‘Tis the season… of ghosts, witches, curses and supernatural mysteries.
Autumn is my favorite season. It’s not just the blazing leaves ranging from ruby red to gold, nor the culinary delights of pumpkins, cranberries and sweet potatoes… it’s something deep in my Celtic soul that seeks rebirth during this time of year as the nights come earlier and mists shroud trees and fields. This is a time of reflection, gratitude and renewal. Autumn reminds me of the cycles of time – life, death and rebirth.
I’m a sacred site junkie, and was fortunate enough in younger years to stand within Stonehenge at sunrise, sit in a crop circle, and visit many places of mystery and power around the world. I’ve lived in a haunted house on the side of an isolated Irish hill, and knew no greater fear than having to get out of my car and enter the dark house alone.
I’ve collected sticks, stones and feathers all my life. Everything has a purpose. Spirit tells me things in symbolic speak – whether it’s a red-tailed hawk soaring above my car, or an ant hill in my lawn, there is a message.
My mother feared her psychic gifts. Since she was born in September and died in November, I’ll share a story here today in her honor. She went home to Ireland to die, so I was thousands of miles away at the time, in the home she’d made on the far side of the Atlantic. We’d said our good-byes before she left. One morning my father, who was with her, called and said she’d surely not make it through the day… that he’d phone after she passed away. At three o’clock in the afternoon, as I stood in her kitchen looking out over her swimming pool, I suddenly felt her around me. A little decorative tile she’d kept propped up on the kitchen countertop for years slammed face down onto the counter. I picked it up and read, ‘today is the first day of the rest of your life.’ In that moment I knew she was gone. I knew my father would phone soon, and sure enough I got the call ten minutes later. She’d stopped to touch me one more time on her way out and had summoned enough energy to put on that impressive supernatural display.
That was twenty-eight years ago, and I still value her message. You can, too. No matter what you are going through, every day we can all say, ‘today is the first day of the rest of my life.’
So, let me take a moment to share a bit about the novella – Autumn Masquerade – I released it this time last year. It’s a tribute to the beauty of this glorious season. Anna works in the corporate world and carefully guards her secret – she is a gifted psychic medium who speaks with the dead. Circumstances force her to be the only psychic at a luxurious masquerade ball in a palatial mansion, and she fears being unmasked. What will her boss think if he finds out she is psychic? Even if he doesn’t fire her, will he ever take her seriously again? Perhaps what is really bothering her is that beneath those concerns, she has fallen in love with the handsome widower. His rejection would leave her devastated. Neither of them knows that help is only a dimension away. His deceased wife decides the only way they’ll ever get their act together is with some assistance from beyond the grave.
Have a splendid autumn and be sure to read some wonderful stories.
Delilah, thanks for having me as your blog guest today.
GEMMA JULIANA is a multi-published author who lives in an enchanted cottage in north Texas with her handsome hero, teen son and a comical dog. She loves making new friends and hearing from readers. Exotic coffee and chocolate fuel her creativity.
I almost didn’t get this posted in time! We had a huge storm last night that wiped out the power for hours. The house got hot. Candles made it hotter, so I blew them out and went to bed. Nothing better to do! Then one of the dogs started barking. Harry doesn’t like storms, and he expects someone to sit in the living room with him or he’s a nervous wreck. I’m not sure when power came back on, but I awoke to air-conditioned air and lights on all over the place, and with Harry nowhere to be found. Rat bastard. So, now I have a crick in my neck from sleeping in the recliner. Can you guess where I’m going as soon as I post this? Yeah, to my nice soft mattress.
Anyway, Brenda Maxfield is my guest today. Check out her new book!
Assaulted and pregnant, sixteen-year-old Lizbet Morgan is shipped off to give birth in secrecy and hand her baby over to strangers. When she returns home to her family’s strict religious community, she is expected to pick up where she left off. But the nightmare isn’t over. Her close friend Johnny isn’t the only one asking questions, and Lizbet fears that the reason for her absence will soon be discovered. She must decide whether to tell the truth or continue to obey a religious system that forces her to tell intolerable lies.
Excerpt from Lizbet’s Lie
I held out the fuzzy yellow blanket, and Edie took a step closer. When I saw her hands close around it, my heart turned to brick. She yanked gently, but I couldn’t let go. She yanked again as if in a mini tug-of-war.
Ned put his arm around me. “Let go, Lizbet. Give it to Edie.”
Edie’s hands dropped from the blanket. “It’s all right, honey. You don’t have to give it to me if you don’t want to.”
“Let go,” demanded a voice behind me, and I turned to look at Farah. She stood at the entrance to the hallway where my bedroom had been located for the last seven months. Her eyes pierced mine with firm resolve. “You’ll regret it if you don’t.”
I turned back to Edie’s pitying expression. She gave me a gentle smile. “It was good of you to knit it for the baby. I’ll give it to—”
“Don’t say their names!” I cried and scrunched my shoulders up to my ears. I drew a sharp breath, and Farah brushed my side where she’d come to stand.
Farah pried the blanket from my hands and handed it to Edie. “Everything is going to be fine, you’ll see,” she said close to my ear. “I’m giving Edie the blanket. Then the baby will have something to remember you by.”
Edie took the blanket and pressed it to her chest. Tears filled her eyes, and the pity in them deepened. “Lizbet, it was an honor to have you with us during these past months. You take care of yourself. And if you need anything, let us know. We know it’s over for you now, but we still care.”
Edie’s husband Steve came out from the side office. “I guess this is good-bye then. Stay in touch if you want to.”
Edie closed in. “Lizbet,” she said and her voice was low. “Beverly wants you to continue counseling. She says you aren’t finished. You ask your momma and daddy, you hear? And I’ll send them Beverly’s report.”
Ned stepped to my side and helped me into my coat. “Don’t worry, Edie. We’ll take good care of her.”
Like my folks would ever in a million years agree to counseling.
“Lizbet.” It was Farah. She looked ready to cry. “You better visit me. Don’t you forget.”
I reached out and gave her a hard hug over her bulging stomach. “If I can.”
I walked to the door and realized Ned hadn’t followed me. I turned, and he was standing before Farah staring at her like he wasn’t sure what to do.
“Ned, I’m finished here. Let’s go.”
He flinched and put his attention back on me. “Of course, Lizbet. Let’s get you home.”
Steve opened the door and the crisp spring air settled over us. I pulled my jacket a bit tighter.
“Don’t forget,” Farah called after me.
Ned’s truck was waiting under the portico. He lifted my suitcase into the bed and then opened my door. I stepped up into the cab and sat down with care, trying to situate myself against the soreness.
Ned hopped into the driver’s seat. “You okay?”
I fixed my eyes ahead through the windshield, and gazed at nothing. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
Ned coughed and put the key in the ignition. The truck roared to life. “No reason. No reason at all.”
But he watched me. I could feel his eyes. I felt like I was balancing on a tightrope stretched over a cliff instead of sitting in my brother’s truck on a torn-up vinyl seat. Any tiny breeze would topple me, and I’d crash with a splat in the cavern below and no one would be able to put me together again.
My passion is writing! What could be more delicious than inventing new characters and seeing where they take you?
I’m a teacher so I spend most of my waking hours with young people. I love chatting with them and hearing their views on love and life. My students are magical, and I am honored to be part of their lives.
I’ve lived in Honduras, Grand Cayman, and Costa Rica. Presently, I live in Indiana with my husband, Paul. We have two grown children and three precious grandchildren, special delivery from Africa.
When not teaching, I love to hole up in our lake cabin and write — often with a batch of popcorn nearby. (Oh, and did I mention dark chocolate?)
I’ve always loved cowboys. In fact, Roy Rogers was my first crush…at age five. Although I’m known more for writing contemporary romantic suspense, I simply had to give in to the temptation of writing an erotic historical western romance series called Loving the Lawman. MASTERING THE MARSHAL is the third and latest book in the series. I’m currently intrigued by the lean-hipped, drop-dead sexy U.S. Deputy Marshal Raylan Givens and his take-no-prisoners attitude in the TNT cable series Justified. He’s beyond hot.
So tell me who you’re crushing on. Two lucky winners will receive an electronic copy of SEDUCING THE SHERIFF, book 1 of Loving the Lawman series.
Is she a dead ringer…or a dead woman walking?
When U.S. Deputy Marshal Sam Dunaway arrives in Kenton Valley, Texas, for a murder trial, the last thing he expects is to run into his late wife Celine. The one who supposedly died in a boarding house fire shortly after she ran off with his life savings.
Despite her Plain Jane disguise, Sam isn’t fooled. As soon as his business with the trial is finished, the woman who broke his heart will pay.
Three years ago, Celine had good reason to use Sam’s money to go into hiding—and it’s a secret she must still keep, even if it means certain arrest and imprisonment. Because coming clean risks crushing rejection.
In spite of themselves, the embers of love roar in to a passionate inferno, leaving Sam with a hell of a choice. To stick to his principles…or follow his heart.
Warning: This story contains a woman with a sewing basket full of secrets, and a highly pissed-off U.S. Marshal wants her dead or alive—though alive is better. Just sayin’.
EXCERPT:
Kenton Valley, Texas Hill Country, April 1890
U.S. Deputy Marshal Sam Dunaway opened the door to the sheriff’s office and nodded. “Sheriff Cordero Tate?”
The sheriff nodded. “Cord’ll do.” The sheriff was tall and broad shouldered and showed no signs of his prior tragedy. He rose and offered his hand.
“Marshal Dunaway,” Sam nodded and took the lawman’s hand. “I’d like to see the prisoner and how he’s housed.”
Tate stood and opened the door leading off the main room. It led to the cellblock, containing two cells. Only one was occupied. Barnes was stretched out, apparently asleep on the bunk—as if in a few days he wouldn’t be sleeping forever.
Sam turned and walked back to the outer office. “Appears you have a sturdy enough jail. Any chance the rest of his gang might try and break him out?”
“I’ve got two trustworthy deputies. Besides”—the sheriff shook his head—“the gang’s leader was killed last summer. The rest of ’em splintered after that. ’Course, you never know. Catching Barnes here was more of an accident than anything. He couldn’t resist visiting his sick mama. Thought he might show up, so we took turns keeping an eye on the Barnes homestead.”
“Smart thinking. If I’m not mistaken, you’re the one who killed their leader, Tyler?” Not to mention the sheriff’s new wife was half-sister to the ringleader. Wonder that didn’t complicate matters.
“That’s right.” Tate sat, gesturing for Sam to pull up a chair.
A man of few words. Good. Removing his Stetson, Sam hooked the toe of his boot around a chair leg, dragged it over and straddled it. Now they could get down to the business of the trial. “I need a place to hold the trial. Any suggestions?”
“Haven’t had much call for trials till now. There’s the school or the church or the saloon.”
“Good. I’ll check ’em out. Prefer a neutral ground over the saloon. Any chance we’ll find twelve sober men come trial time?”
Tate shrugged. “If you’d rather move the trial to a bigger town, it won’t hurt my feelings none.”
Sam shook his head. “I’m here to see he gets one. Don’t care if it’s fair or not. That’s up to the judge, not me.” He stood and settled the Stetson on his head. “I’ll head over to the church, then to the school. Let you know which one I decide.”
The sheriff nodded. “Any word on when the judge will arrive?”
“Few days. He’s presiding over a trial in Llano.” He headed to the door, then stopped. “The livery?”
“Livery stables are behind the boarding house at the north end of town. Miz Foley oughta be able to fix you up while you’re here.” Tate jerked his head in the direction of the cells. “She provides meals for the prisoner, and she’s a damn fine cook.”
Sam touched the brim of his hat, nodding his appreciation.
Outside, he untied and mounted his horse, then headed north, passing the general store and dry goods. He glimpsed the tall, slender figure of a woman standing in the window of the dry goods store, a sudden apparition that had him twisting around in his saddle to get a better look. But his horse had other ideas and kept heading north.
Damn. She looked familiar, so familiar his heart sped up and his mouth went dry as sand. Just the memory of their loving stiffened his prick. But it couldn’t be Celine. His wife had burned to death in a boardinghouse fire almost three years ago.
When the news of her death had finally reached him, he’d still been too angry to grieve. She never would’ve died if she’d stayed home where she belonged instead of running off with his life savings. Served the bitch right—that was what he’d thought at the time.
But now… If this woman really was Celine and not someone who was her spitting image, what he wouldn’t give to bed his wife one last time before he locked up her low-down, thieving ass.
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People say that writing is a solitary occupation and to a great extent it is. I mean, no one can do the writing for you, nor would you want them to. But it also takes a lot of research, especially for me. I am known as Miss Picky because I go to great lengths to get things right.
When I was writing Finding Julia, there were some specific scenes in the story that I needed details on. For example, there’s a cabin in the woods in Massachusetts. I had to know if there was still open land outside Boston, where it was, how much open space, all that good stuff. I managed to find a real estate agent who was willing to take time out of her busy day to answer my questions, although I think she was secretly hoping I was actually looking for property to buy.
There is also a scene at a restaurant called Harry’s House. Now this is of course a fictional place but it’s based on a real restaurant, Little Harry’s, a French colonial structure in Detroit with a lot of ambience. I lived in that city for twenty-five years and Little Harry’s was a place where Detroit’s gentrified elite as well as their Mafia elite frequently dined. Media were strictly prohibited so it was a place where people could be assured of privacy, especially with the restaurant divided into small rooms.
Unfortunately it no longer exists. Singer Anita Baker bought it and planned to turn it into a recording studio. She ran into so much resistance she built an IHop instead. Kind of like when my late husband and I went to Texarkana to see some of the historic landmarks of his ancestors and at one spot found a Taco Bell.
Oh, well.
FINDING JULIA
Can a moment of passion outlast years of secrets and misery?
Sometimes life is not fair. For Julia Patterson meeting Luke Buchanan opened the door to a new life and brought her to life as a woman. In his arms she learns for the first time how real passion and emotion can enrich your life. He claims her body with the pleasure of erotic sex and his heart with unrestricted love. But Fate was laughing at Julia, just as she is about to step over the threshold into a wonderful new life. When her almost-ex-husband Charles is diagnosed with a fatal heart condition her divorce is put on hold along with the rest of her life. Turning her back on Luke and the intense passion and emotion they shared is the most difficult thing she’s ever done. But Julia has a secret, one that Charles has discovered and uses like a club. Thirteen years later when Luke walks back into her life the passion and emotion are just as explosive as ever. Will they finally have their chance at happiness or will her secret destroy it forever?
“Our executive vice president is tied up in a meeting right now,” Howard whispered as the executive staff filed in. “He’s the one who says yea or nay. He’ll join us as soon as he can.”
Great. Would he expect her to do it all over again for him?
She sighed and began her presentation again.
It was well into the afternoon and she was pulling out copies of the proposed budget to distribute when the door to the boardroom opened quietly, and Julia’s stomach dropped to the floor. She felt as if an electric surge slammed into her, plucking at every one of her nerve endings.
The man who silently took a seat at the end of the table wasn’t necessarily handsome, but he was one hundred percent male. Liquid brown eyes were framed by the thickest lashes she had ever seen on a man. She noticed the strong jaw and the lines of character etched on an incredibly masculine face. Straight brown hair, a hint of silver reflecting in the lights, was worn just a little long, giving him a slightly rakehell look.
The classic dark business suit barely concealed the power he radiated. More than that, he exuded an aura of self, of authority, of comfort in his own skin few men were able to attain. She could think of only three words to describe him. Dark. Edgy. Dangerous. In her entire thirty years, no man had ever affected her the way this man did. Certainly not Charles. She clamped down on her reaction, forbidding herself to let her thoughts wander into forbidden territory. As she’d learned, her judgment where men were concerned left a great deal to be desired.
“Let me interrupt a moment.” Manning jumped to his feet. “Julia, meet Lucas Buchanan, our executive vice president. He’s been in another meeting until now.”
“I’m pleased you could join us, Mr. Buchanan.” Julia pasted on her professional smile and hoped her voice sounded firmer to the others than it did to her.
Lucas Buchanan nodded at her. “Luke, please. Sorry to be late. Please don’t let me interrupt.”
She struggled to pick up the threads of what she’d been saying, her brain suddenly addled, and her hands unsteady. It took every ounce of personal discipline to keep focused on her presentation.
Excerpt #2
“Let’s hope,” he muttered. “All right. Be sure to let me know how things are. I’ll be worried about you. Here. Give me your cell phone.”
She pulled it out of her purse and handed it to him. He punched some numbers and gave it back to her.
“There. My private number’s in there. I’m speed dial number one. I’ll have my phone on all the time. Call me whenever.”
“Oh, Luke.” Her voice broke and she dug deep to get control of herself. “Why couldn’t we have met fifteen years ago?”
“I don’t think we would have been ready for each other then.” He kissed her one last time, then enfolded her in his arms. “Just remember. No matter what happens in your life, you will always be mine.”
“Yes, I will.” She was fighting tears and clinging to him as if she’d never let him go before taking a step back. “Goodbye, Luke.” And then she couldn’t help herself. “I love you.” She yanked up the handle of her suitcase and nearly ran into the terminal, dragging the luggage behind her.
Julia went through check-in and security as if in a fog. She bought herself another cup of tea and sat in the waiting area, sipping at the hot liquid, hoping it would ease the sudden chill invading her. The man sitting next to her was kind enough to nudge her when the call for boarding came. She entered the plane and took her seat like a robot, buckled in and leaned her head back.
Images flashed through her mind: she and Luke dancing, bodies moving slowly to the music, their first night together, the wonder of exploring each other’s bodies, the night in the cabin, warmed by the flames of the fire, their kiss at the airport, more poignant than sensual.
What a mess. The damn divorce papers still unsigned and now she had no idea when or how they would be. Luke had said he would wait but for how long? And how would the twins handle this? Their relationship with their father left a lot to be desired yet surely this would affect them emotionally. Her life was slowly being flushed down the toilet and she was left with a very inadequate plunger. Tears begin to trickle from the corners of her eyes, and her stomach knotted.
“Excuse me.” The flight attendant was leaning towards her, over the empty seat next to her. “Forgive me for asking but is something wrong?”
“No.” Julia sniffled, then tried on a smile. “Just fighting a cold is all.”
“Can I get you anything?” The attendant was obviously concerned.
“Some hot tea would be nice, if you could. And thank you.” Maybe she could drown herself in an ocean of the stuff.
“Tea it is. Coming right up.”
She realized as she sipped the hot liquid, she would now always associate it with Luke. She hoped she would still be able to drink it without crying. The tea seemed to settle her still-jumbled stomach enough so she could relax a little, but it did nothing to rid her of the feeling of despair creeping over her.
About Desiree Holt
Known the world over as the oldest living author of erotic romance, and referred to by USA Today as the Nora Roberts of erotic romance, Desiree Holt is three times a finalist for an EPIC E-Book Award (and a winner in 2014), a nominee for a Romantic Times Reviewers Choice Award, winner of the first 5 Heart Sweetheart of the Year Award at The Romance Studio as well as twice a CAPA Award winner for best BDSM book of the year, and winner of the Holt Medallion for Excellence in Romance Literature. She has been featured on CBS Sunday Morning and in The Village Voice, The Daily Beast, USA Today, The (London) Daily Mail, The New Delhi Times and numerous other national and international publications.
“Desiree Holt is the most amazing erotica author of our time and each story is more fulfilling then the last.” (Romance Junkies)
“Desiree Holt is like the Nora Roberts of erotic romance.” USA Today Happy Ever After Blog
I just finished edits on the first book of a three-book series. I’m on top of the world about it. Strange thing is, the story was supposed to be a short story about a blind date. No more than four or five pages in an anthology. But that’s not what the characters wanted.
As I started writing the story, ideas popped into my head about each character’s past. Who was the main character, Heath Firestone? What happened in his life to keep him single and uninterested in dating at thirty-five years old? Who really is this mysterious man, Anton Barrett, and why did Heath’s co-worker Violet set him up with three disasters before introducing Anton?
As the writing continued, I felt like Heath was in my head directing the story, and it quickly passed the usual word count for a short story. Thus, the first book of the Golden Scepter series was born. Heath ended up the target of a fifty year conspiracy to wipe out his family. Gun fights, treasure hunt, the Orient Express, and a hidden chamber in the catacombs of Salzburg flew from my fingers at Heath’s direction onto the virtual page.
Then a new villain, Justin Pennington, pushed the story further into book two, another full novel. I’ve just finished that one and am going back to fill in anything Justin and Heath missed. But both are still there, making sure I don’t change the essence of their tale.
And I can already hear the characters clamoring to be heard for book three. It’s amazing to me how these stories keep coming, all from a quick idea about a blind date. Some of my editors have commented about putting Heath through all his trials and tribulations in the first book, but the reality for me is Heath told me his story and wanted me to write it. I can hardly wait to see what the real outcome of the full story is. While the idea is already complete in my mind, Heath has been throwing me surprises and loops as I put the words onto my screen.
Bring it on, Heath. Tell me another story.
****
Brent Archer started writing in 2011 at the urging of his cousins. He’s published in several anthologies, and will celebrate his first cover with his own name on it on October 3rd with the release of his story Halfway Out of the Dark with MuseItHot. You’ll be able to read about Heath’s story starting in Spring 2015 with the release of The Bastard’s Key as the first book of the Golden Scepter series. Visit Brent at his website www.brentarcher.net or follow him on Twitter @brentarcherwrit.
In late 2012, Ashleigh Raine kinda fell off the planet. Or at least it looked that way. For the past two years, we (we meaning Jen and Lisa, the authors who write together under the penname Ashleigh Raine), have been on an amazing, electric adventure—one we’ll soon be able to share with all of you. See, we’ve added new titles to our resumes. Not only are we writers, but we’re also the creators and producers of the upcoming romantic paranormal web series, Necrolectric.
Necrolectric tells the story of a woman named Eve who is struggling with her mysterious need to constantly die and come back to life. She begins to unravel the truth of who she really is when she teams up with a young woman who relives others’ deaths (Z), a young man who talks to ghosts (Jax), a cursed immortal (Alaric), and his electrically charged brother (Cas) to solve a series of supernatural murders.
For those of you who’ve read our Talisman Bay series, Necrolectric is actually a spin-off from this world. In summer 2012, we were working on the long-overdue third book in the series, Eternal Talisman, and were introducing two new characters, immortal brothers Alaric and Cas, who we became so enamored with we were afraid they’d take over the Talisman Bay series. So we decided to give them a book series of their own, which we promptly plotted out. Little did we know at that time that we were going to be approached to create and write a web series, and that our planned book series was going to become a web series too.
We’ll be announcing some exciting news soon, as well as the online launch date of the first season. We hope those of you who love paranormal romance, and shows like Vampire Diaries, Lost Girl, Teen Wolf, Supernatural, Sleepy Hollow and other sexy paranormal offerings, will check out Necrolectric. And watch for the book version, Electric Rush, to come out in early 2015. In the meantime, how about a tantalizing taste of what’s to come?
Follow us on social media so you don’t miss out on the upcoming announcements about the show. Spark up!
It’s the question we all get. For some authors, the characters speak to them. Unfortunately, I don’t have voices in my head. It’s just me up there talking to myself. 🙂
Inspiration comes from anything that captures your interest or tweaks your imagination in some small way. And generally, once the idea gets in there, it refuses to leave. Hmm. Maybe it’s an infestation?
Do you listen to music? Look a photos or paintings? Watch videos? Listen to the news? People watching is an awesome activity. Maybe the young couple arguing in the park grabs your attention and you start to wonder what they’re fighting about. Or you see a young woman sitting all alone at the bus stop looking incredibly sad. Did she lose her job, lose a friend? It could come from a story you read—something in the same theme, but you envision a very different plot and outcome. It could be a scrumptious meal you just ate and you begin to envision the sexy cook back in the kitchen wondering if he’ll ever meet the woman of his dreams. What about the conversation you overheard between two people in front of you at Starbucks. At the time you stifled a giggle about the topic of discussion, but it’s stuck on repeat in your head until the idea for a story comes together. Perhaps it’s a real life event that affected you deeply and you need to write about it to purge yourself of your emotions.
I took a fantastic course a few years ago. We had to search for five articles from newspapers. The stories had to be odd. They could be strange odd or funny odd. Each week we chose one of the stories and then wrote a scene inspired by the chosen article. The scenes varied in length and they varied in genre. We brought our work back to the class, told them about the original article and what about it in particular inspired the story. Sometimes it was the theme, or simply a sentence or an emotion it invoked. Sometimes, it was difficult to make the connection between the article and the story the author created, but something in how they interpreted that story sparked an idea for them.
For me, it’s usually something I’ve see or read. A great cover will spark an idea. I let the image sink into my mind and from there the story unfolds. I look at submission calls. The publisher or editor provides the nugget for inspiration and then I run away and create a story, taking it in whichever direction I choose. I don’t even necessarily submit that story to that particular requestor. They were simply the conduit for the idea. Somebody or something somewhere, somehow plants the seed. Then we make it grow.
In my debut novella, Worth the Risk, a submission call prodded me to write a story, but the inspiration came from my real life. In Friend with Benefits, the idea was sparked by something a friend said, but my backyard was the inspiration for the scenery. In my upcoming release, Sliding into Home, the idea was sparked by a trip to Las Vegas and a bride I saw in one of the casinos.
The possibilities are endless. Look around. Watch. Listen. Touch. Read. Use every sense, open your eyes, clean out your ears, but be discrete when you’re eavesdropping LOL! Inspiration is everywhere.
I get my ideas mostly from things I see or read about. Where do you get your ideas from?
Sliding into Home, A New League Series (Book 1) By Anne Lange Genre: Contemporary Erotic Romance Release Date: October 17, 2014, Available for Pre-Order Now Publisher: Totally Bound Publishing Word Count: 37,827 words Heat Level: Hot
Can an injured ex ball player convince the woman he wakes up married to in Las Vegas to take a second chance on him?
After spending the last four months drowning his sorrows over the end of his baseball career, Jack Bishop finds himself winging through the blue skies to Las Vegas, not so ready to spend the weekend with some woman his best friend set him up with. He expects a paid escort. What he gets is the woman he walked away from ten years ago to pursue his passion, and she’s not very happy to see him.
Devyn Tate believes she’s quite capable of finding somebody to take her out to dinner. She’s no longer looking for a lifelong promise. She has a commitment only to her battery-operated toy to fulfill that particular need. Yet her friends have managed to talk her into spending the weekend in Las Vegas, on a blind date of all things. They promise the guy is trustworthy. They insist that she should have fun. Unfortunately, fun is not what she envisions when she discovers Jack Bishop lying on the floor of her suite in nothing but his underwear that’s on backward, and she has a wedding ring on her finger.
Available for Pre-Order September 5th (from Totally Bound) Early Download: September 19th (from Totally Bound) General Release: October 17th
Shoes are her addiction, but books are her passion. Anne Lange grew up with a love for reading. If you take a close look, she’s got either a book, her Kindle or her Kobo—maybe all three—tucked into her bag or a pocket when she leaves the house. You know, just in case there’s time to sneak in a chapter or ten. Anne reads many genres of romance, but prefers to write sexy stories, often with a dash of humor, and usually with a side of those sinful pleasures your mom never told you about.
Oh, and always a happily ever after.
While embarking on this wild journey of becoming a romance author, Anne juggles a full time job and a family. Not always successfully. Who needs a clean house every day? And what’s wrong with cereal for dinner? She lives in Ontario, Canada with her wonderfully supportive husband, three awesome kids who are growing up way too fast, and Rocky the bearded dragon.
‘Tis the season… of ghosts, witches, curses and supernatural mysteries.
I just finished edits on the first book of a three-book series. I’m on top of the world about it. Strange thing is, the story was supposed to be a short story about a blind date. No more than four or five pages in an anthology. But that’s not what the characters wanted.
