. And that’s the easy part! They must also survive a steamboat grounding, a carriage accident and a train wreck. This has all the elements of a historical romantic adventure. What kind of research did you have to do for these scenes? Not personal experience, I hope!

The Victorian era is my favorite, though I don’t think I’d want to experience it firsthand. My first novel (Murder Most Civil, a cozy historical mystery published by Mainly Murder Press) is set in Boston in 1860. I also learned a great deal from researching my ancestors and from having been a Victorian lit major. The biggest research challenge for What’s in a Name was the logistics of travel! I spent hours studying schedules of ships that traveled from Boston to Maine in 1871. I needed accurate details to describe the grounding of a steamboat off Maine’s rocky coast along with the wreck of a train and events immediately afterward. I’m intrigued by those kinds of questions and love finding breakthroughs to the answers. When my family and I visited Bar Harbor two summers ago, we were able to make a spontaneous detour to Stockton Springs where my heroine lived. Despite its modern touches, it was a real thrill. I could still envision Juliet’s hometown from research I’d done.

What can you tell us about your heroine, Juliet Halliday?

Juliet is torn between loyalty to her strict father, a Shakespeare professor who is suspicious of immigrants, and her older sister Cordelia, who ran off with an Irishman. The story takes place after Cordelia’s death, when Juliet travels to Boston to collect her orphaned nine-year-old nephew. She discovers Cordelia had exaggerated their financial situation and that Marcus was forced to work in a fish market to survive. Juliet’s attitude undergoes a transformation during the journey to find the children, ending with her discovery that her father protected her from the truth about her own past. With each layer I added, Juliet developed more depth as a character until I had her right where I wanted her—miserably unhappy and conflicted between her father and Antonio, a man she initially despises but comes to love.

What is it about the hero, Antonio Santilli, that makes her heart beat faster?

Antonio is Juliet’s exact opposite. He is self-educated, illiterate for much of his life, and exposed to the harshness of poverty and loss in his younger years. He sacrifices until the family is able to emigrate to America from Italy and works his way up to owning the biggest fish market in Boston’s North End. Yet his life is still ruled by his mother and his family. He possesses a moral integrity, steady determination, and loyalty that Juliet has never experienced with any man.

The title, What’s in a Name, piqued my curiosity. Which came first, the title or the premise? And how does it tie in to the story?

The title was originally Star-Crossed until we discovered Avalon had already used it. Lia (the Avalon editor) and I spent two hilarious, hectic weeks struggling with dozens of alternatives. We chose phrases from Romeo and Juliet that included everything from Till It Be Morrow (my husband’s suggestion) to The Inconstant Moon (Lia’s idea), which was our next proposal. We were, however, the only two at Avalon who liked the new title. In desperation I threw out What’s in a Name, and it stuck. It’s a story with a lot of irony, and the title refers to the suspicion with which Victorian America viewed its immigrants.

What is your favorite scene in the book?

That’s a tough question. One of my favorites is the bittersweet scene where Antonio has to put a ring on Juliet’s finger even though they both know it’s intended for another woman. (They have to pretend they’re married when they’re forced to seek shelter overnight with strangers, even though they’re traveling in the company of Juliet’s housekeeper Clara Crabtree—must be historically accurate here!) I love the scene in which Antonio meets Juliet’s father, and both are disappointed in each other. And the scene in which Marcus and Maria are finally found; the humorous scene at Aunt Muriel’s house while they’re traveling and Juliet is trying to keep up appearances; and the scene with Juliet’s father at the end in which he forgives her and then asks her forgiveness (don’t want to give too much away there!). I really love it all. This story was a joy to write. Now I just have to hope people read it!

Writing historical fiction seems especially challenging, because so many things are different than contemporary times, from clothing to methods of shopping to types of foods eaten to challenges with rather primitive living conditions, etc. How do you go about getting your mind set in that time period in order to write about it realistically?

My mind is usually in the past! I like to think I’m only visiting this century. Except for my first few months, I’ve never lived in a house built after 1880. The walls of old homes have life in them, with stories you can feel. Two of my favorite jobs have been working as a historic interpreter and tour guide at Rhode Island’s Eleazer Arnold House, a post-medieval stone-ender built in 1693, and at Slater Mill, America’s oldest cotton-spinning mill built in 1793. I still have one of those jobs.

What is your favorite part of the writing process? Getting excited with a kernel of an idea? Fleshing out the characters and/or plot? Typing THE END? Or the dreaded (at least in my opinion) editing process?

I especially love the breakthroughs that come after spending endless hours on challenging scenes. I love asking “What if” and “Why” and probing until I reach the real depth behind the question. It’s the triumphant satisfaction all writers feel when they finally reach the saturation point. I also enjoy the early stages of constructing a story and figuring out what needs to happen. Talk about an understatement. I love stories with depth and lots of layers, with things we’ve learned from the past. I try to write stories that matter, that mean something.

While this is your first book for Avalon, it is not your first success in the fiction arena. Your other published works include: a novella, “A Delicate Footing” in A Regency Yuletide anthology by ImaJinn Books; Lady Delphinia’s Deception, also from ImaJinn Books; and a mystery, Murder Most Civil by Mainly Murder Press. What is your next project? Or projects (plural)?

My next project is a contemporary cozy mystery set in Providence’s historic district (I don’t want to stray too far from my roots!). The last time I wrote a contemporary there were no cell phones or Internet, so I’m taking baby steps moving forward!

You also have two non-fiction books on ancestry. Is that a passion of yours?

I got hooked on genealogy after my grandfather died, when an old photograph album came to light that contained a dozen perfectly preserved photographs with subjects too old for anyone to remember. On them I found one date, one location, and one name that was handwritten, but the most revealing thing was the strong family resemblance. It was a mystery waiting to be solved. The research that followed led to the publication of my first two books. Unlocking the Secrets in Old Photographs explains how to use clues within the photos themselves to help identify the subjects. Creating Junior Genealogists contains ways to pass on your interest to the next generation. Both are still in print from Turner Publishing.

If you don’t mind me getting a little personal, you are also an accomplished artist. (You can see some of Karen’s illustrations on her website, http:/ /karenfrisch.webs.com/ and click on the illustrations tab.) Do you find the two creative geniuses work well together or fight each other for your time and attention?

A handful of sketches are currently up on my website, although it’s still a work in progress. There are more that aren’t appearing for some reason. (Web design is a newfangled concept for those of us who are more comfortable in an earlier age!) Art and writing definitely compete for attention. So far writing has won out. My goal is to find more time for illustration in 2012, but I’m still fighting my old enemy Lack of Time.

I also read on a recent guest blog post of yours about your new writing companion. Do you want to tell us a little about her?

Dogs are my passion. After we lost our beloved elderly Sheltie/Australian shepherd mix Merlin last spring, we grieved for a time. Eventually we visited local animal shelters, where all of our dogs have come from, and adopted our new dog, a Yorkie/Scottish terrier mix we named Fergie. At two years old, she’s the youngest dog we’ve had in a long time. It’s fun to have a real pup again. Mixed breed dogs are the greatest companions. They have a special place in my heart.

That’s another thing we have in common then! I, too, am a pound puppy parent!

I hate to say that our space is up for today, and it sounds as if you have other things to keep you busy so we’ll sign off for now. But thanks for taking the time to chat with us.

For those of you wanting to learn more about Karen, you can check out her website http://karenfrisch.webs.com/ or send a friend request to Karen Frisch on facebook.

an epic snowball battle

2011-12-30T10:33:00.002-05:00

Happy New Year!

Here we are once again, staring at the one-time-a-year opportunity for another ‘do over’ or to use a golfers’ favorite word, a ‘mulligan.’

Even way back in Mesopotamia two thousand years ago, folks like you and me celebrated the chance to make amends for past behavior with new resolutions.(their new year wasn’t our new year, but that’s another story)

Down through the centuries, many life-altering events have occurred on January one. In 1660, Samuel Pepys made his first entry in his famed diary. Another was that in 1897, Brooklyn merged with New York to form the city, New York, and the next year, the Lightship replaced the Whistling Buoy on San Francisco Bay.

Earth-shaking events all, however, they all pale in comparison to that the momentous event that took place on the outskirts of Wheeler, Texas on January 1, 1944.

The Great Snowball Battle for Chapman’s Lake!

There had been several heavy snowfalls that year and ongoing snowball battles were common around our small town. Sneak attacks raged across the courthouse square, on the sidewalks, around the corners of the five and dime.

East of town, Chapman’s Dairy overlooked a ten-acre lake. To us boys, however, it was the Pacific Ocean. The pasture rose gently from the water’s shores to the milking barn about a quarter of a mile distant—a perfect sled run.

Now, Mister Chapman never minded us wild-haired boys traipsing across this pastures as long as we didn’t disturb his milk cows. We always gave the herd a wide birth, one of the no small reasons being there were three or four bovines with short tempers. One was especially temperamental. For some reason, her horns had grown down instead of up, and had to be cut to stay out of her eyes.

We called her ‘Crosseye” as well as a few other names when she chased us.

When the snowfall was extra heavy, the cows seldom strayed down to the pastures. Cows don’t paw at snow to remove it from forage like a horse. They push the snow aside with their noses, and if the snow is extra heavy or icy, their noses become tender and the dumbbells just stand there and starve.

Consequently, ranchers and farmers put out feed around the barn in troughs, covered if possible. That meant we usually had the whole snow-covered pasture to ourselves.

That year after Christmas, Jerry, Tony, Donald, and I were building a snow house when several older kids from the other side of town (six blocks away) showed up to challenge us to a snowball fight at Chapman’s Lake where they had built a fort.

We readily accepted the challenge and agreed to the winner-take-all-prize, next Saturday’s popcorn money, a whole nickel. All we had to do was take their flag down from the fort.

Nothing to it. Or so we thought.

When we arrived, we spotted a red flag waving over the small fort. One of the kids had cut it from his Pa’s discarded longjohns. They said it meant ‘no quarter’. That made no sense to me, but a flag was flag.

Leaving our sleds at the top of the hill, the four of us attacked the fort, but were quickly beaten back. Our leader, Jerry, decided we would attack with our tanks, meaning sleds.

We’d fly past the fort, loose a few snowballs, regroup for another pass. His plan sounded good in theory, but we soon discovered it was full of holes. Sitting on a whizzing sled and throwing snowballs called for a delicate balance none of us had mastered.

I fell off more than I rode; Tony crashed into the fort; Donald caromed off one side of the fort into the lake. Jerry was the only one who managed to ride and throw at the same time.

The battle surged back and forth. Each surge took us closer to the flag. Snowballs zipped through the air. I guess all the whooping and hollering reached the herd of milk cows.

That’s the only explanation I have for the garbled bellow that rolled down the hill, jerking all of us around. Our eyes bugged out like stepped-on toad frogs when we spotted Crosseye shaking her head back and forth and charging down the hill in a bovine’s stumbling lope.

Pelting her with snowballs, we took refuge behind what was left of the fort, but she didn’t hesitate. She went over the top, scattering us and taking down the flag.

When the last piece of snow had settled to the ground, Crosseye stood there in triumph, glaring at eight kids sprinting across the pasture in every direction like frightened prairie hens.

They claimed they won because we didn’t get their flag. We claimed Crosseye was our secret agent and since she took down the flag, we won.

They wouldn’t buy that. In the end, we decided upon another battle at another time, but it never came about.

Crosseye?

Well, we moved to Fort Worth five years later. She was still in the herd and still as ornery as ever.

Interview with Lois Lamanna

2011-12-28T08:01:00.003-05:00

Today, I have the honor to post the last interview of 2011, and I have got someone very special for you: A new author whose first Avalon novel has just come out! I know you'll enjoy meeting Lois Lamanna.

Thank you for inviting me to be the guest on the Avaloners Blog. As a new member of the Avalon author group I am very flattered.

Please tell us about your mystery novel Matrimony and Murder.

Matrimony and Murder is a humorous account to two over-fifty, over-weight, over-educated sisters who attend the wedding of a distant cousin in the hopes of finding information about their ancesters. Instead, they find the body of one of the groomsmen in the basement of the church.

What a great premise! I'm already grinning . . . please tell us what you personally like most about this novel.

1) I like the interaction between the sisters. I think Bethany, the older sister, demonstrates the role of an older sibling in real life, caring for the younger one, taking a lead role in social situations, making decisions for the both of them. Marlene, the younger sister, floats through life and accepts Bethany as the dominate person.

It is very much like my relationship with my own sister.

I recently read that when siblings get together, the roles defined in childhood naturally reform. Marlene and Bethany must have had fun in their youth, because they seem to be having fun now.

2) I like the depths of the books. On the surface, is a simple, humorous story about two women bumpling their way into solving a murder. There is also a social issue of deeper significance in the story.

I have a younger sister, too, so I can relate to that . . . and the social issue sounds like a great hook! Have you developed the plot from something else you've experienced?

The only things I am familiar with in this novel are church weddings, barns leaning toward the west, pizza boxes, Wal-Mart, and hotel rooms.

I grew up living next to a church and we were allowed to sit quietly in the back of the church during the ceremony so we could see the bride. The barn is one I remembered on my great aunt's farm in Ohio.

I think pizza boxes, Wal-Mart, and hotel rooms are self explanatory.

Yes, they are (grin). Have you published any other novels?

Published? No. Written? Yes.

Like all of us . . . I don't think there's a single author on earth who has published every manuscript she has ever written . . . When did you start to write and how long did it take you to become published?

Unlike many of my writer friends, I never yearned to write a book in my youth. I just wanted to read them. In 2004, two things happened. One was the lack of new books, of the genre I read, on the shelves of my library. The second one was a fateful fishing trip I took with my sister. Sitting in a boat in the middle of a lake, with slimy worms and stinky fish for entertainment, was the most boring thing I have ever done. My mind started to wander and I imagined what would happen if we found a dead guy floating in the water. I couldn't wait to get home and get my ideas on paper.

I wrote half the book before I told anyone what I was attempting to do. My kids humored me with encouragement, but I think they smirked behind my back. My husband outright laughed (although he kept me loaded with paper and pens.) I was very insecure about the quality of my work and wouldn't let anyone read it.

It took me a nine months to write the book. I was naive enough to think that just because I had written it, someone would publish it. Editing a book and sending it out to publishers and agents takes much longer than the writing process.

What a funny start - no wonder your novels are humorous. I wonder if the worms appeared in that novel, too? Let's stay on this topic a bit: What is the funniest thing that ever happened to you as an author?

Two things came to mind when you asked this question.

1)To promote Matrimony and Murder, I made bookmarks to pass out at my reunion. My classmates were receptive to them and I looked for other opportunities to distribute the bookmarks. My daughter was getting married in October and I asked her if I could pass them out to the guests. "Mom, if you had named the book anything else...."

2) "You are what you teach," is an expression used in education. I was a victim of this kind of thinking. As a vocational teacher, I had to use a variety of creative methods to entertain as I taught in order to keep my students' attention. To teachers of more traditional subject material and with a homogeneous class of students my strategies often appeared - strange. When Avalon Books presented me with a contract for Matrimony and Murder, I told my teacher friends. Everyone of them said the same thing, "But you weren't an English teacher."

I wish you had distributed the bookmarks at the wedding anyway. It would have given the ceremony such a special flavor :-)! What do you do when you're not writing?

After I retired from teaching, I tried a variety of parttime jobs including packing muffins, doing inventories, working at a car wash, and cleaning a gym. I am currently working as a jewelry salesperson.

When I get a couple days off in a row, my sister and I get in the car and go. We actually have a map with a spinner in the middle of it. One time we backed out of the driveway, spun the spinner, and ended up in Detroit. That was one of the best trips we took.

Much to my husband's disappointment, I do not spend my spare time cleaning, cooking or doing yardwork, although I have been known to do these things.

I really have to try this idea with the spinner; it sounds like a good way to get out of the rut. Thank you so much for this fun interview, Lois!
For updates on the activities of Lois Lamanna, go to mysterypen@comcast.net

2011-12-27T06:00:00.010-05:00

After reading a post on Risky Regencies last week about Christmas Pudding . . . microwaved Christmas pudding . . . I was inspired to try the recipe for myself.

The directions looked simple enough even I could follow them. What I imagined was the picture on the left. What I was expecting was the more modern looking picture on the right.

What I really thought I'd get was . . .

I was expecting company on Tuesday night (Dec 13th) and thought I'd use them as ~~guinea pigs~~ lucky participants of my English epicurean delight.

A half hour before they arrive I gather the ingredients. I'd jotted them on a notepad and did a quick, guesstimate conversion of grams/milliliters to ounces from the computer.

I melted the butter and mixed in the dark brown sugar. The soft, fluffy breadcrumbs were folded in with the allspice and flour. I'm amazed how little flour was needed.

Next the raisins, dried currents, chopped dates, peel, and candied cherries were mixed in. It didn't look much like cake-like batter to me.

The liquids, which I'm not going to show, were mixed in.

It all went into a large Pyrex mixing bowl and microwaved for ten minutes. At the end of the cooking time there was a heavenly smell coming from the microwave oven.

This is what we got. You must add the warmed brandy and light it for the blue flame.

It occurred to me the pudding might be a bit dense and I thought a cream sauce would be a good idea. I Google-ed a recipe.

It took five minutes for milk, cream, sugar, egg yolks, and seeds from a split vanilla pod to create this lovely custard.

A few spoonfuls of this loveliness over a warm slice of Christmas pudding was just the thing.

The Christmas pudding was more delicious than I ever expected. The family, and company, enjoyed this so much I'm willing to give the traditional method a try.

Yes, this will appear in a future Gentlemen of Worth series book.

A Few of My Favorite (Seasonal) Things

2011-12-23T00:30:00.000-05:00

One of the best things about this holiday season is thechance to indulge in some of the sentimental memories and events of childhood.If you have small children, you have an excuse – a duty – to pass these alongto them.

A Christmas Carolis the quintessential story of distance, misunderstanding, alienation andreconciliation. Each time it is retold in film, the special effects strive toawe but they can’t outshine or obliterate the underlying story of the humanneed to connect.

One of my favorite stories of holiday gathering is A Child’s Christmas in Wales. First recordedfor the BBC in 1952, this short piece has been transformed into a prose gift volumeas well as a stage play with songs. Dylan Thomas sets a nostalgic scene ofwarmth and familial love, quirky relations and deep friendships.

Thomas’s short story is as much a part of modern Christmas traditionin Wales as Clement Clarke Moore’s AVisit from St. Nicholas is for American children. This is arguably the bestremembered and most frequently recited poem in American literature (firstpublished anonymously in 1823), yet its creator wanted nothing to do with it. ‘Twas the night before Christmas…’ beganall my childhood Christmas Eves when this poem was read while my sister and Isat in front of the tree, eyeing the gingerbread cookies we had left for Santa.

Christmas always included a televised showing of It’s a Wonderful Life – I cannot watchthis film without feeling a deep sense of appreciation for the underlyingmessage of our individual importance in the lives of those we encounter,however briefly. There have been recent, scantily disguised plagiarisms of thisfilm, but not one of them can compare with the 1946 version based on theself-published, 4,100 word story, “The Greatest Gift” by Philip Van DorenStern.

One other Christmas film must for my family holiday is Christmas Vacation. This NationalLampoon classic also began as a short story, written by John Hughes forNational Lampoon Magazine Christmas ‘59.This film was released in 1989 and was the third in the NL’s Vacation series.

The 1947 novel, Miracleon 34^th Street, by Valentine Davies, adapted for Hollywood inthat year and winning him two Academy Awards for Best Writing and Best Screenplayis another popular film at this time of year. Re-made in 1959, 1973 and 1994, thisheartstring-tugging tale was re-written by Davies as a novella published byHarcourt-Brace to coincide with the 1947 release of the film.

Most of these stories are now familiar to people around theworld through their Hollywood film version(s). Is it any wonder that film hasbeen the endgame for writers for over 70 years? Of all the Christmas-based stories you’ve written or read,which one will set the benchmark for the next global, blockbuster tradition?

A Visit from St. Nicholas

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all thro' thehouse
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar plums danc'd in their heads,

And Mama in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap —
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter....

May all your efforts for the coming year bring you joy and glad tidings.

Avalon Author Marty Ambrose!

2011-12-21T07:00:00.000-05:00

Hi, all, Jennifer here!
I'm so happy to introduce fellow Avalon author Marty Ambrose to you today!

How would you describe your writing style and/or the books you write?
I write The Mango Bay mysteries—a cozy series set in Southwest Florida. My amateur sleuth is named Mallie Monroe, and she a cross between Bridget Jones and Agatha Christie. I’ve always loved cozy mysteries ever since I first read a book in Christie’s Miss Marple series, and I write “mystery light”—with a touch of humor. I love quirky characters on an island setting.

Describe a little of your writing routine for us. Do you have a set amount of time that you spend on writing per week?
I generally write 4-5 mornings a week and have a page quota, so I’m a very disciplined writer. When I plan a novel, I usually do an outline and write the first 100 pages; then, I go back and edit, letting the creativity just take over. I sometimes revise 4-5 times before I finish the book. The first part is usually slow, but the second half of the novel generally moves more quickly.

What authors have inspired you the most?
I teach British Literature at the local state college, so my favorite author is part of that world: Lord Byron. His poetry has just been the guiding force in my life, but Agatha Christie has been my guardian inspiration as a mystery writer.

Is there a different genre you would like to try and write someday?
In fiction, I only want to write mystery. However, I’d also like to write non-fiction one day.

Do you have a favorite social network?
I love Facebook.

How do you reward yourself for finishing or selling a book?
My husband and I go out to dinner, and I have a glass of champagne. Also, I collect antique Victorian jewelry, so I usually treat myself to a small piece of jewelry.

What is the best advice you’ve ever gotten and/or advice you’d like to give to other writers?These are such clichés, but the two best tips I’ve received are the following:1. Writing is a business.2. Learn the craft and never give up.

FUN Christmas questions:
White or colored lights?Colored lights (but only red and green)

Favorite Christmas song?“Oh, Holy Night”

Favorite gift you’ve given OR received.My Keurig Coffee Maker!

Turkey or Ham?
Turkey!

Links where readers can find you:www.martyambrose.com

KILLER KOOLis Marty's new book out now!

It’s October on Coral Island, and Mallie Monroe is learning how to multitask: she’s juggling two men, Nick and Cole; helping her office pal, Sandy, plan a fall wedding; and trying to find a way to adjust to her new assignment as the Observer food critic.The summer doldrums are officially over as the island prepares for cooler weather and its first Taste of the Island.Unfortunately, Madame Geri, the island’s freelance psychic, appears at the newspaper declaring that the upcoming nuptials of her son, Jimmy, and Sandy are in jeopardy because of a possible killer on the loose.Mallie knows where to start: Carlos Santini has recently died from an apparent heart attack, and everyone believes that his brother, Chef Marco, was somehow involved. So Mallie teams up with Madame Geri to add another task to her list: solve the crime and make certain that the wedding doesn’t end up on a canceled list.
Available on Amazon and Barnes and Noble.

Thank you so much, Marty!

Caffeine for Christmas

2011-12-20T01:00:00.005-05:00

by Carolyn Brown

So what’s wrapped up with a fancy bow for your spouse this year? Husband has been looking at a new fancy coffee pot. We own a four cup that gets the job done in a hurry for breakfast, a twelve cup to use when company comes, an old percolator and one of those new fangled brew-by-the-cup machines.

But this new one is the best thing since ice cream on a stick and his eyes glaze over every time he sees it in the store. Which reminds me of the days when he was busy getting his BA degree to teach English and I was getting my PHT (put hubby through) degree and the only pot in the house was an old gold colored percolator.

I worked.

He studied.

It took coffee and lots of it to get us through those days and we had a rule that said the person who took the last cup of coffee was responsible to start a new pot. I was convinced that disobedience meant death by caffeine withdrawal. In three years we wore out two percolators. We thought we had so much nervous energy because we were young, full of spit and vinegar, and ready to put out a forest fire with a cup of water.

It wasn’t any of the above. It was simply the coffee.

One week we ran out of coffee twenty four hours before payday. We paced the floor, chewed our nails and slept with our eyes shut for one night. The next day we were leaning on the grocery store door when it opened.

The grocery store owner told us that Juan Valdez was fixing to name his donkey Charlie Brown.

There were other tell-tale signs once we got through school and realized how much coffee was affecting our lives.

We had worn the finish off our coffee table three times. I’d written two letters to the folks who make varnish telling them their product was inferior. The last time they wrote back and asked how many times a day we set a hot coffee mug on the table. More than three, please use the enclosed heat resistant coasters with their logo on the top.

The handle on Husband’s favorite mug had no color left on it and his fingerprints were permanently embedded in the glaze.

The Taster’s Choice couple did consider adopting us but changed their mind when we explained we couldn’t use instant coffee. It was too slow. There was a waiting period while the water boiled. However, Maxwell House French Roast did own the mortgage on our house for many years.

It got really bad when we realized we had jumped beyond perspiring in the hot Oklahoma summers. We now percolated and our only source of nutrition came from “Sweet & Low” and “Coffee Mate.”

We got to the point where we could type at least sixty words a minute. Not with our hands. Goodness no! We had to keep our right hand free to hold the coffee mug and the left one to keep it filled. We could type that fast with our toes. Might as well use all that nervous, tapping energy for something. Big toe on the space bar, then line them up ... J,K, L, ; ... and refill the cup one more time.

Husband had to go for a physical during that time and the nurse at the doctor’s office frowned when he broke the pulse reading thing-a-ma-bob. She left the room and got some kind of special apparatus containing a brand new state of the art scientific calculator to take Husband’s pulse.

When that couldn’t keep up with his pulse, she asked him how much coffee he had for breakfast.

“Two,” he said.

“That’s not so bad,” she shook the defective calculator. “Two cups isn’t so much.”

“Not two cups!” I told her. “Two ten cup pots and that’s on school days. On Saturdays, it’s more.”

She rolled her eyes and grabbed an even more high-powered calculator.

Our life’s goal was to “amount to a hill of beans” by the time we were forty. Looking back if we had all the money we spent on coffee we would be living in the lap of luxury these days.

Two cats showed up on our door step at the college apartments and we named them Cream and Sugar and taught them to lap coffee up out of a saucer. Never did quite figure out why they were so danged spastic.

I suppose the real tell-tale sign was the day we went to purchase a first aid kit for the car. Back then it was a big thing. One of those little tin boxes with Band-Aids, iodine, aspirin. All that stuff in case we were stranded on the road between Durant and Tishomingo. Seemed like a reasonable thing until we dumped the box on the bed and really looked at the contents. After a few minutes we tossed them all in the trash. The only thing we needed was a pint container of coffee, brewed with twice the coffee and half the water, and an IV hookup. That would get us through anything.

After a few years, we figured out that sleep was important if we wanted to live to see 70 candles on our birthday cake, so we cut back on coffee. I have realized that if I have two drops after supper I will count sheep until dawn arrives.

A couple of days ago I had a small cup in a restaurant with my dessert.

Dawn was a long time coming.

So what’s on your list this year? A new coffee pot?

What do you Blog about?

2011-12-19T06:04:00.001-05:00

This month I thought I’d touch on blogging topics. More often then not, I’ll look at the date for posting and scratch my head wondering what to write about, so I surfed around and put together a list of topics I thought might be of interest to you.

I think the first thing to consider is which audience your trying to attract. Is it someone who’s interested in learning to write? Is it for self-promotion, or just a casual topic that anyone would be interested in reading? I personally think first and foremost, make it interesting. Add a little of yourself. Don’t just type in the words to add filler on the page. Share a part of yourself, but don’t go overboard by telling the reader you’ve had a bologna sandwich for lunch. They won’t care. Does anyone even eat bologna anymore? That was my absolute favorite sandwich when I was a kid. But I digress . . .

Here are some suggestions.

-How you deal with writer’s block or mental exhaustion.

-Workshops you’re conducting or know about—I might be interested in taking that workshop.

-The ABC’s of me: Choose one letter for the post such as A and write top five things that begin with that letter.

-6 sentence Saturday or Sunday: Post 6 sentences of your book.

-Although Goodreads is a great place to add your opinions about books you’ve read, not everyone is a member, so posting your reviews on books you’ve read is an idea. And while it does promote another author, it still brings people that wouldn’t otherwise visit your blog. And look at what you’ve just done. You showed those people we’re all in this together.

-Changes in the industry might just draw in a new reader. Let’s face it, there’s no better time than right now to self-publish a book. I’ve said this many times, but it’s important to have a nice cover and look professional regardless of the price you list it for.

-Post a picture to use as a writing prompt for writers—not necessarily just for published authors.

-Post a picture of one of your characters and have people give you their thoughts on what type of character they might be.

You’re trying to get your name out there to attract new people to your blog, sell yourself. Most viewers won’t want to be the first to post something. It’s like a speaker asking the audience if they have any questions. Yeah, they have plenty, but they’re embarrassed to ask in front of everyone. So, write out a few sentences first and let them take it from there.
Offer a prize for the best 50-word paragraph, or tell them you’ll interview them on your blog.

I was recently at a Josh Groben concert and the audience was allowed to text him questions. One mother asked if her daughter could sing a duet with him. More often than not, performers have an ego larger than life, but Josh invited the young woman to center stage, allowed her to pick the song and they sang it together. That said volumes to me about him. And not only was that an exciting opportunity for the young woman, but it got her name out there too. Her voice was pretty darn good.

-Your top 5 or 10 writer’s resources. You can separate the categories such as one post for writing books, one post for writing websites, etc.

-Post excerpts of your book and ask for feedback.

-Friday Five: You list 5 things you want to share on that day.

-Where do you get your ideas?

- Do you write with music? Why or why not?

-What are your comfort books, books you can read again and again, that foster and rekindle your desire to write?

-What or who inspired you to write?

-Do you belong to a critique group? Writing organization? Tell us about it!

-What are your favorite writing blogs? Why?

-What are your favorite kinds of characters to write? To read?

-What are you doing to improve your craft?

-How do you stay motivated?

-Are you an outliner or a seat-of-your-pants writer? Why?

-Would you like to be a bestseller or have a smaller, more manageable following?

-What are your marketing plans? Are you working on your platform?

-Talk about your mistakes in the industry. One of my friends won a contract with Harlequin for a book she’d submitted. The way she tells the story, she made every single mistake in the book—no pun intended, and still she got her contract.

-Go out of the house and try something totally new. Write about it.

-Do a product review on an eReader and ask for suggestions.

-Discuss how you use Facebook or other social networking sites. This is huge with me. I’m very careful about what I post. I stay away from politics like the plague. I don’t diss on anyone, or swear, and I don’t discuss religion or comment on any of the above. I have friends who do all of the above and post it like they’re talking to a friend in an email and I know it does absolutely nothing for their career. The other day, a new author commented on Celine Dion and Andrea Bocceli’s singing of Christmas Carols and she lambasted them. While she may not think this is a big deal, every country represented on FB may have just read something negative about one of the entertainers they love. Granted, this may not affect her in the long-term, but for the present, I think it was a huge mistake. But maybe, that’s just me. What is your opinion?

In closing, I’d like to wish everyone a very happy, healthy, and prosperous holiday season. May the New Year fill us with love, light and laughter.

A Modern Twelve Days of Christmas

2011-12-15T17:10:00.004-05:00

We all know the song, and yeah, it's fun to list all those lords, geese, and rings (Let's not forget the rings!). But I've always taken issue with the gifts that poor singer's true love gave to him/her. Face it. Who needs all those birds? Twelve drummers drumming? There isn't enough Excedrin in the world to cure that headache.
After 25 years of wedded bliss, my hubster has made his share of mistakes with Christmas gifts. I'd like to think he could do better than this list, though. Here's what I'd hope I'd find (and rhyming is not a prerequisite):

12: new romance novels
11: Starbucks gift cards
10: scented bubble baths
9: music CDs
8: colored hair clips
7: boxes of Kcups
6: ink cartridges
5: of my favorite chocolates
4: pairs of pjs
3: pairs of earrings
2: Broadway show tickets
and a new iPad tablet for meeeeeee!

So...what would your true love give to you?

Meet Author Sheila Claydon

2011-12-14T22:43:00.006-05:00

Accident Prone, by Sheila Claydon

Avalon Books, December 2011

ISBN-13: 978-080347615

The end of a long-term relationship leaves interior designer Alex Moyer emotionally bruised. Determined to concentrate on her career, she is thrilled when her boss asks her to redesign a hotel in the Canary Islands.

Matt Anderson, the hotel’s handsome owner, has emotional problems of his own, so when Alex starts to melt the ice around his heart, he tries to ignore it.

Alex proves hard to ignore, however, when Matt has to constantly rescue the accident-prone designer. After he steps in to save her from the clutches of the untrustworthy Francesco Pascual, things begin to get out of hand. It becomes clear that dating Alex was part of Francesco’s bigger plan to cause the hotel to fail. On top of that, Matt and Alex are falling for each other, which doesn’t suit either of them.

Can they ignore their growing mutual attraction as they attempt to foil Francesco? If they succeed, well, Alex will have to return to London anyway … won’t she?

Congratulations on your new release, Sheila! Tell us a bit more about the main characters, Alex and Matt. What really motivates them?

Although they don’t realise it when they first meet, Alex and Matt are two of a kind. Neither of them is prepared to open themselves up to the sort of heartbreak they have suffered in the past, so they have both given up on romantic relationships. This means that they pour all their energy into their work, letting their personal ambitions drive them. Hardworking, obsessed by deadlines, determined to do the best job possible; they fail to see that they are both running away from love.

With Alex and Matt already running away from love, I’m sure that’s just the opening your antihero, Francesco, needs to make his move. Tell us more about Francesco and what makes him a danger to Alex.

Francesco is sexy. He has looks, intelligence and charm. He knows how to seduce…slowly, and with flowers, and special dates. It works for a while until, like all thinking heroines, Alex eventually becomes irritated by his over-the-top attention, then suspicious of his motives, and finally frightened by his calculating and amoral behaviour.

Ah, good for Alex. She sounds like a character I can relate to (I’m a bit suspicious and accident prone myself). Was there one accident scene that was a favorite for you to write?

I enjoyed writing all of them, not because I wanted bad things to happen to Alex, but because each accident allowed me to give a different insight into her personality. When she twists her ankle it is down to vanity and, dare I say it, a bit of stupidity. (My characters are far from perfect!) The accident at the beach shows how brave she is. Her run-in with Francesco makes it clear that she is not someone to be tangled with, and the final accident is all about the depth of her emotions and about how she worries for Matt.

Speaking of the accident on the beach…your novel is set in the spectacular Canary Islands. Any special reason you chose that location and what sort of research did you have to do to prepare?

Many of my stories are set in foreign countries because I travel a lot and I enjoy researching the places I visit and then using them as background for a book, so I already had this in mind when I went to Tenerife for a short holiday a few years ago. Then serendipity stepped by when I was introduced to an English property developer who had settled there and he told me about a boarded-up hotel that was the subject of a local planning dispute. Needless to say the property developer isn’t Matt, nor is the hotel the Alcaszar that features in Accident Prone, but they were the starting point for the story, the things that made me explore the island and immerse myself in its atmosphere.

Nice! I love stories seeded in a little bit of reality. Accident Prone is not your first romance novel. What draws you to write romance?

I’ve just written about that in my latest blog so, to précis, there are lots of reasons but I guess the main one is that everyone falls in love. Everyone has experienced that leap of the heart when a special person comes into the room. We have all been there, as teenagers, in our twenties, our thirties, our forties and onwards. Age is no barrier to the thunderbolt any more than it is to the slow burn.

So I write romantic fiction because it is about life, about people, and about the things that happen to them when they fall in love. I write about how it affects them and how it affects those around them, how it often makes them better people. Learning to think of someone else first is part of loving. Love is part of life. And because anyone can fall in love, and most people do, I have an awfully big cast of characters to choose from when I write about romance.

You’re an experienced writer published several times over in romance and poetry, and you’ve been at it for over twenty years. Do you have any tried and true advice for a new writer trying to make their way in this quickly changing business?

Don’t give up, and always, always think of yourself as a writer, even before you are published. Think writer…then mom, wife, employee, friend, whatever. Don’t list it the other way around. Thinking that way doesn’t mean that you won’t be a wonderful mom or wife, anymore than it means that you are going to relegate your other roles to second place. It just makes you own your dreams and ambitions. It takes a lot of courage though. When someone you hardly know asks you what you do and you haven’t got anything in print, saying that you are a writer is difficult. It’s amazing what intent can do however. Think writer, act writer, talk writer, and one day you will be a writer!

Fantastic advice! Tell us a little bit about your writing style. It sounds like you use an interesting mix of careful planning and knowing when to turn things over to your characters.

‘First find out what your hero wants. Then just follow him…’ I love that quote by Ray Bradbury and it is my constant guide. But yes, of course I plan as well, only not meticulously. Once I’ve found my characters I always find the beginning easy. The first couple of chapters are fine but then I have to wait while the plot fits itself together in my head over a period of several weeks or even months, until it reaches the romantic ending that I had planned from the first. Apart from that I just let them run.

I don’t make many notes either. Instead I rely on the Internet to check out my facts, and my computer to put it all together. Writing is far easier now than it was when I started. I used to scribble out pages by hand and then type out a top copy and several flimsies on a ‘sit up and beg’ typewriter, and that was after a tortured trawl through libraries, magazines and newspapers for the information I wanted, so you will never hear me wish for the ‘good old days’ before technology took over our lives!

Did you say no notes? I'm impressed! So, when you’re just following your characters, do they ever completely surprise you with the path they’ve taken?

Hardly ever because I don’t write about them until I know them. Although I don’t make notes about them I can see them very clearly in my head. I know exactly what they look like, what they sound like, what hopes and dreams drive them, who their friends are. I know their back-story. Until I have all that clear in my mind I can’t write about them at all. Once they start their journey, however, nothing they do surprises me because they never act out of character.
I guess all that makes my writing style seem a bit fanciful but it’s what works for me. Characters first, plot second, journey last.

You clearly understand the importance of author promotion and social media in today’s world. What are your three favorite promotional activities or ways to connect with readers?

That’s a hard question because it is still all pretty new to me. When I was first published the Internet didn’t exist. Nor did cell phones or home computers. Yes, I’m that old! So publicity was down to my publishers and, if I was lucky, the occasional interview.

I’ve only recently embraced social media having finally understood the need for it in today’s fast moving world, and because I developed all of it at once, website, facebook, twitter, instead of piece by piece, I don’t mind admitting to the fact that on some days my brain actually hurt! Now that it is more under control though I do get quite a buzz out of it. I love the fact that I am making lots of new friends and having contact with readers, and I enjoy writing my blog. That, of course, is because, as a writer, I always think I have something interesting to say! I just hope that my readers agree. It is also a wonderful way of talking out loud about things that are on my mind.

And your least favorite?

My least favourite activity is the newspaper interview because it can go so wrong. I worked closely with journalists for most of my employed life so I know how easily a chance remark can be misconstrued, or how facts (a book) can be wrongly reported, and there is absolutely nothing that can be done about it after the event.

Yikes! That sounds exciting and scary at the same time. I can see why you feel that way. The last five questions are just for fun—five seconds getting to know you:

Deceased celebrity you’d most like to meet: Sorry, but I’m going to have to beg your indulgence here and ask if I can meet my paternal great-grandmother instead of a famous person who is wafting about out there in the ether waiting to be contacted. Why? Well the story is too long for this interview but it’s something that would make a terrific book if I could only get my head around it, and get the truth out of her!
Ooh. Now you really have me intrigued. Can’t wait to hear that story. Ok, an easier one—favorite comfort food: Toast with butter and marmite (how English is that!)
“I can’t live without…” the radio (it’s my constant companion and educator)
“I would love to try…” swimming with dolphins (but as a ‘one foot on the bottom’ swimmer, it’s not going to happen.
One word to describe you: A people watcher!

Very nice! It was a pleasure getting to know you, Sheila. Thank you for your time, and best of luck with your newest release.

To learn more about Sheila and her books or to follow her blog, please visit her website at http://sheilaclaydon.com/

About the Author:

Born on the south coast of England, I now live in the northwest only minutes from a wild sandy beach where I walk my neurotic dog every day come wind, rain or shine!

Happily married with two grown up children, and two granddaughters who regularly come for sleepovers and adventures, I also have good friends and much loved relatives. I know how blessed I am in my personal life and I try to give everyone in it the time they need. This includes regular late night or early morning Skype conversations with my son and daughter-in-law in Sydney, Australia, as well as long flights over there to visit them.

After college I worked in central London in a variety of minor executive roles, one of which in a psychiatric hospital and another was running an employment agency. It was a truly exciting time because this was the swinging sixties and I really was there!

Then time out to have a family and this was when I started writing. I produced my first book in between naps and diapers. In those years I also taught Basic English to people who had missed out in the education system, and ran ‘Poetry in Schools’ workshops as well. I had four books published by the time my youngest child was out of primary but, sadly, nothing has changed over the years. Then, as now, it was almost impossible to make a living as a writer, so I returned to full time employment.

Having had medical as well as commercial training I started out working for organizations that provided education and jobs for people with disabilities. Then I moved across to the National Health Service where I worked for many years as a senior manager in a number of different roles, all of which were about improving patient experiences and medical standards. These jobs took me back to London on a regular basis where I often worked alongside parliamentary staff in Portcullis House and the Houses of Parliament itself. One of my two claims to fame during that period is that I once ‘minded’ a bottle of milk for a well known Member of Parliament while he went into the chamber to vote on a transport bill! The other is that I had to sit behind the Speaker’s Chair, in the House itself, ready to dig a new Health Minister out of a hole if he got his facts wrong. Fortunately he didn’t so the briefing papers must have been OK.

All my employed roles involved very long hours, a lot of travelling, and a lot of factual writing. With a growing family to care for, and an aging mother, there was no time left for story telling, hence the twenty-year time gap between books. Now that I have retired, however, I am making up for lost time. I am hopeful that my early books will be republished. New manuscripts are being considered, I have two books awaiting revision before I try to place them, one of which is a children’s book that I wrote for my granddaughters. I also have a queue of four new stories sitting in my head.

There’s not nearly enough time for everything that I want to do…but I’m going to do my best to stretch it as far as possible!

Christmas Carols for Romance Writers

2011-12-12T00:01:00.013-05:00

The Twelve Days of Editing

(Sung to the tune of The Twelve Days of Christmas)

(Note—“CP” refers to Critique Partner)

On the first day of editing my CP said to me, “Your first draft’s great and this will be easy.”

On the second day of editing my CP said to me, “Watch your POVs, but your first draft’s great and this will be easy.”

On the third day of editing my CP said to me, “Spice up the romance, Watch your POVs, but your first draft’s great and this will be easy.”

On the fourth day of editing my CP said to me, “You need more emotion, Spice up the romance, Watch your POVs, but your first draft’s great and this will be easy.”

On the fifth day of editing my CP said to me, “Your Middle Sags! You need more emotion, Spice up the romance, Watch your POVs, but your first draft’s great and this will be easy.”

(Skip to final verse and pause while the organ music crescendos…)

On the twelfth day of editing my CP said to me, “The conflict is weak, Characters are flat, Cut 10,000 words, Dialogue is choppy, Brush up on your grammar, Scenes must advance the story, Appeal to all five senses, Your Middle Sags! You need more emotion, Spice up the romance, Watch your POVs, but your first draft’s great and this will be easy.”

Write a Query

(Sung to the tune of Deck the Halls)

Hook the agent with one great line