Psst! Yesterday’s winner is named at the top of yesterday’s post! ~DD
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New Release, Contest, and Book Giveaway!
Thank you, Delilah. It’s a pleasure to be a guest on your blog. I’m Randi Alexander and I write cowboy erotic romance. I’m published with The Wild Rose Press’ Cowboy Kink line. My second Cowboy Kink, Her Cowboy Stud, was released March 23.
It feels rather odd to be blogging about erotic romance on Easter Sunday, but I’m up to the challenge! We do celebrate Easter, a holiday to gather with community and family. The kids, though, love searching the house to find where the Easter Bunny left their baskets full of candy.
Since then kids are now ten (Miss Fussy,) eight (Little Man,) and six (Pink,) we enjoy finding creative and hard-to-find places to hide the baskets. Taped underneath the kitchen table, hung amidst the coats in the foyer closet, or inside the air intake grate.
We’ve found a way to get the kids to work together to find them. We mark each basket with either a circle, a triangle, or a square. Once all three baskets have been found, we let them know which one is theirs. That way it becomes a team project.
A few years ago, we had the brilliant idea of giving the kids a rabbit. First off, one tiny bunny rabbit and three kids—the little fluff ball was held so much that first week, I don’t think his tiny paws ever touched solid ground. Because he was tan and white, the kids settled on the name, Butterfinger Blizzard. (Blizzard for short.)
We built a big pen for Blizzard by the garden where the kids could hang out with him and feed him early spring vegetables. The day we thinned out the garden, we set all the culled seedlings in his pen, thinking it would take him a week to get through all of them.
What we didn’t realize is that rabbits will eat everything in front of them, especially if it’s fresh veggies. Two hours later the kids ran in the house, yelling, “Blizzard turned into a basketball.” Sure enough, the poor thing looked like a furry, multi-colored blimp. It took another day for his belly to return to normal size. Lesson learned!
Another year, my brother gave us three chicks. Rhode Island Reds. Tiny little things that the kids named Birdchick, Dog Face Peep, and Colonel (after KFC’s founder.) After a few weeks, we decided to return them to my brother’s farm and keep visitation rights. We don’t know exactly what happened to the three Rhodies, but I imagine the KFC scenario is probably accurate.
I’m laughing right now as I look out the window and watch Little Man using his remote control Jeep to chase Pink around on the trampoline. They’re very good at finding ways to amuse themselves, but I’m thinking their lives would be much enriched if we try the animal surprise again this Easter.
Will I be able to talk hubby into another addition to our family? Every kid needs a puppy, right? Wish me luck!
I’d love to hear your stories of Easter baskets hidden in bizarre places, or gifts of animals that either didn’t work out well or did work out and have made a difference in your life. Leave a comment for your chance to win an e-book!
Trace McGonagall’s quiet life on his Houston stud ranch is shaken up when gorgeous Macy Veralta arrives to claim an inheritance left to her in his uncle’s will. Trace sees her as just another gold digger, but he also can’t resist her curvy body. When she hints at being the perfect submissive to his Dom, he has to have her.
Macy wouldn’t have been three months late to claim her inheritance if she’d known Trace was sin in jeans. The cowboy’s dominant bearing and the smoldering glint in his eyes send shivers to her toes and stirs images of being bound in his bed and disciplined at his hand. But could Trace’s perfect seduction be part of his plan to reclaim her inheritance?
EXCERPT: I chose a romantic excerpt today, but if you’re in the mood for more spicy, the first chapter of the book is on my website.
Pulling Macy on top of him, Trace grinned. “You won the bet. Anything you want is yours. You just need to ask.” His heart gradually slowed to normal while his body tingled with a major afterglow.
She kissed his shoulder. “Anything?” Her voice purred.
He pulled a pillow under his head to look down at her, combed his fingers through her soft hair. He would give her anything. His house, his horse, his heart. “Name it.” Read the rest of this entry »
I wrote my first romance novel about a million years ago. Since then I’ve penned thirty others, and I’ve loved every one of them. But eventually, when my kids ran away from home (a.k.a. grew up) I decided to try writing some other things. A lot of other things. I wrote a story about a talking cat (weird). I did a twisted Cinderella story (sad). I believe there was even an odd little tale about a Martian (super weird). Not to mention a host of other “stellar” ideas.
Meanwhile, I was in the market for a new agent. One of those agents read through my string of masterpieces like a real trooper, gave me a call, and informed me that she could sell the mystery. The mystery! The mystery? I was pretty sure I hadn’t written a mystery. I went through the list in my mind, made sure my talking cat wasn’t a mystery pet and said, “That’s great. That’s fantastic. Ummm, in your opinion, which one do you think might be a mystery?” She replied, “Unzipped.”
Hmmm, Unzipped wasn’t a mystery. It was about Christina McMullen, a sassy psychologist who has an ongoing love/hate relationship with sexy police lieutenant Jack Rivera. I wasn’t exactly sure what it was…maybe a romantic suspense or a chicklit or a…mystery? Okay. Well, thought I cleverly, if she could sell it as a mystery…then a mystery it was.
That was seven years ago. Bantam published Unzipped in 2005. Since then there have been six other Chrissy McMullen novels. Uncorked was just released, and after all this time I’m still not sure it’s a mystery. I mean, we have a feisty female lead looking for love in all the wrong places. We have a cop with a lot of attitude and a great assss…spect on life. We have romance, sexy dialogue, and secondary characters that I adore. Then again we do have a pretty healthy body count by the end of each book. So you tell me, is it a romance or is it a mystery?
I’m giving away an Amazon gift card to one much appreciated commenter.
Here’s a little video to help you decide about the genre.
And a small clue: Francois is actually a battery-run device that has appeared in several books and sometimes gives us quotes. I can’t resist snarky battery-run devices.
One of my favorite people on the planet is this lady, Cathryn Fox. We’ve known each other for years and have shared space in anthologies. She’s an all-round good person with a great book coming out next Tuesday, April 10th!
Public relations specialist Allison Cooper is more than ready to handle a career make-or-break assignment: to develop and market a charity calendar featuring hot men. Her only problem is Mr. July, a sexy cop who happens to be her ex-lover.
Trying to keep his image squeaky clean a must for her promotion raises all sorts of challenges, especially when this bad boy is throwing a little kink into her plan.
Image is the last thing on Carter James’s mind. He agreed to be Mr. July on one condition that during his promo month, Allison never leaves his side. He wants her back, and to make that happen he needs her undivided attention to teach him good from bad. Unless bad is what the lady wants
After excusing herself, she made her way into the back room, stopping at a few tables along the way to chat with her old friends. Happiness welled up inside her as she took a quick moment to catch up with the boys. She really did miss this place, and these men.
In the back she found Madison racking the balls, and Blaine had disappeared into the crowd. She couldn’t help but think that was a good thing. Unlike Carter who’d joined the force right out of high school, Blaine had joined later in life, and Carter always seemed agitated around the new rookie. Allison always assumed it had something to do with her, and the fact that she and Blaine went way back.
As she spoke quietly to Madison, detailing the events for next week’s launch at the beach, she could feel Carter’s eyes on her. It rattled her more than she liked to admit.
What would you do if a killer were hunting you? What if you’re child was the target? What if the killer was someone you knew?
What’s it like to look into the mind of a killer?
Ask any author who writes dark, romantic suspense and they’ll tell you, it ain’t no walk in the park at times.
I think even for writers who create fictitious killers it’s still a little disturbing to consider that there are really such depraved people living in the world amongst us. To make a believable killer you have to do your homework.
To quote Friedrich Nietzsche: He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.
For me, I love to watch Forensic Files and 48 Hours Mystery on TV. You can gain a great deal of knowledge into the mind of a killer simply by studying old case files. I know it’s certainly been insightful for me.
So why do people kill? Well, most psychologists will tell you there are two fundamental reasons someone will take another life.
Love and money.
Both truly are the root of all things evil.
But there is another type of killer that is far more evil and cunning than all the others. He’s extremely intelligent. He can blend into society well enough to be your co-worker, your high school English teacher. Your neighbor next door. He lacks anything resembling a conscience. He’s a sociopath known as the serial killer.
The FBI estimates that today there are some 50 active serial killers working among us in the US alone. That’s a frightening statistic to consider.
For me, writing about the dark side of romance is both rewarding and challenging. The characters I create leave their mark on you and make it hard to move on to the next story.
And if they’re really chilling, they make it hard to sleep with the lights off at night.
“The best things are nearest: breath in your nostrils, light in your eyes, flowers at your feet, duties at your hand, the path of God just before you. Then do not grasp at the stars, but do life’s plain, common work as it comes, certain that daily duties and daily bread are the sweetest things of life.” -Robert Louis Stevenson
I’d like to pause a moment and ask this question: what things are necessary for us to have a peaceful, drama-less life this week? Today?
It’s been my observation that the great dramas of life take our attention: shenanigans in politics, rudeness on the net, which artist died this week with whom we had no personal acquaintance but an abundance of feeling – these things become real for us, immediate, because they engage our emotions.
But not our brains. The checkbook that needs balancing, the tax deadline looming, the editing of a manuscript, the folding of laundry – these are the things that truly require our attention but that, because they are not accompanied by a ring tone or a twitter feet, become neglected.
Here are my thoughts that apply to my own daily round, but that I thought I would share for others in the hope that they, too, might find them relevant. Five things, when done daily, can change the tenor of our week.
1. Put things away when you’re done with them. If you have books out, put them back on the shelf. Put the shoes in the closet or by the door. End tasks, so that when you’re done, they feel done.
2. Floss your teeth. We all know we should do it, but how many of us do? Be honest now. If we called our dentist and made an appointment today, would they be amazed at what they found? Or would they want you to brush before they touched you?
3. Smile at everyone you meet. If you ride transit, smile at the conductor. Smile at the receptionist, or the checker at the store. Smile even if you have to fake it – and if you do have to fake it, make sure to include your eyes in it. Really make it a smile to be memorable and see what happens.
4. Eat your vegies. We know we should, but how many have you eaten today? Doctors recommend between five and nine servings every day, and those should be from the five different color groups.
5. Take a walk. Even a twenty minute walk can change our relationship to our bodies and to the day.
What do you do to maintain the sanity of your daily round? I’d love to know.
A. Catherine Noon and Rachel Wilder BlogWebsite
Check out BURNING BRIGHT, available now from Samhain Publishing.
Watch for EMERALD FIRE, coming soon from Torquere Publishing.
If you’d asked me this question a few years ago, when I started writing my snarky, kick-butt heroine Astra Q Phelps, I’d have said, absolutely not! But now, I’m not so sure. I’m currently reading a series by a very talented author whose heroine is so strong she has no time for, or real interest in, the hero. Huh? Now, granted, this is an urban fantasy series and romance isn’t a necessary component in UF, but the author introduced the romance, she put it out there, and IMHO, her heroine is dropping the ball with it.
This heroine is so strong she believes she can and should do everything herself. That’s not really the most attractive or interesting trait in a character. Especially since it’s obvious she can’t! I, as a reader, enjoy seeing a little vulnerability in a heroine. It gives her depth and enables me to relate to her. Besides, there’s so much opportunity for insight into characters when they interact with each other. Without this interaction the author is forced to go inside the character’s head to flesh her out for the reader. Bleurgh!
This leads us right down the thorny path to angst.
Sure enough, in the course of not needing anyone else, this character is constantly mired down by personal angst. My least favorite thing in a heroine. Yes, a story needs some angst, but when the plot, key relationships, and romance are mired in it, it’s not a good thing. In my opinion as a reader, a character should occasionally have brief moments of introspection, learn from them, and then move on to complete her destiny.
Yup, my dirty little secret is out…I live in a no wallowing zone. 🙂
I don’t want to read about a character who does it all and doesn’t need anyone else. It’s kind of sad. And it makes for very one dimensional reading. I love a strong heroine, but I also want her to recognize that she has needs she can’t fulfill on her own. I want her to need her hero. I mean, we can certainly survive all alone in the world, but why would we want to? And when you have a perfectly good hero standing there, all hawt and interesting, why wouldn’t you put him to good use? I mean, let’s not confuse strength with stupidity, ladies!
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“Sam Cheever does it again in a thrilling tale that features one of my favorite heroines of all time. Astra is a perfect blend of our favorite champions for justice. She’s a healer, a lover, a fighter, and sometimes just a big softie. Her never give up attitude and ability to kick some serious trash has endeared her to me throughout this series.” ~ The Romance Studio
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The Devil You Know – Good versus Evil has never been this much fun!
Astra Q. Phelps is turning twenty-five in a few months and she’s starting to feel the effects of her Settling, the time when a half angel, half devil Tweener decides whether to embrace her dark nature or her light.
The delectable Dialle, king of the Royal devils, really needs Astra’s help in Hell to deal with an insurrection. But Astra’s Settling pretty much has her thinking of only one thing—S.E.X.!
Sex with Dialle, sex with her yummy partner Emo, sex with a molten-hot dragon slayer she meets along the way, and sex with assorted other randy Royals cavorting among the fires of Hell. It’s a constant struggle just to keep her mind and body pure so she can concentrate on the business at hand, but Astra Q Phelps is definitely up for the challenge.
Astra Q Phelps gave her boyfriend a magic hickey. Usually not a world-changing issue. But in Astra’s case, her boyfriend is king of the Royal Devils. And Royals have always thought that only males could mark their mates. So how did she do it? Even Astra doesn’t know. That’s the first of her problems.
Now somebody’s trying to kill the naturally curious Astra, which is always a problem.
Thirdly, there’s Slayer. He’s shown up on Astra’s turf and wants her to hire him. Given their undeniable sexual chemistry, that’s probably not going to go over well with her boyfriend. Not to mention that he’s got some baggage that’s gonna come back to bite Astra big time.
Add in the nearly constant sexual need caused by her Settling and you have a whole lot of stuff for Astra Q Phelps to handle. But, as you probably know by now, she’s definitely up to the challenge.
When I was five my Kindergarten teacher pulled my mother aside to tell her it was a damn shame her charming daughter was so retarded; she would probably never learn to read and certainly would never be able to write.
What the teacher failed to take into account was the fact that we come from extraordinarily stubborn stock, my mother and I. Immediately Mom began studying child development and brain patterns, researching everything she could about learning disabilities. She convinced me that my challenges were actually a gift—the ability to look upon the world through new, fresh eyes. I wasn’t stupid or weird, she told me. I simply marched to the beat of a different drummer.
The real gift I’d been given was a mother who refused to see limitations. She taught me to love a challenge and never give up. She taught me to dream bigger and hold tighter than common rationality would recommend.
These lessons came in real handy when I decided I wanted to be a writer. Not because I couldn’t tell the difference between a 3 and an E. Or a p and a q. Or an S and a 5. Or the fact that letters and numbers rarely had the courtesy to hold still long enough for me to make sense of them. I figured all that out by learning to memorize patterns. (A three rarely appears in a word, for example.)
Nope. Mom’s lessons on perseverance came in handy because writing—and the quest to be published—quite frankly, was the toughest challenge I ever took on. Tougher even than pushing out an eleven pound baby.
I wanted to be published, be an author, so bad I could taste it. But that brass ring seemed always just out of reach.
There were times, more than I can count, when I thought I was nuts for wanting such a thing or hoping for such a thing or dreaming of such a crazy crazy thing. There were times—when I found an idiotic mistake in a manuscript I’d read a hundred fricking times—when I thought, perhaps that Kindergarten teacher had been right. Doubt lived with me, every day. Steeped itself in my teapot. Soaked in my bath.
But I’d remember Mom, pushing me forward, encouraging me, daring me to try, and I’d keep going. And I’d roll another sheet into the typewriter (metaphorically speaking).
I read voraciously and when I wasn’t analyzing someone else’s prose, I was writing. Composing. Plotting. Experimenting. Creating. I wrote an epic fantasy novel (topping out at 175,000-words), a sci-fi horror, an animated children’s book, a middle grade about a dyslexic dragon, women’s fiction, men’s fiction, screenplays and romances by the score. None of them sold. Once I discovered it, a steamy Delilah Devlin in fact, erotic romance became my drug of choice.
Probably not what my mother intended, but there you have it.
I started entering contests. Started winning. Before long, I was addicted. Ironically, this didn’t increase my confidence as a writer, because I never sold, and all that really mattered to me was selling. But contests were fun. They made me feel like a writer. Like I was doing something.
I guess that’s all it takes sometimes. Doing something.
If you read the Secret (and didn’t we all?), you understand that concrete action can set up ripples in the universe. And even if it doesn’t, it’s nice to think that it does.
It’s nice to think that doing something, does something.
And it does. It gives us a sense of power. A sense of control over the universe, or at least our tiny corner of it. And after a while, those little somethings we do in pursuit of our dreams pile up. Gain momentum.
I entered hundreds of contests in my career and, to the chagrin of my fellow contest whores, won a lot. (Sold not). But it only takes one. One winning lottery ticket, one dream come true. One editor or agent who likes the order in which you throw words onto paper.
In November of 2011, I got an e-mail from an editor at Ellora’s Cave asking, very politely, if she could please acquire my book, which she had received as the result of the Novella’s Need Love Too contest sponsored by the Celtic Hearts chapter of Romance Writers of America. (I said yes.) In December she bought the second book and in January, another. In February she snapped up the fourth.
Maybe my life is destined to be a feast or famine proposition.
I’m okay with that.
I walk away with another lesson. A new lesson: Sometimes mulishly pursuing your dreams feels like a folly. And sometimes, just every so often, it doesn’t. Every so often, dreams do come true.
And perhaps every so often is enough.
As long as you don’t quit. Never give up. Never surrender.
Sabrina York’s very first novel ever comes out April 4, 2012 from Ellora’s Cave. It’s a hot & sexy erotic romance called Adam’s Obsession. Read an excerpt and check out the awesome cover at www.SabrinaYork.com. You can follow Sabrina on Twitter @sabrina_york.
I wrote my first romance novel about a million years ago. Since then I’ve penned thirty others, and I’ve loved every one of them. But eventually, when my kids ran away from home (a.k.a. grew up) I decided to try writing some other things. A lot of other things. I wrote a story about a talking cat (weird). I did a twisted Cinderella story (sad). I believe there was even an odd little tale about a Martian (super weird). Not to mention a host of other “stellar” ideas.
