Nicole McCaffrey

Best Present Ever!

2011-11-26T00:01:00.001-05:00

Our blog hop continues today so please don't forget to stop by my friends' blogs and leave a comment for a chance to win a prize.

Caroline Clemmons

Susan Macatee

Isabel Roman

Today I'm giving away a free download of my historical western Wild Texas Wind to one lucky commenter.

So what is your best present ever? Not necessarily one you've received, after all we know it's better to give so you can answer it either way--what's your best present ever, given or received?

This one is an easy one for me. Nine years and a handful of days ago I received the best birthday present ever. My son!

What's even more amazing is he was a complete surprise. Oh I knew I was pregnant, LOL, there was no doubt about that. But practically from the first weeks of my pregnancy he was larger than average and I was told to expect him to come early. His due date was November 19; my birthday is November 22nd. I never once dreamed he'd decide to wait and share it with me.

About a week before Halloween after a routine exam the doctor told me to go home and make sure my bags were packed and everything was ready. the baby was in positron and would probably come soon.

So I went home. Packed my bags. And waited. Halloween came and went, and still no baby. The first week of November stretched into the next and so on.

Throughout all this, I had terrible Braxton Hicks, or false labor pains, so when November 21 dawned and I was nauseous and twingy, I assumed it was Braxton Hicks again. Now two days past my due date and horrendously uncomfortable, I was beside myself wondering when this baby would ever come. Sleep was next to impossible no matter how exhausted I was (I was caring for a busy 2 1/2 year old after all). I remember at one point looking Heavenward and saying a quick prayer for it to be soon. (Actually it was more like a desperate "Would you come on and get this baby born, I can't take it anymore!!!!")

An hour later we were on the way to the hospital with me in active labor--talk about answered prayers LOL. A little after 11 pm I was settled into the hospital bed when the nurse asked how old I was. I glanced at the clock and said "well, give it another hour or so and that will change." Then and only then did it occur to me that I was going to have a baby on my birthday. That should have been a clue to me that this is one kid with a mind of his own--believe me, that hasn't changed, LOL.

Nine years later, he's still the best gift ever. Best of all he doesn't mind sharing a birthday with his mom. I have made certain from the beginning that he has his own cake (no cheating and putting both our names on one cake!) so he feels it's "his" day and not just "our" day. And since I have some experience with this birth date, I enjoy showing him the ropes (rule number one: do not turn on the news that morning or you'll hear how many years ago in Dallas it was since JFK was killed. Not a great way to start your day) and have promised him even when Thanksgiving falls on his birthday, he'll still get his favorite birthday cake (yes, my mom tried the "stick the candle in the pumpkin pie" trick one year hoping I wouldn't notice that they'd forgotten to bake me a birthday cake; it didn't work LOL).

If there's a downside, it's that there is always a lot of cake in my house by the time Thanksgiving rolls around so I have a fridge full of leftover goodies tempting me.

And of course, you have to feel for my husband. Not only can he never again claim to have "forgotten" my birthday ...but no matter what gift he picks out, he'll never top the one he gave me in 2002.

So now you've heard about my best gift ever. What's yours?

Black Friday? Not me, No Way!

2011-11-25T00:01:00.002-05:00

I'm blog hopping today with some of my friends from the Scandalous Victorians. Please be sure to stop by their blogs and leave a comment for a chance to win one of their great prizes. I'll be giving away a prize myself--Friday's prize is a free download of my contemporary Christmas story Small Town Christmas; Saturday I'll be giving away a copy of my western historical Wild Texas Wind.

So did you get up early this morning and head out in the dark, bitter cold to stand in line and wait for a deal? Or did you enjoy your day off (if you were lucky enough to have one) and snuggle in your nice warm bed for as long as you could get away with?

I fall into the latter category. I can't imagine what it would take to drag me out of bed in the middle of the night to go fight crowds and wait in line for an item that may not even be available by the time I get to the advertised department. I spent a number of years working in retail in my early twenties and while the Black Friday craziness wasn't nearly as bad as it is now, I still recall what it was like working that day. Pushing and shoving and lots of cranky people. It made it hard to feel the spirit of the season, at least for me.

I think part of the reason I don't want to participate --especially with stores that are open on Thanksgiving Day--is I hate to contribute to people not being able to spend the holidays with their families. Since I wouldn't want to be one of those employees who has to leave the holiday table to head to bed so they can get up for work in the middle of the night, I don't feel right supporting stores that open on Thanksgiving--even if they don't open until midnight. Silly I suppose since my own little protest surely won't make a difference.

So how about you? How do you spend your Black Friday? Shopping til you drop? Or sleeping in?

Please be sure to stop by my friends' blogs and leave a comment for a chance to win prizes!

Caroline Clemmons

Susan Macatee

Isabel Roman

Blogging at RomCon today

2011-11-16T09:41:00.000-05:00

Please stop by and visit me at RomCon today. I'm blogging about a subject near and dear to my heart... my 2010 TWRP release Wild Texas Wind.

If you've popped over here from RomCon looking for more WTW, here is the sneak peek of the prologue through chapter two I promised. Enjoy!

Prologue

San Antonio, Texas

Spring 1884

“Brought you some towels, sugar.”

Raz Colt leaned back in the steaming bath water with a deep sigh. Life didn’t get much better than this. A cigar in one hand, a glass of fine bourbon in the other, and a pretty little dove for this evening’s pleasure. As she closed the door behind her, muffling the sound of piano music from downstairs, the cloying aroma of cheap perfume wrapped around him.

He took a sip of the bourbon and sighed again as the smooth liquid warmed his gullet. The past month had been busy as hell. He’d helped a friend clear his name of a brutal murder charge and brought the real killer to justice, then stuck around Colorado just long enough to make sure they hanged the bastard. He’d even provided a new rope for the occasion. It wasn’t often his chosen profession of hired gun brought him such personal satisfaction.

Betty Lou, or whatever her name was, inched closer, pausing long enough to refill his drink before taking the stool beside the tub. Dressed only in a camisole and pantalets, she had curves in all the right places plus a few extra, he noted with appreciation. A man liked a little something to hold onto in bed.

She trailed a finger in the bath water. “Want me to wash your back?”

He smiled languidly as the bourbon washed through him. “Darlin’, you can wash anything you’d like.”

He’d been riding for weeks, heading straight to Texas after finishing up in Colorado. For no reason other than a sudden yearning to see his home state. After all that time on the trail, he was more than saddle sore, with aches in places a man didn’t like to think about.

She giggled a little too much at his comment, but he didn’t mind. He sat forward, careful not to get the cigar wet or spill his drink, while she dipped a cloth in the water and lathered it with a spicy, exotic-smelling soap. Damn near anything would smell better than the fine layer of trail dust he’d come in with.

“So,” she said, gently applying the hot cloth to his back, “you new in town or just passing through?”

He closed his eyes, groaning as the heat penetrated aching muscles. Tired and sore as he was, she’d be lucky if she got a rise out of him before he fell asleep. “Ain’t decided that yet. What would you suggest, sweet thing?”

“Stay, sugar, stay,” she cooed. “If you’re lookin’ for a good meal, Ma’s Place up the street is the best. And if you’re lookin’ for work, try the Triple H.”

He slumped back against the tub as she moved around to the front, soaping his neck and chest. “Triple H?”

“It’s the biggest spread around. H.H. O’Hara’s the richest man in these parts. He’s always lookin’ for help.”

Raz took another sip of his drink then clenched the cigar between his teeth. Ranching. He’d tried that once. Didn’t pay nearly as well as hiring out his gun. And he’d never been one for taking orders.

Betty Lou—or was it Linda Sue?—dipped the cloth again. “Want me to wash your hair?”

The bath was included with the price of the woman. He’d always had clean habits, but he supposed half the men waiting in the parlor downstairs had no use for soap. “Why not?”

She ladled warm water over his hair, then lathered the soap between her practiced hands. “I ain’t never seen hair like yours before,” she purred. “It’s so black, it’s nearly blue. You Indian or somethin’, sugar?”

“Might be.” The fact that his mother was half Mexican, half Indian while his father was white wasn’t something he cared to discuss.

Betty Lou seemed to realize she’d hit a nerve. She slid closer, massaging soapy fingers over his scalp. “I think it’s real handsome.”

Through partially lowered lids, Raz noted with pleasure the gentle sway of her bosom as she scrubbed. She’d gotten damp while washing his back, and the camisole clung to her like a second skin. Rosy nipples, outlined against the wet material, practically begged for his attention. Her breasts were mere inches from his mouth, close enough to easily…

Of course, he’d have to set either the drink or the cigar aside to do that. He chose instead to simply watch, anticipating the pleasure ahead.

“Tell me more about this H.H. O’Hara.”

“Oh, the poor man,” Betty Lou sighed. “His daughter’s been kidnapped. I hear he’s right beside hi’self with grief.”

“Does he know who did it?”

She ladled rinse water over his hair. “They left a ransom note, but H.H. ain’t one to be told what to do. So he’s offerin’ a lot of money to the first man that brings his little girl back alive. With her virtue intact.”

“Her virtue?”

Betty Lou pressed a towel to his sodden hair. “H.H. don’t want nobody touchin’ his baby girl. That’s why he’s offerin’ such a big reward.”

Reward? He bolted upright in the tub, sloshing water over the sides with the sudden movement. Removing the cigar, he turned his full attention to Betty Lou. “How big?”

She moved behind him to knead the muscles in his back. “I hear’d tell it was ten thousand dollars.”

Drink midway to his lips, he paused. Ten thousand dollars?

Without a word, he handed Betty Lou the glass and rose from the tub. He felt her curious stare as he slid on trousers over still-dripping skin. Grabbing his gun belt, he strapped it on, then went for his boots. He shrugged into his shirt without bothering to turn it right side out or button it, rummaged through his trouser pockets for a handful of eagles and pressed them into Betty Lou’s palm. “This should take care of you for the rest of the night.”

His fallen angel looked downright disappointed, red-painted lips pouting prettily. “Where you goin’, sugar?”

Raz dropped his hat on over wet hair, then bent to place the cigar between her parted lips. “Triple H.” With a wink he strode toward the door. “Whiskey, women, and a fine cigar go a long way to make a man feel comfortable, but only one thing keeps a man warm at night, darlin’.”

She gave a huff of indignation and put a hand to one rounded hip. “What’s that?”

He tipped his hat to her and opened the door. “Money.”

Chapter One

Ten Days Later

New Mexico Territory

“You call this crap food?”

Raz Colt listened patiently to the tirade coming from the line shack he’d discovered late last night.

“I wouldn’t slop hogs with it!”

A sound suspiciously like a pot hitting a wall echoed in the calm morning air.

He shifted position. He’d been lying on the dusty ground below the window since last night. With the promise of H.H. O’Hara’s reward still fresh in his mind, he would spend an entire damn week this way if he had to. The sagebrush provided shelter from both the sun and any lookouts who might be around. He hoped to hell the men he’d leaned on for information and the trail he’d followed had led him to the right place.

A shriek of female fury pierced the quiet, echoed around him and bounced off the canyon walls. “I told you I needed a firmer bed. My back is killing me!”

“No, no, señorita.” Something banged against the wall, followed by shattering glass.

“I expect to be cared for better than this!”

Raz rolled his eyes at the stream of expletives that followed. She cursed her male companion, his mother, his future children, the entire country. Christ, she knew words even he didn’t say out loud.

This couldn’t be the “baby” H.H. O’Hara was so convinced “might just wither up and die” if she wasn’t treated “delicate like.”

He resisted the urge to have a look inside. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to recognize Arden O’Hara from her father’s description; the big man had been blubbering so hard the other night he’d been almost incoherent. Guilt was a powerful thing, Raz supposed. H.H. had refused to meet the kidnappers’ demands and hadn’t heard from them a second time. The rancher feared he’d done the wrong thing and would never again see his daughter. Averse to paying the “hooligans” who had taken her, he was more than willing to pay someone else to find her and bring her home.

The cabin door burst open; a man dashed out, holding his hat to his head.

“I said I wanted a bath, you incompetent jackass!”

A pitcher and bowl flew past, narrowly missing the man’s head. He bent to pick up the shattered pieces, mumbling to himself in Spanish about the ungrateful señorita breaking his wife’s good pitcher.

Raz made his move. With speed born of practice, his gun met his hand. Swiftly yet silently he crept closer. The other man started, then reached for his gun.

“Save it. You’ll be dead before you clear leather.”

The man glanced from the Peacemaker in Raz’s hand to the one strapped low on his hip then raised his gaze to size up his rival. His arms went up in surrender. “Señor. Did El Hombre send you?”

The man? What the hell was that supposed to mean? He adopted a loose-hipped stance, leaning one shoulder against the shack. May as well play along, see what he could find out “Yeah. He sent me.”

“Bueno. Better you than me. She is a handful, but I could never kill a woman. No matter how unpleasant she is.”

Raz digested that in silence. He wasn’t surprised the kidnappers intended to kill her, had half expected to find her already dead. Now that her daddy had refused their ransom demands, they would have no use for the girl. Except one. And with a temper like that, she’d only make it more fun for them.

“That does not bother you?”

Something thumped against the floor of the shack. “What the hell is going on out there?”

Raising a lazy brow, Raz sneered. “Do I look like it’s gonna bother me?”

The man gave a slight shake of his head. “She is like a tiger. She will not go down without a fight.”

With deliberate movements, Raz removed tobacco from his shirt pocket. Bracing one foot against the door, he calmly rolled a cigarillo. It was pure luck he’d arrived before the real killer, but he wished this little fellow would be on his way. Just once he’d like to have a job gosmoothly. No bloodshed, no fist fights. Nice and easy.

“Where is my goddamned bath water?”

The man adjusted his dusty, battered hat. “Good luck, amigo.” His relieved grin told Raz he’d probably need it.

He pulled a drag on the cigarillo as the other man mounted his horse and watched until he rode out of sight. With a light-hearted sigh, he turned toward the shack. It appeared all he had to do was return Arden O’Hara to her daddy, collect his reward, and not risk his neck doing it.

Visions of how he’d spend the money swam in his brain. Well, just one vision. Land. Lots of it. He’d always dreamed of being a man of property. Maybe then he could hang up his holster, change his name, and live a quiet, peaceable life.

“Do I smell cigarettes out there? Are you heating my bath water or lazing about smoking?”

He tossed aside the cigarillo and pushed open the door. And ducked as an object came flying at his head. It missed him by inches and flew out the open door. He glanced toward the enamel coffee pot, then back inside. The interior was dim, stuffy. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the change in light.

“Great, another one.”

Raz blinked.

“Did you bring my bath water?”

From his conversation with H.H. O’Hara, he’d been expecting a much younger girl. His gaze fell to the way she was dressed. A man’s shirt, tucked into slim-fitting trousers that hugged every curve. This was no child. Her hands rested on either hip. One small, booted foot patted the ground impatiently.

“Leave something on me, or I might catch cold.”

If life was fair, she’d have the face of a hag to match that heavenly body. Reluctantly, he pulled his attention upward. Damn the luck.

No wonder her father’s reward stipulated her virtue remain intact. Any man would be tempted by such beauty. But beautiful women were nothing but trouble. Money, on the other hand, was something a man could depend on.

With a look of disgust, she turned her back.

Blonde hair the color of moonbeams hung in a long braid down her back. The tail fell past her hips, and when she moved, it twitched enticingly against her small behind. She paced across the room to a dirt-covered window. “I never thought it would get this complicated.”

“That so?”

She whirled to face him. “You do speak English.”

“You never asked.”

She gave him a look that clearly said it was beneath her to inquire, then waved a dismissing hand. “Place the tub over there, well away from the windows. And I expect the water to be hot, not warm.”

He stepped forward to place a hand on her elbow. “I’m here to take you home.”

Her gaze dropped to the hand resting on her arm. “I’m not going anywhere—certainly not with you.”

“There’s a man on his way here to kill you.”

To his surprise, she laughed. “Kill me? Indeed.”

He strode toward the door. “You want to wait around and find out, that’s fine with me.”

“Is Geoffrey coming?”

Hand on the knob, he turned. “Geoffrey?”

“Mr. Davis, my fiancé. I would imagine he’s heading up the rescue party?”

“Rescue party?”

“Yes, rescue party.” She gave a huff of impatience. “Do you have some affliction that causes you to repeat my every word?”

He chose to ignore the barb. He’d met Geoffrey Davis at the ranch with H.H. O’Hara. At first Davis appeared in worse shape than O’Hara, alternately sobbing and talking about the missing Arden in the past tense, as if he assumed she were already dead. But he’d come out of his “grief” long enough to sneer that a half-breed with a gun for hire shouldn’t be trusted with O’Hara’s money. Or his daughter’s life. Going on gut instinct, Raz guessed the man—with his pretty face and small, pale hands that had never seen a day’s work—was next to useless.

“You think that simpering mama’s boy is going to ride to your rescue?”

Eyes the color of new grass narrowed with enough chill to freeze the entire state of Texas. In August. “Geoffrey’s devotion to his mother is commendable. Further, I won’t tolerate the likes of you insulting the man I’m going to marry.”

Raz jerked a thumb toward his chest. “I happen to be your so-called ‘rescue party’. Pretty-boy Davis is already planning your funeral.”

She paled. “My …funeral?”

“Damned if this so-called ‘affliction’ of mine isn’t catching. Yes, funeral. Davis is convinced you’re already dead.”

“Then who hired you, if anyone really did?”

“Does the word daddy ring any bells, sweetheart?”

One hand flew to her mouth. “How did he find out? He’s supposed to be on a cattle drive.”

Folding his arms over his chest, he leaned against the door. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Nothing.” She turned away. “There’s absolutely nothing for him to worry about.”

“Uh-huh. What about the guy on his way here to kill you?”

She glanced over her shoulder. “How do I know it’s not you?”

“You’re still alive, aren’t you?” He stepped away from the door. “Listen, sweetheart, let’s make this easy on both of us. You come with me, I get my money, Daddy gets his little girl back. Everybody’s happy. Comprende?”

Indecision crossed her face. “I … can’t.”

He approached her with narrowed eyes, deliberately using a look that had been the undoing of men twice her size. He had to give her credit though, she never flinched.

Only when they were nose to nose—or, in her case, nose to chest—did she make any attempt to halt him. One palm came up to smack him in the torso. “I’ll double whatever my father offered if you’ll go away and leave me here.”

“You can’t afford to pay me off; you don’t get any money until you’re married.”

“How do you know that?”

“I spent some time with daddy the other night.”

Her eyes welled with emotion. “Is he—is he all right?”

“He’ll be a damned sight better once you’re home.”

Before she could react, Raz reached down and scooped her up. Since Miss O’Hara weighed little more than a sack of flour, he easily swung her over his shoulder. He pushed open the door and stepped out into the blinding sunlight.

One booted foot caught him in the groin while her fists pummeled his back, and not without some amount of pain. Someone had taught the girl how to throw a punch.

He couldn’t resist delivering a stinging smack to her backside. She cried out, then ceased her struggles. Raz grinned. The little tigress wasn’t so hard to tame after all.

Arden was momentarily shocked. Her backside stung, though the pain was more to her pride than her behind. No man, not even her father, had ever laid a hand to her. One more reason to despise this arrogant stranger.

And damn him, he was ruining everything. Weeks of carefully laid plans, not to mention hundreds of dollars. It was bad enough Theodore and Amos had gotten everything wrong, even grabbing her at the wrong time. Though she had to admit, the element of surprise had been a nice touch. It had felt much more real than she had expected it would. Despite those set backs, everything had gone exactly as she planned. Until this man interfered.

Her gaze fastened on the .44 holstered on his left hip, mere inches from her fingers. A smile of satisfaction came to her as an idea formed. But she had to distract him first. “Where are you taking me?”

“Home.” He spoke as if she’d lost her mind.

“How do I know I can trust you?”

“You don’t.”

“What if I don’t want to go?” At last, her fingers brushed the gun.

“That’s not my problem.”

She cleared the .44 from the holster and twisted to bring the butt crashing down on his head. “It is now, mister.”

He swayed but didn’t fall. “You little—give me that before you…before you…”

“Hurt somebody?” she finished for him. He swayed again, then his knees buckled. A split second before he collapsed, he grabbed hold of her braid, bringing her down with him.

“Damn.” She tried to move, but he had landed on her hair and his dead weight wouldn’t budge. “Think, Arden, think.”

She glanced at his face. Unconscious, he didn’t look so menacing. His skin was quite dark, darker even than some of the Triple H hands who worked all day in the Texas sun. In fact, everything about him was dark, his hair, his clothes. His disposition. Her gaze traveled the length of him. Long and lean, but she could certainly vouch for his strength. He wasn’t exactly what she would call handsome, but she supposed some women might find him so.

A folded piece of paper in his shirt pocket had jostled loose when he fell. The bold handwriting wasn’t familiar, but she recognized her name. She pulled it out and shook it open. A ransom note. Promising she would be killed if Daddy didn’t deliver fifty thousand dollars by a certain date and time—a date and time that had already come and gone.

What the hell? A chill moved through her. Theodore and Amos were like uncles to her; they would never do anything to harm her.

But if they hadn’t, who had?

In the distance the thunder of hoof beats pounded the hard, dry ground. She shifted her body over that of the unconscious man’s and squinted against the sun to scan the canyon ridge. A lone rider.

Her heart lurched. A tingle moved through her body. She glanced back at this dark stranger who claimed to be her rescue party. If Geoffrey had given her up for dead, and Daddy had hired this man to find her, then who was riding toward her?

“Oh, shit.”

Chapter Two

Arden couldn’t be certain the exact moment she realized the approaching rider was watching her. But the chill crawling up her spine was the doing of the man lying unconscious beneath her. He’d deliberately tried to frighten her.

And for the moment, she was stuck. Her chin hovered mere inches from his chest. No matter how she struggled she couldn’t free her hair from beneath his dead weight.

“Wake up.” She tried to squirm free, to kick him—anything. She reached awkwardly around to slap at his cheek, but to no avail. He didn’t stir. Only the steady rise and fall of his chest assured her she hadn’t killed him.

The rider moved closer, slowing his pace to take in the scene before him. It was too late to play dead. She had a funny feeling it wouldn’t have done much good anyway.

The metal of the .44 grew warm against her palm, but her hand, pinned awkwardly between her body and the man she lie upon, was numb and tingly from lack of circulation. The rider stopped a few feet away and dismounted. He walked closer, then stopped, studying her with a smug expression. When the corners of his mouth turned up, she had the oddest feeling he considered himself the cat to her mouse. Every instinct screamed the truth. This was the killer.

In one grand attempt to remain alive, she rolled to one side, ignoring the sting of her scalp, and freed her arm. Cocking the hammer with her thumb, she trained the gun on him. “Don’t come any cl—”

A hand on the back of her neck slammed her face down on the ground. Her finger was squeezed tight against the trigger as he—the arrogant ass she’d been unable to rouse a moment ago—closed his hand over hers. Three shots rang out almost simultaneously, the kick from the gun lurching her arm as it fired. Something warm buzzed past her ear, like the hum of a bumble bee but much too fast and much too hot. She opened her mouth to scream but inhaled a mouthful of dust and dirt instead.

Silence reigned for only a second before he rolled off her, one hand pressed to his head where she’d struck him. “Son of a bitch.”

Sputtering, Arden sat up and wiped an arm across her mouth. The rider lay slumped at an odd angle in the dirt. She turned to the suddenly-conscious stranger “You killed him.”

He stood, hand still on his head. “You’re welcome.” With a motion of his finger, he wordlessly told her to stay put. Gun in hand, he approached the dead man, then nudged him with the toe of his boot. He bent to press two fingers to the side of the man’s neck. “He’s dead.”

“So I gathered.” She noted the precision of the two holes, one square in the chest, the other right between the eyes. Either would have been a lethal shot. Another chill slithered down her spine despite the sun’s merciless heat. Who was this man with such deadly aim?

“Do you know him?”

The sight of the corpse, already taking on a chalky hue, began to sour her empty stomach. She drew her knees up to her chin, shaking her head in answer to his question. “Do you?”

He glanced down at the man’s face, cocked his head as if considering. “By reputation only. At least I think it’s him.” He rose, reloaded, and holstered the .44. with a smooth motion that told her he did it often and without thought.

“Why did you kill him?”

“What?”

“Why didn’t you just shoot him in the hand or the leg or something?”

“Are you out of your goddamned mind?”

“Anyone who can shoot as accurately as you could have disarmed him without killing him.”

“Hell, yeah. I could have invited him to tea, too.” He stepped a few feet away to retrieve the other man’s revolver from where it had landed. “But I have a bad habit, sweetheart. It’s called breathing. And I’m kinda partial to doing it.”

As he approached her, she reached for the extra gun he carried. “I’ll take that.”

“The hell you will.”

“I feel the need to protect myself.”

“And you’re doing a half-assed job of it, from the looks of things.” He knelt down in front of her. “Are you all right?”

She had to admit, his concern was somewhat touching. The memory of him throwing himself over her, shielding her with his body, caused a warm flush of gratitude. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

“Good. I got ten grand riding on your well being.” He glanced back at the other man. “Who wants you dead, Miss O’Hara?”

“No one.”

Raz shifted his gaze back toward her. Something in her voice wasn’t quite right. “You sure about that?”

“Who would want to kill me?”

“Anyone who has known you more than five minutes.”

Hurt flashed in those big green eyes before she pushed to her feet. “I’m leaving.”

“That’s a good idea,” he agreed. “Whoever wants to kill you will try again when he doesn’t come back.”

“I assure you, no one wants me dead.”

“That remains to be seen.” He left her to rummage through the dead man’s pockets, looking for anything that might identify him. But he didn’t need a name to know what Arden O’Hara would have suffered before he killed her. Finding nothing of use, he hoisted the body over his shoulder and draped it across the back of the extra horse.

“We’d better head to the nearest town and find the sheriff.” He didn’t bother to add there would probably be a reward.

“We?”

“Yes, we.” he repeated. “Don’t you want to know the identity of the one person in the whole world who wanted to kill you?”

She stared at the corpse as if it would bite her. “I told you, I don’t know him.”

“Whoever hired him knows you.”

She briskly rubbed her arms as though to ward off a chill. “Look, Mister—”

“Colt. Raz Colt.”

“Fine. Colt,” she repeated. “I think a terrible mistake has been made here. I’m quite certain this man never meant to harm me. I think he was probably trying to scare me.”

“Men like this don’t play games, darlin’. They kill.”

“You speak as though you have personal experience.”

He shrugged. “I don’t make apologies for what I am.”

“What are you?”

“A law-abiding citizen.”

She raised a brow in his direction before dropping her gaze pointedly to his guns. He wasn’t about to explain his lifestyle to her. He was a hired gun; it wasn’t something he was proud of but it was what he knew, what he was good at. And he liked to think he provided a service to the local law enforcement. Any low-life he took off the streets was one less gun the sheriff would have to face down.

Still, her decided lack of fear in all of this nagged at him. Sure she was a little green around the gills from staring at the dead guy, but not once had she come close to panicking; not before he’d entered the little shack, not when he approached her and not now, when she’d damn near met her maker.

He removed tobacco and paper from his shirt pocket and calmly rolled a cigarillo. “Mind telling me why you’re ‘quite certain’ this man wouldn’t harm you?”

She sighed dramatically. “It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got time before he starts to rot.”

“I’m sorry you were dragged into this, but I was not kidnapped, at least not really.” She began to pace, moving away from him.

The cigarillo complete, he scraped a match on the heel of his boot. “I’m listening.”

She walked toward a nearby rock and took a seat, resting her elbows on her knees, chin in her palms. Another sigh. “I wanted Geoffrey to rescue me.”

He inhaled, held the smoke in his lungs, and willed himself to stay calm. A million different responses came to mind, most of them more colorful than what she’d spouted earlier. At last he allowed a stream of smoke to slowly leave his nostrils. “Why?”

She sprang to her feet and resumed pacing. “I needed to know if he cared about me or if it was the money. I didn’t want Daddy involved, I knew he’d worry.”

“That doesn’t explain our friend over there attracting flies.”

“The men I hired would never have sent a man like that, not even to scare me.”

“The men you hired?”

“Yes. I think we need to assume this man was after you rather than me. A man like you most certainly has enemies.”

“Not alive.” He threw the cigarillo aside and stalked toward her, thoughts of killing her himself running wild. “Are you saying I damn near took a bullet for someone who staged her own kidnapping?”

She shrugged, almost childlike. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?”

“Yes. I’m sure Daddy will still pay—”

“You’re sorry?”

“Mister Colt, you’re doing that repeating thing again.”

For the second time that morning, Raz hoisted her over his shoulder, this time taking care to remove his guns. He pressed one against her ribs, partly for effect, partly from anger. “Not half as sorry as you’re gonna be.”

As expected, she kicked and thrashed, pummeling him with her fists, screeching like a banshee.

He deposited her onto the back of his horse, pinned her arms together while he retrieved a length of rope from his saddlebag. Before she could free herself, he wound it tight about her wrists, then secured it to the saddle horn and mounted behind her.

“What are you doing?” she asked, sounding more annoyed than afraid. She tugged at the ropes and let out a child-like shriek when they didn’t loosen.

“Taking you home.”

But not until he taught her a damned good lesson.

****

The desert sun pounded down with fury, scorching Arden’s head, neck, and entire body. But the mid-day heat wasn’t nearly as fierce as her temper. The uncomfortable position she was in, half hunched over the saddle, and the pain in her wrists from the way the rope chafed with each step of the horse infuriated her even more. Worse still was the frustrating silence of the man who sat directly behind her. Ignoring her.

She yanked at the ropes, wincing when they bit deeper into her flesh and dug her teeth into her bottom lip to keep from crying out. She’d be damned if she’d let him know she was anything other than fine and dandy. “You’ll pay for this, Colt.”

He gave a slight grunt, barely audible.

“My father will be furious when he sees how you’ve treated me.”

Silence, except for the creaking of the leather saddle beneath them and the tromp of hooves over the ground.

“And Geoffrey will never stand for it. I’m sure he’ll call you out.”

A snort.

“I wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss him. He killed a man in a duel once. He told me.”

He still didn’t say a word. She struggled to come up with something else, anything to get a reaction. “I suppose you won’t untie me because you’re afraid I’ll knock you out again.”

“I wasn’t unconscious.”

She savored a small thrill of victory that she’d finally gotten him to talk. Just like a man to come to the defense of his ego. “You most certainly were; I was there.”

“I recovered kind of sudden, didn’t I?”

“Fortunately yes, but—”

“I wasn’t unconscious.”

Had he been faking it while she’d tried to rouse him? She frowned. How else would he have known exactly when to shoot? Damn the man, even when she thought she’d bested him, she hadn’t. Then again, she had managed to get his gun away and knock him over the head with it. That offered a certain satisfaction.

“Who else did you tell?”

It was the most he’d said to her for miles, and it took Arden a full moment to absorb the question. “No one.”

“And the men you hired—who were they?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Either somebody betrayed you, or they want to hurt your father by killing you. The least you can do is give me a name.”

“I can’t.” The flat landscape ahead seemed to blur and waver, and she blinked to keep from getting dizzy.

“Can’t or won’t?”

Won’t. Theodore and Amos hadn’t been easy to convince, and it was loyalty to her, and their own mistrust of Geoffrey, that had finally swayed them. That and the assurance that Daddy would never find out. “The men I spoke of would never harm me. Or my father.”

“I want names.”

“No.”

“Before I ride into town and risk my ass for you again, you’re going to have to answer some questions.”

“You mean risk your ass for that reward.”

He expelled a loud breath that brushed the back of her neck. “I promised I’d bring you home unharmed.”

“Does that promise include tying my hands so tight my fingers are numb? Do you think Daddy will still pay you when I tell him what you’ve done?”

“If I were you, I’d be more worried about his reaction when I tell him what you’ve done. And Geoffrey.” He gave a low whistle. “Wonder what he’ll have to say about how much you trust him. After he’s called me out and shot me dead, of course.”

“Oh!” Intent on slapping his arrogant face, she twisted, only to be jerked back by her bound wrists. For lack of anything else to strike she kicked her legs in frustration. “Goddamn it, untie me. Untie me this minute or I’ll scream.”

She felt as well as heard the chuckle that rumbled from deep in his chest. “Go ahead.”

All the fury and rage she had built up since the minute the arrogant jackass stepped into the line shack this morning came out in an angry shriek that lasted until she ran out of breath.

“Feel better?”

Actually, she was even angrier now. She opened her mouth to scream again, but a tug on her braid jerked her head back so that she stared up into his face.

“Do it again and I’ll gag you.” His low, menacing voice told her she’d pushed him as far as she could for now. “Your little princess tantrums may work on your daddy, the hired help, and everyone else. Not with me.”

“Let go.”

“No more screaming, no more talking. In a little while I’ll stop and rest the horses and then maybe—maybe—I’ll untie you.” He released her braid, and she righted herself.

“We’re doing things my way from now on, Miss O’Hara. Keep that in mind, and we’ll get along just fine.”

“Over my dead body.”

“We already tried that.”

****

The descending sun cast a rosy glow across the desert. But straight ahead was the Rio Grande and a damn welcome sight at that. With any luck they’d be back in Texas by nightfall. As Raz led the horses toward the river to drink, he glanced at Arden O’Hara, still bound and seated on his horse. She’d been so quiet the last few miles he’d half suspected she’d fallen asleep. But those grass-green eyes were fixed on him with their usual frosty glare.

Pulling a knife from the sheath at his waist, he sliced through the ropes that held her to the saddle horn, leaving her wrists tied together. A faint scent somewhere between vanilla and lemon drifted to his nostrils when he reached for her. He’d noticed it a few different times during the day and was surprised each time at how the soft scent was at odds with her personality.

The second her feet hit the ground she bolted. Or attempted to. He leaned an elbow against his horse and watched, mentally ticking off the seconds until she stumbled and went down like a sack of potatoes. He knew a moment of near pity when she reached toward her ankle then fell back in the dust with a howl.

Having sat a horse the better part of a day, she should have known her muscles would feel like jelly, and with her hands still tied, her balance would be off. Maybe he’d been too hard on her, binding her like that. At the time it had seemed the only option. If he hadn’t, she’d have found a way to make the ride across the desert even more miserable. And maybe gouged out an eye or two along the way.

He reached her in a few short strides, was about to help her up, when her uninjured foot moved. Sidestepping a kick that would have sent his balls through the roof of his mouth, he grabbed hold of her upper arms and hauled her to a sitting position. She sputtered more curses, which bothered his ears less and less the more he heard them. Much like the hissing of a kitten, it only sounded fierce the first few times. Still keeping a wary eye on her, and aware of her gaze on him, he sliced through the ropes on her wrists. Deep red welts marred the pale flesh.

He glanced at her. Her eyes reflected anger, humiliation. And pain. “You should have told me the ropes were too tight.”

“You have an annoying habit of not listening.”

He nodded toward the river a few feet away. “Why don’t you go soak your wrists in the water?”

“Why don’t you go soak your head in the water?”

“I just might do that.” He couldn’t help a grin. She was still spitting venom, so she must be all right. “Which ankle did you twist?”

She gestured toward the right one. He tugged her boot off and ran his fingers along the length of her ankle, feeling for any obvious breaks. Though the joint appeared swollen, he didn’t feel any protruding bones. Besides, she’d be howling up a damned storm if she’d done any real damage.

“Don’t.” She shoved hard against his chest, used her one good foot to push to a standing position, and hobbled off toward the river.

He gave her a few minutes. It was hard to say what had set her off, whether it was having a part-breed actually touch her or if it went deeper than that. A dark thought struck him. What if one of the men guarding her had taken advantage of the situation?

She had pulled off her other boot and stockings and sat on the bank soaking her feet in the water. With trousers pulled up to her knees, her pale skin glowed in the waning light of the sun. He’d had his share of short women; their legs were always stocky and plump. But from what he could see, hers were trim, muscular even and nicely shaped. She leaned down to scoop water into her hands and splash it over her face and neck, then smoothed wet hands over her calves.

Ignoring a sudden and unexpected tug below his belt, he pulled his gaze from her tempting legs, took a paper and tobacco from his shirt pocket, and rolled a cigarillo. The movement calmed him, gave him time to think. And right now he needed to focus on something else. He finished, tore off the end with his teeth, and spat the paper on the ground.

“If you’re going to do that, move downwind. I can’t stand the smell.”

He struck a match, held it to the tip. And savored that first pull into his lungs. “Nope.” Even injured and exhausted, he didn’t trust her not to bolt. If only to prove she could do it. “I need to ask you something, and I want the truth.”

Still bathing her legs and feet, she didn’t bother to look up at him.

He stared off at the sky and chose his words with care. “The men guarding you, did they… hurt you?”

At last she flicked a glance in his direction. “You mean did they violate me?”

He should have known blunt worked best with her. “Yeah.”

“Of course not. The one who brought my food and water the first week looked at me rather strangely, but I knew neither one of them would dare—” Her face went a chalky white, and her mouth hung open.

Raz couldn’t help a low chuckle. Had she just realized how much danger she’d actually been in? He could only wonder what her captors thought of her tantrums and demands.

She straightened abruptly. “Do you think I could have some privacy to…freshen up before we ride again?”

He glanced over his shoulder to where the horses nosed at the ground. “Between the heat of the day and the amount of time that guy’s been dead, I don’t want to wait too long. The vultures are following us as it is.”

Damn if she didn’t go a bit green around the gills again. “I’ll be right over here.” He gestured toward the horses.

“See that you keep your back turned until I’m finished.”

It wasn’t her words that bothered him so much as the mistress-to-servant tone. He stopped short and turned. “I don’t trust you enough to take my eyes off you for more than a second. Do what you need to do and be damn quick about it.”

Struggling to keep hold of his temper, he strode away. The splashing and sloshing behind him assured him she had taken his suggestion to heart. He waited what seemed more than long enough before he turned around; even then he chose not to focus directly on her, but to more or less keep her in view. But the sight of soft white shoulders and a slender feminine back pulled him like a cactus pulled water from the ground.

She had waded into the water up to her waist, her clothing discarded on the bank. As he stood there, she scooped water in her palms and bathed her throat, her chest. And lower. A groan rose in his throat. He wondered what sort of vision the fish were being treated to right now.

Ladies, not that Arden O’Hara exactly defined the word, had never held any appeal for him. He didn’t have the patience to figure out the rules, the games. Women who liked a strong drink, a good smoke, and a rowdy romp between the sheets were much more to his liking. Not this sharp-tongued hellcat. So there was no reason, other than his own long-ignored needs, that the sight of her bare back should affect him so.

“You have thirty seconds before I drag you out of that water.” Damned if his voice didn’t come out half choked.

“Turn your back.”

“The hell I will.”

“If you think I’m going to give a peep show—”

“My only interest in you has to do with your father’s money.”

Her delicate shoulders went back, her spine rigid. Arms crossed over herself, she turned and sloshed toward the bank.

Deliberately, he lowered his gaze from her defiant eyes, dragged it over the creamy white swells that rose above her arms, the blue vein that ran the length of one breast and disappeared beneath her hand, right down to the faint hint of pink that peeked above her fingers. Her ribs were nearly visible; she’d probably lost weight during her captivity. The sharp curve of her waist drew his eyes, and his hand twitched, longing to glide over it. He’d never seen a woman with a flat, almost concave stomach, but the sight of her bare navel nearly made him forget he was trying to rattle her. Instead he held his breath, riveted to the spot, waiting for her to reveal more. Like a peeping tom outside the school marm’s window.

What the hell was he doing? This was Arden pain in his-ass O’Hara. But he couldn’t turn and let her know how she’d affected him. He had to make good on his threat, or he’d never get away with another.

“I’m not moving another step until you turn around.”

“That’s too bad because your thirty seconds are up.” He tossed the cigarillo aside and started toward the water, hoping he wouldn’t really have to drag her out, naked and thrashing. That was the last thing he needed right now.

“Wait. I … don’t have my drawers on.”

Well, hell, he didn’t need to be reminded she’d taken those off, too. He glanced to the pile of clothing that lay a few feet from where he stood and noted the white muslin trimmed with lace and pink ribbon. So much for stirrings, he was full blown hard as a rock now.

“Could I have a moment to slip them on? Please?”

Had she really said please? Obligingly he turned his back, but it was more to shield her eyes from the bulge in his trousers than to preserve her modesty. “Five minutes, Miss O’Hara. If you’re not ready by then, I’ll tie you down next to the dead guy.”

Everything you never wanted to know.... and then some

2011-08-22T14:55:00.001-04:00

Today is my day to post on the Sweethearts of the West blog and August is sort of a "getting to know the Sweethearts" month where we post about ourselves (gulp!!)

It took weeks to write and still feels way too long and boring, but you can learn more about me than you ever cared to know, LOL. Stop on by and say hello!

Nic

Something to Smile About.... 4 1/2 Stars from Night Owl Romance

2011-07-23T15:16:00.001-04:00

It's been a while since I've posted anything and that's because.... well, there hasn't been a great deal to post about. (Although I have been posting over at the Sweethearts of the West blog each month on the 22nd. My last post was yesterday.)

But surely this fits the bill! I don't know why my Google searches haven't turned this up before, but I just stumbled across a review by Night Owl Romances from this time last year--last year!!!!

Jolene from Night Owl Reviews, I hope you know you made my summer! Four and a half stars! Wow! Thank you, thank you, thank you! Most of all thanks for reminding me why I loved writing this book so much!

Here is the full review:

Author: Nicole McCaffrey

Publisher: The Wild Rose Press

Tags: Historical Romance, Western

Reviewed by: Jolene387 | Jul 16, 2010 | 1-60154-849-4

A NIGHT OWL REVIEWS BOOK REVIEW

I fell in love with this couple. Wild Texas Wind was a wonderfully romantic western tale. For anyone who appreciates a bad boy cowboy, Raz Colt fits the bill. He’s arrogant, demanding and doesn’t like to explain himself. And Arden O’Hara is a woman with a fiery temper and a sharp tongue. Wild Texas Wind is the classicTaming of the Shrew set in the old west. I had a hard time putting this book down.

Arden O’Hara and Raz Colt were at loggers head many times but they always pulled together when the threat of danger appeared. And Kip Cooper was an added bonus as a lovable conman.

I loved the whole book and was actually surprised at the ending. I look forward to reading more of Ms. McCaffrey’s books.

As Mark Twain once said...

2010-10-22T10:48:00.000-04:00

Rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated. *G*

While it is true I've been hiding out, thanks to a boatload of migraines, and haven't had nearly as much time for writing as I'd like between kids' school and scout schedules and the tear-your-hair-out stress that comes with being part of the Sandwich Generation, I'm still here.

If you've been missing me, you can find me in a couple of places. First today, I'm blogging with my friends the Sweethearts of the West. Those who know me won't be the least bit surprised to learn that I'm talkin' 'bout... what else? Cowboys. And I even managed to work in two of my personal favorite cowboy-hat-wearin' heroes, Raz Colt and Kip Cooper.

Tomorrow you can see me live and in person at the Ogden Farmer's Library in Spencerport, NY. I'll be participating in an author tea with several other local romance writers.

Hope to see you there!

The truth is revealed!!!

2010-08-20T13:11:00.002-04:00

So which of yesterday's comments was a lie and which were the truth? Read on and find out!

1. I sleep with six pillows. Plus a husband.

Totally true. Monya has it right. You gradually add pillows to cushion the aches and pains. I added one for each pregnancy, then another for a chronically achy knee, another when I tore ligaments in my ankle and the next thing you know....

2. If I were to become single again (widowed, divorced) I wouldn't remarry. I'd just have more dogs. Cause.... you can train dogs.

So very true. And this came from an actual conversation with my sons after they overheard a discussion about the divorce rate on the radio. I had to reassure them that mom and dad weren't quite ready to trade each other in for younger models just yet--and that should that ever happen, I would definitely lean toward canine companionship rather than trying the whole husband thing again, LOL.

3. I once made radio legend Casey Kasem cry.

This is surprisingly true! Back in the day, I never missed Casey's weekly American Top 40 Countdown radio program. My favorite part was the long distance dedication, where listeners wrote a letter to Casey requesting a song be played for a friend or loved one they'd lost touch with or who had passed on. I wrote a letter to Casey myself and was thrilled when it was accepted. Only the radio station in my area had changed its format and I could no longer listen to the AT 40 Countdown. I contacted them, was put in touch with Casey's producer and told her that I wouldn't be able to hear my dedication air. She said "Oh, I remember you, you're the little girl who made Casey cry." She went on to explain that while taping the segment where he read my long distance dedication, Casey kept choking up and had to start over several times. Long story short, a few days later I received a cassette copy of that portion of the show in the mail, and when I popped it in and listened, sure enough, about halfway through the letter requesting a song in memory of my aunt, who had just passed on from breast cancer, you can hear Mighty Casey's golden voice crack. I still have the cassette, btw, and a handwritten note from Casey telling me to "keep reaching for the stars."

4. My sister is also an author.

True. She writes contemporary western romance.

5. I once turned down a really great job because it was on the 18th floor. And I'm afraid of heights.

True. Can't believe you guys doubted this one, hee hee. Caroline has it right--I thought I'd get a nosebleed on that long elevator ride, and at nearly every floor, it stopped and more people got on until we were packed in there like sardines (hold on... I'm feeling faint...did I mention I'm also claustrophobic???). But really, even the idea of being that far off the ground is hard for this self-proclaimed wuss.

6. Speaking of fears, I suffer from lepidophobia, or fear of butterflies. I'm also not good with birds, moths --pretty much anything that flutters.
Oh so very true. Donna, beautiful butterflies? Or harbingers of doom??? shudder, shudder. Lilly, your poor daughter. I'd have been catatonic! Not sure what it is about them, they just give me the heebie-jeebies.

7. As a teenager, I won awards for bowling and could have gone on to compete professionally if I'd wanted to.
Gotcha! Only Maeve and Monya caught my lie. I was actually a pretty good bowler; my dad coached bowling and did take some kids on to competitive status. I just wasn't one of them.

8. I haven't written a dang thing since summer began.

Harumph. I see no one doubted this one, LOL, but it's true. My kids have driven me CAR-AZY all summer long. There just hasn't been time--or sanity--enough to write.

So since Monya and Maeve both guessed the correct answer I'll put their names in a hat (I'm not afraid of hats, as it turns out, LOL) and draw.... drum roll please....

The winner is Maeve!! Email me at nmccaffreyauthor@yahoo.com with your choice of which e-book you would like to receive a copy of and I will get that out to you!

Thank you, wonderful TWRP authors, for your amazing show of support. I won't forget it and will try to get out and visit your blogs soon as well (and Monya, I know I still owe you an email, I haven't forgotten!)

Forced out of my summer doldrums....

2010-08-19T12:45:00.003-04:00

Darn that Darah Lace. Not only does she tag me, forcing me out of my sleepy summer doldrums (read laziness!) , but now I actually have to come up with something to blog about.

Darah tagged me with the Versatile Blogger Award. I have to list eight things you probably didn't want to know about me, and one of them has to be a lie. If readers guess which is the lie, they win a prize. (Okay, that part I like, LOL, I'm good with prizes.)

So here goes. I'll list eight random things and the winner who guesses the "oopsie" gets a free e-copy of any of my releases. Small Town Christmas, The Model Man or Wild Texas Wind. Your choice.

1. I sleep with six pillows. Plus a husband.

2. If I were to become single again (widowed, divorced) I wouldn't remarry. I'd just have more dogs. Cause.... you can train dogs.

3. I once made radio legend Casey Kasem cry.

4. My sister is also an author.

5. I once turned down a really great job because it was on the 18th floor. And I'm afraid of heights.

6. Speaking of fears, I suffer from lepidophobia, or fear of butterflies. I'm also not good with birds, moths --pretty much anything that flutters.

7. As a teenager, I won awards for bowling and could have gone on to compete professionally if I'd wanted to.

8. I haven't written a dang thing since summer began.

Okay, I nominate the following authors for the versatile blogger award:

Susan Macatee
Isabel Roman

Leave your comments and guesses as to the truth versus the lie. I'll be back tomorrow to post the winner and reveal the truth!

Welcome Special Guest: Paty Jager

2010-08-13T10:52:00.001-04:00

Hi Nicole, Thinks for sharing your blog on my release day!

Yes, today, Friday, August 13th is the release of my first historical paranormal Spirit of the Mountain. This is one of those books of the heart. I have put a lot of research and heart and soul into this story. I found a Nez Perce woman and man to help me with my research and hopefully kept me on task with the cultural aspects, while my imagination blossomed when putting tougher the spirit aspect of the story.

When Red Wolf acknowledged the information I found about a lineage of Nimiipuu with blond hair and blue eyes, he said he was of that line and their eyes could also turn to red when emotional, I knew I had the makings for my spirit hero.

Jade Blackeagle helped by taking questions I couldn’t find in books to her elders and asking them how this was down or was this something that would offend.

This first book is set before the White man comes to the Wallowa Valley and causes problems. It is a time when the Nimiipuu only have to fear other tribes they have dealt with for years. And Himiin the hero has to deal with the dark spirit trying to take over his mountain. Evil in any shape or form is deadly and Wren and Himiin find they are battling it from both their worlds.

Blurb for Spirit of the Mountain

Wren, the daughter of a Nimiipuu chief, has been fated to save her people ever since her vision quest. When a warrior from the enemy Blackleg tribe asks for her hand in marriage to bring peace between the tribes, her world is torn apart.

Himiin is the spirit of the mountain, custodian to all creatures including the Nimiipuu. As a white wolf he listens to Wren’s secret fears and loses his heart to the mortal maiden. Respecting her people’s beliefs, he cannot prevent her leaving the mountain with the Blackleg warrior.

When an evil spirit threatens Wren’s life, Himiin must leave the mountain to save her. But to leave the mountain means he’ll turn to smoke…

Excerpt

Wren’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. “My gift is to save The People. The weyekin who came to me in my vision quest said this.” She wrapped her arms around herself as if staving off a cold breeze.

Himiin hated that they argued when they should relish their time together. He moved to her, drawing her against his chest, embracing her. The shape of her body molded to his. Her curves pressed against him. Holding her this way flamed the need he’d tried to suppress.

He placed a hand under her chin, raising her face to his. The sorrow in her eyes tugged at his conscience. To make her leaving any harder was wrong. But having experienced her in his arms, he was grieved to let her go. Even for the sake of their people.

Her eyelids fluttered closed. Her pulse quickened under his fingers. Shrugging off the consequences, he lowered his lips to hers. They were softer than he imagined. Her breath hitched as he touched her intimately. Parting his lips, he touched her with his tongue, wanting to see if she tasted as sweet as she smelled.

Honey.

This is the last day of my six day blog tour that includes a puzzle and a prize. Copy the puzzle piece in this post to a document and collect all the pieces at the blogs I visit. Then when you have them all, send them to me at patyjag@gmail.com and I'll put your name in the drawing for a copy of Spirit of the Mountain and other goodies. I'll draw the name and post it on my blog on Monday July 16^th. If you want to go back and check out all the blogs to join the contest, hop over to my blog and find the places I've been. http://www.patyjager.blogspot.com

If you'd like to read more about me and my books or enter my website contest go to: http://www.patyjager.net

Nicole, Thanks for having me!

Paty

Hangin' with Sarah Simas

2010-06-25T07:30:00.002-04:00

It's Friday!!!! (I survived the first few days of summer vacation--whew!) Anyway, I'm still celebrating the release of Wild Texas Wind and those great reviews. Today I'm hanging with the always sweet, always adorable Sarah Simas over at The Lovestruck Novice. She asked if I'd say a few words about writing to different genres and writing to please yourself.

Drop by and say hi and share your thoughts!

First Reviews Are In!

2010-06-24T10:22:00.003-04:00

And it's.... four spurs from Love Western Romances!!!!

Read the fabulous review here!

Thank you hugs to reviewer Kathryn from Love Western Romances for "getting" my story and for her thoughtful and insightful review.

And.... four books from Long and Short Reviews. Thank you hugs to Camellia from LASR for her amazing review!!!

Woo hoo--you ladies sure know how to make an author's day!

Wednesday on Writing: Speical Guest Paty Jager

2010-06-23T06:00:00.065-04:00

It's my pleasure to have my long-time friend and critique partner Paty Jager here visiting with us today. Paty is a multi published author of historical western romance--and how do you like that! We're each other's blog guests today! So after reading this, mosey on over to Paty's Blog and settle in for a visit!

Tell us a bit about yourself and why you write the genre you do.

I'm an Oregonian and proud of it. My husband and I farm/ranch 350
acres in central and eastern Oregon. We're empty nesters with children
and grand children coming and going faster than the change of weather.

I enjoy writing historical westerns because it is a time when the
women thought legally not treat equal, they were equals in the day to
day living with the men. They had to be for the families to survive.
It was a time when everything was wild and raw. Which makes for great
scenes and fun dialogue.

How long have you been writing?

To be published? Probably twenty years. I started out writing mysteries and floundered unable to find a support group. Then I read LaVyrle Spencer's Hummingbird and tried my hand at historical western romance. I also found RWA(Romance Writers of America) and learned I had a lot to learn about writing a romance. But I did well in contests and found a wonderful critique partner and I learned to write. I became published four years ago with Wild Rose Press.

Where do you get your ideas?

My ideas can come from song lyrics, a newspaper article, or something I read while I'm researching for a book. I even had an idea come from something I heard on the radio. My ideas are open to anything!

Describe your typical writing day.

Lately, my typical day is getting my dh out the door to work but 6:30 am. Then I'm queuing the music for the current WIP and writing. I've made a pact with myself that I can't get on the internet until I've written 2000 words. Once I've hit that mark I can check e-mails, visit blogs,and work on promotion. Then after that if I don't have outside or inside chores that need done, I'll write some more on the WIP until I have to make dinner.

Now if I'm at our place that's three hours away. I wake up at 6 am and
change pipes. Have breakfast, then I write until I can't stand to sit
any longer and go outside for a walk. Then I come in and write more
until I need to move and then I eat dinner and go out to change pipes
again. Then I watch a movie and go to bed.

What was your “Aha!” moment—when you knew you had to be a writer?

I was a senior in high school. We were given the assignment to write about a figure in history. We researched the character and then wrote the story. I wrote about Joan of Arc burning at the stake in her POV. I still remember the teacher reading my story aloud in class and the quiet that followed when she finished. Even the class clown didn't have a joke. That was when I truly realized the power of the written word even though I'd been an avid reader and traveled many continents and emotions through my reading.

If you weren’t a writer, what would you be?

I think I would have like to work in advertising if I'd had the opportunity to fully explore all occupations when I was in school.

Tell me your best cure for writer’s block?

Knock on wood. That rarely happens to me, but when it does it is
usually because I've written myself into a hole or trying to make a
character do something out of character. Or I've had some negative
feedback on my writing and that throws me for a loop. Then I just look
at the books I have published and read the good reviews and get myself
back in the game. So far, I'm never at a loss for things to write
about or characters to take on a journey.

Tell us a little bit about Doctor in Petticoats (coming June 25 from The Wild Rose Press)

Doctor in Petticoats is the fourth book in the Halsey brother series.
Clay finds himself blind after an accident and his older brothers
decide the best thing for him is to learn how to deal with his
blindness and send him to a blind school across the state. While there
he learns a lot about himself and falls for an independent female
doctor in charge of the students at the blind school.

At writer workshops you're always hearing your book will only work if
there is no one else in the world who will compliment your characters
but each other. I think I did that with this book.

After a life-altering accident and a failed relationship, Dr. Rachel
Tarkiel gave up on love and settled for a life healing others as the
physician at a School for the Blind. She's happy in her
vocation--until handsome Clay Halsey shows up and inspires her to want
more.

Blinded by a person he considered a friend, Clay curses his
circumstances and his limitations. Intriguing Dr. Tarkiel shows him
no pity, though. To her, he's as much a man as he ever was.

Can these two wounded souls conquer outside obstacles, as well as
their own internal fears, and find love?

“I’m going to look in your other eye now.” She, again, placed a hand
on his face and opened the eyelids, stilling her fluttering heart as
she pressed close. His clean-shaven face had a couple small nicks on
the edges of his angular cheeks. The spice of his shave soap lingered
on his skin.

She resisted the urge to run her cheek against his. The heat of his
face under her palm and his breath moving wisps of wayward hair caused
her to close her eyes and pretend for a few seconds he could be her
husband. A man who loved her and wouldn’t be threatened by her
occupation or sickened by her hideous scar.

His breathing quickened. A hand settled on her waist, slid around to
her back, and drew her forward. Her hand, holding the lens, dropped to
his shoulder, and she opened her eyes. This behavior on both their
parts was unconscionable, but her constricted throat wouldn’t allow
her to utter the rebuke.

Clay sensed the moment the doctor slid from professional to aroused
woman. The hand on his cheek caressed rather than held, her breathing
quickened, and her scent invaded his senses like a warm summer rain.

Wow!! That's a great excerpt! Anything else in the works you can share with us?

My first attempt at historical paranormal will be released in August. It's a book set among the Nez Perce Indians in the 1700's. The hero is an Indian spirit. And I have contracted a contemporary western that is waiting for a release date. It's the story of an ER nurse and a bareback bronc rider. For a glimpse at these you can go to my website. http://www.patyjager.net

This week I'm starting a ten day blog tour and giving away an
autographed copy of Doctor in Petticoats, a $25 B&N gift card, and a
summer tote full of goodies. to enter the contest just follow my blog
tour and leave a comment. The person who comments on the most blogs
will win. To find out where I'll be go to my blog:
http://www.patyjager.blogspot.com

Thanks for visiting with us today, Paty! We'll see you back in late summer to tell us more about Spirit of the Mountain!

And the winner is....

2010-06-21T07:22:00.002-04:00

The winner of last weekend's celebration drawing is.....

Susan Macatee!

Congratulations, Susan!! There's an e-copy of WTW on the way to you!

If you didn't win, there's still a chance! Stop by Darah's Lace's blog anytime today and leave a comment for a chance to win !

Nic

It's Here!!!!

2010-06-18T08:52:00.004-04:00

With all that's gone on this week, I nearly forgot that today was release day--so it's a little like Christmas Morning to wake up and realize it's here!

I've "introduced" you to Raz, and posted a scene with both Raz and Arden--but today I'd like to post a scene from Arden's perspective.

I'll be celebrating all weekend, and will be giving away a free download from the commenter's, so if you stop by, be sure to leave me a comment! Stop back Monday morning to find out who the winner is!

~~~

Arden couldn’t be certain the exact moment she realized the approaching rider was watching her. But the chill crawling up her spine was the doing of the man lying unconscious beneath her. He’d deliberately tried to frighten her.
And for the moment, she was stuck. Her chin hovered mere inches from his chest. No matter how she struggled she couldn’t free her hair from beneath his dead weight.
“Wake up.” She tried to squirm free, to kick him—anything. She reached awkwardly around to slap at his cheek, but to no avail. He didn’t stir. Only the steady rise and fall of his chest assured her she hadn’t killed him.
The rider moved closer, slowing his pace to take in the scene before him. It was too late to play dead. She had a funny feeling it wouldn’t have done much good anyway.
The metal of the .44 grew warm against her palm, but her hand, pinned awkwardly between her body and the man she lie upon, was numb and tingly from lack of circulation. The rider stopped a few feet away and dismounted. He walked closer, then stopped, studying her with a smug expression. When the corners of his mouth turned up, she had the oddest feeling he considered himself the cat to her mouse. Every instinct screamed the truth. This was the killer.
In one grand attempt to remain alive, she rolled to one side, ignoring the sting of her scalp, and freed her arm. Cocking the hammer with her thumb, she trained the gun on him. “Don’t come any cl—”
A hand on the back of her neck slammed her face down on the ground. Her finger was squeezed tight against the trigger as he—the arrogant ass she’d been unable to rouse a moment ago—closed his hand over hers. Three shots rang out almost simultaneously, the kick from the gun lurching her arm as it fired. Something warm buzzed past her ear, like the hum of a bumble bee but much too fast and much too hot. She opened her mouth to scream but inhaled a mouthful of dust and dirt instead.
Silence reigned for only a second before he rolled off her, one hand pressed to his head where she’d struck him. “Son of a bitch.”
Sputtering, Arden sat up and wiped an arm across her mouth. The rider lay slumped at an odd angle in the dirt. She turned to the suddenly-conscious stranger “You killed him.”
He stood, hand still on his head. “You’re welcome.” With a motion of his finger, he wordlessly told her to stay put. Gun in hand, he approached the dead man, then nudged him with the toe of his boot. He bent to press two fingers to the side of the man’s neck. “He’s dead.”
“So I gathered.” She noted the precision of the two holes, one square in the chest, the other right between the eyes. Either would have been a lethal shot. Another chill slithered down her spine despite the sun’s merciless heat. Who was this man with such deadly aim?
“Do you know him?”
The sight of the corpse, already taking on a chalky hue, began to sour her empty stomach. She drew her knees up to her chin, shaking her head in answer to his question. “Do you?”
He glanced down at the man’s face, cocked his head as if considering. “By reputation only. At least I think it’s him.” He rose, reloaded, and holstered the .44. with a smooth motion that told her he did it often and without thought.
“Why did you kill him?”
“What?”
“Why didn’t you just shoot him in the hand or the leg or something?”
“Are you out of your goddamned mind?”
“Anyone who can shoot as accurately as you could have disarmed him without killing him.”
“Hell, yeah. I could have invited him to tea, too.” He stepped a few feet away to retrieve the other man’s revolver from where it had landed. “But I have a bad habit, sweetheart. It’s called breathing. And I’m kinda partial to doing it.”
As he approached her, she reached for the extra gun he carried. “I’ll take that.”
“The hell you will.”
“I feel the need to protect myself.”
“And you’re doing a half-assed job of it, from the looks of things.” He knelt down in front of her. “Are you all right?”
She had to admit, his concern was somewhat touching. The memory of him throwing himself over her, shielding her with his body, caused a warm flush of gratitude. “I’m fine. Thank you.”
“Good. I got ten grand riding on your well being.” He glanced back at the other man. “Who wants you dead, Miss O’Hara?”
“No one.”
Raz shifted his gaze back toward her. Something in her voice wasn’t quite right. “You sure about that?”
“Who would want to kill me?”
“Anyone who has known you more than five minutes.”
Hurt flashed in those big green eyes before she pushed to her feet. “I’m leaving.”
“That’s a good idea,” he agreed. “Whoever wants to kill you will try again when he doesn’t come back.”
“I assure you, no one wants me dead.”
“That remains to be seen.” He left her to rummage through the dead man’s pockets, looking for anything that might identify him. But he didn’t need a name to know what Arden O’Hara would have suffered before he killed her. Finding nothing of use, he hoisted the body over his shoulder and draped it across the back of the extra horse.
“We’d better head to the nearest town and find the sheriff.” He didn’t bother to add there would probably be a reward.
“We?”
“Yes, we.” he repeated. “Don’t you want to know the identity of the one person in the whole world who wanted to kill you?”
She stared at the corpse as if it would bite her. “I told you, I don’t know him.”
“Whoever hired him knows you.”
She briskly rubbed her arms as though to ward off a chill. “Look, Mister—”
“Colt. Raz Colt.”
“Fine. Colt,” she repeated. “I think a terrible mistake has been made here. I’m quite certain this man never meant to harm me. I think he was probably trying to scare me.”
“Men like this don’t play games, darlin’. They kill.”
“You speak as though you have personal experience.”
He shrugged. “I don’t make apologies for what I am.”
“What are you?”
“A law-abiding citizen.”
She raised a brow in his direction before dropping her gaze pointedly to his guns. He wasn’t about to explain his lifestyle to her. He was a hired gun; it wasn’t something he was proud of but it was what he knew, what he was good at. And he liked to think he provided a service to the local law enforcement. Any low-life he took off the streets was one less gun the sheriff would have to face down.
Still, her decided lack of fear in all of this nagged at him. Sure she was a little green around the gills from staring at the dead guy, but not once had she come close to panicking; not before he’d entered the little shack, not when he approached her and not now, when she’d damn near met her maker.
He removed tobacco and paper from his shirt pocket and calmly rolled a cigarillo. “Mind telling me why you’re ‘quite certain’ this man wouldn’t harm you?”
She sighed dramatically. “It’s a long story.”
“I’ve got time before he starts to rot.”
“I’m sorry you were dragged into this, but I was not kidnapped, at least not really.” She began to pace, moving away from him.
The cigarillo complete, he scraped a match on the heel of his boot. “I’m listening.”
She walked toward a nearby rock and took a seat, resting her elbows on her knees, chin in her palms. Another sigh. “I wanted Geoffrey to rescue me.”
He inhaled, held the smoke in his lungs, and willed himself to stay calm. A million different responses came to mind, most of them more colorful than what she’d spouted earlier. At last he allowed a stream of smoke to slowly leave his nostrils. “Why?”
She sprang to her feet and resumed pacing. “I needed to know if he cared about me or if it was the money. I didn’t want Daddy involved, I knew he’d worry.”
“That doesn’t explain our friend over there attracting flies.”
“The men I hired would never have sent a man like that, not even to scare me.”
“The men you hired?”
“Yes. I think we need to assume this man was after you rather than me. A man like you most certainly has enemies.”
“Not alive.” He threw the cigarillo aside and stalked toward her, thoughts of killing her himself running wild. “Are you saying I damn near took a bullet for someone who staged her own kidnapping?”
She shrugged, almost childlike. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry?”
“Yes. I’m sure Daddy will still pay—”
“You’re sorry?”
“Mister Colt, you’re doing that repeating thing again.”
For the second time that morning, Raz hoisted her over his shoulder, this time taking care to remove his guns. He pressed one against her ribs, partly for effect, partly from anger. “Not half as sorry as you’re gonna be.”
As expected, she kicked and thrashed, pummeling him with her fists, screeching like a banshee.
He deposited her onto the back of his horse, pinned her arms together while he retrieved a length of rope from his saddlebag. Before she could free herself, he wound it tight about her wrists, then secured it to the saddle horn and mounted behind her.
“What are you doing?” she asked, sounding more annoyed than afraid. She tugged at the ropes and let out a child-like shriek when they didn’t loosen.
“Taking you home.”
But not until he taught her a damned good lesson.

The Countdown Begins!!!

2010-06-11T15:18:00.003-04:00

One week from today is the release date for Wild Texas Wind!!! I'm torn between wanting to shout it from the rooftops--and wanting to pull it so I can fix all the things I imagine are "wrong" with it. Yipes!

As promised all those weeks ago, before the ol' Lifus Inerruptus got hold of me and kept me from blogging, I told you I'd be posting excerpts. If you just can't wait to get your hands on a copy, it's available in print format as an early bird special. But for the e-version, you'll have to wait til next week.

So without further adieu.... here we go! One of my faves, this is where the hero and heroine first meet.

“You call this crap food?” Raz Colt listened patiently to the tirade coming from the line shack he’d discovered late last night.
“I wouldn’t slop hogs with it!”
A sound suspiciously like a pot hitting a wall echoed in the calm morning air.
He shifted position. He’d been lying on the dusty ground below the window since last night. With the promise of H.H. O’Hara’s reward still fresh in his mind, he would spend an entire damn week this way if he had to. The sagebrush provided shelter from both the sun and any lookouts who might be around. He hoped to hell the men he’d leaned on for information and the trail he’d followed had led him to the right place.
A shriek of female fury pierced the quiet, echoed around him and bounced off the canyon walls. “I told you I needed a firmer bed. My back is killing me!”
“No, no, señorita.” Something banged against the wall, followed by shattering glass.
“I expect to be cared for better than this!”
Raz rolled his eyes at the stream of expletives that followed. She cursed her male companion, his mother, his future children, the entire country. Christ, she knew words even he didn’t say out loud.
This couldn’t be the “baby” H.H. O’Hara was so convinced “might just wither up and die” if she wasn’t treated “delicate like.”
He resisted the urge to have a look inside. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to recognize Arden O’Hara from her father’s description; the big man had been blubbering so hard the other night he’d been almost incoherent. Guilt was a powerful thing, Raz supposed. H.H. had refused to meet the kidnappers’ demands and hadn’t heard from them a second time. The rancher feared he’d done the wrong thing and would never again see his daughter. Averse to paying the “hooligans” who had taken her, he was more than willing to pay someone else to find her and bring her home.
The cabin door burst open; a man dashed out, holding his hat to his head.
“I said I wanted a bath, you incompetent jackass!”
A pitcher and bowl flew past, narrowly missing the man’s head. He bent to pick up the shattered pieces, mumbling to himself in Spanish about the ungrateful señorita breaking his wife’s good pitcher.
Raz made his move. With speed born of practice, his gun met his hand. Swiftly yet silently he crept closer. The other man started, then reached for his gun.
“Save it. You’ll be dead before you clear leather.”
The man glanced from the Peacemaker in Raz’s hand to the one strapped low on his hip then raised his gaze to size up his rival. His arms went up in surrender. “Señor. Did El Hombre send you?”
The man? What the hell was that supposed to mean? He adopted a loose-hipped stance, leaning one shoulder against the shack. May as well play along, see what he could find out “Yeah. He sent me.”
“Bueno. Better you than me. She is a handful, but I could never kill a woman. No matter how unpleasant she is.”
Raz digested that in silence. He wasn’t surprised the kidnappers intended to kill her, had half expected to find her already dead. Now that her daddy had refused their ransom demands, they would have no use for the girl. Except one. And with a temper like that, she’d only make it more fun for them.
“That does not bother you?”
Something thumped against the floor of the shack. “What the hell is going on out there?”
Raising a lazy brow, Raz sneered. “Do I look like it’s gonna bother me?”
The man gave a slight shake of his head. “She is like a tiger. She will not go down without a fight.”
With deliberate movements, Raz removed tobacco from his shirt pocket. Bracing one foot against the door, he calmly rolled a cigarillo. It was pure luck he’d arrived before the real killer, but he wished this little fellow would be on his way. Just once he’d like to have a job gosmoothly. No bloodshed, no fist fights. Nice and easy.
“Where is my goddamned bath water?”
The man adjusted his dusty, battered hat. “Good luck, amigo.” His relieved grin told Raz he’d probably need it.
He pulled a drag on the cigarillo as the other man mounted his horse and watched until he rode out of sight. With a light-hearted sigh, he turned toward the shack. It appeared all he had to do was return Arden O’Hara to her daddy, collect his reward, and not risk his neck doing it.
Visions of how he’d spend the money swam in his brain. Well, just one vision. Land. Lots of it. He’d always dreamed of being a man of property. Maybe then he could hang up his holster, change his name, and live a quiet, peaceable life.
“Do I smell cigarettes out there? Are you heating my bath water or lazing about smoking?”
He tossed aside the cigarillo and pushed open the door. And ducked as an object came flying at his head. It missed him by inches and flew out the open door. He glanced toward the enamel coffee pot, then back inside. The interior was dim, stuffy. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the change in light.
“Great, another one.”
Raz blinked.
“Did you bring my bath water?”
From his conversation with H.H. O’Hara, he’d been expecting a much younger girl. His gaze fell to the way she was dressed. A man’s shirt, tucked into slim-fitting trousers that hugged every curve. This was no child. Her hands rested on either hip. One small, booted foot patted the ground impatiently.
“Leave something on me, or I might catch cold.”
If life was fair, she’d have the face of a hag to match that heavenly body. Reluctantly, he pulled his attention upward. Damn the luck.

Tuesday Musin'

2010-04-13T08:18:00.005-04:00

Yesterday didn't allow for much blogging time so I'm musing a day late, and since my brain is still reeling from The Crash (my desktop--which is still not home) my musing is very lame, LOL.

Lovely evening. Yesterday was one of those perfect spring days, a bit on the cool side, but sunny with blue skies. After dinner last night, I convinced the DH to take a walk with me and the dog while the boys rode their bikes. What a great way to cap off an evening (and we snuck in a little exercise to boot!)

Sandwich generation. That's what they call those of us who have elderly parents and young children. I think that's because calling it "the generation whose head is being squeezed in a vice grip until their brain explodes" would take too long.

Kudos to Darah. Have you seen the review Miz Lace got for Unmasking Zorro? Incredible. Congrats, Darah. If you haven't seen it, hop on over to her blog and check it out. It's phenomenal! But then I expected nothing less.

Cold sweat. Now that I have the release date for Wild Texas Wind, my nerves are kicking up. What if no one likes it? What if it gets bad reviews? What if it doens't sell???? What if, what if, what if, LOL. It's amazing how many ways I can find to torture myself over what's supposed to be a good thing!

Favorite quote this week: (as seen on a bumper sticker, LOL) I'd give up chocolate... but I'm no quitter!

Now if that doesn't tell you everything about my mindset (let alone where my hormones are!*G*) this week, LOL, nothing else will.

Hope it's warm and sunny where you are!

Wednesday on Writing: Sweet Release

2010-04-07T15:39:00.004-04:00

What is it they say about the best of intentions? Well, I had 'em. Now they're gone, LOL. I awoke Monday morning with a great Maxine cartoon to share, ready to do some Monday Musin'.... only to discover my computer was NOT ready for me. It's dead. Crashed. Kaput. Whatever you want to call it.

Fortunately most everything was backed up (I have learned this lesson once before, and was also in the process of transferring some files to a new lap top --which I had barely taken out of the box!) So all is not lost, I'm just annoyed and what was supposed to be a gentle, gradual transition between computers was more like a trial by fire. Old Faithful will be repaired, though, I'm still a desk top gal at heart.

But the good news in my inbox (now that I have found and can access it again, LOL) is the release date for Wild Texas Wind. June 18!!!! Yay!!!!

Now I'm off to think up a contest idea for release week and will post some excerpts once we get closer to The Big Day.

For now, let's just stare at the cover some more.... SIGH.

How about you? How's your week been going so far? Any news --good, bad or otherwise--in your inbox?

I'm baaa--accck! Ready for some Friday Fun? Let's hang out with Darah Lace!

2010-04-02T08:16:00.004-04:00

Wow, what a week. Once again the bug takes a bite and I go down like a ton of bricks, LOL. But I'm back! Able to get my coffee cup past the end of my nose this morning, so that's a huge plus!

Today we're hangin' with my buddy, my bff Darah Lace. Do you have a CP that really makes you step up your game--that forces you to become a better writer just to keep up with her? LOL. Well that's Darah in my world. We've been buds for 7+ years now and I still mean it when I say she's one of the best writers out there. Not only am I a better writer for having spent these past seven years learning from the Queen of Steam herself--I think I'm a better person just for knowing her!

But enough mush... take it away, Darah! I'll just be here staring at that cover.... don't mind the drool running down my chin.

Hi Nicole! Let me get my Dr. Pepper and I’ll be ready to roll.

Tell us a bit about yourself and why you write the genre you do.

Not much to tell. I’m a wife, a mom, a friend and a writer. And I write what I write because no matter how hard I try to control them, my characters always want to be naughty.

LOL. Yes, they really do. Where do you get your ideas?

From songs, events, dreams, or maybe just a word triggers a thought, but mostly my ideas get me. They come from nowhere in particular. Sometimes it’s a line of dialogue. I’ve heard a lot of erotic romance writers say they get the story down and add sex later. I usually start with a sex scene I want to write and build a story around it. In Unmasking Zorro, I saw the h/h disguised and having sex in an alcove of a garden. With Bachelor Auction my characters were in a closet and with Saddle Broke I envisioned a barn and a saddle.

Describe your typical writing day

No day starts without a 12 oz. can of caffeine. My dh knows I’m up when he hears the pop from the kitchen. The buzz of my computer is next. Email, then a little back and forth IMing... yes, I procrastinate as long as I can...and up comes Word and my wip. I usually read through the previously written passage so I can get a feel for the characters’ moods then my fingers either thrum on the desk, 1-2-3-4, 1-2-3-4, while I continue to stall or they tap out a rhythm to match the words on the page. At some point I realize I’m hungry or I need another Dr. Pepper. Then there’s more email and chatting and back to writing until school’s out. I try for 1k per day but when I’m in the zone, I can get 2 or more. I do love those few and far between “more” days.

What was your “Aha!” moment—when you knew you had to be a writer?

I don’t really know if it was an “aha!” moment, but I do remember the book I read just before I started my first ms. I had never stayed up all night to read a book before but I can still hear the alarm clock going off as I started the last chapter of Courting Miss Hattie by Pamela Morsi. After that, the characters of my first book formed and they pestered me until I wrote their story. Of course, I had no idea what I was doing, but I loved every moment and it was then I decided I wanted to write.

If you weren’t a writer, what would you be?

More organized? A better housekeeper? An inmate in a loony bin? LOL I don’t know. I can’t imagine being anything else.

Tell me your best cure for writer’s block?

I wish there was a cure, but for those times when I have “treat the symptoms” I usually back off, read, watch movies, take a drive without the radio on, clean my house (surprising what clarity comes while washing dishes or sorting laundry), but then it all comes back to parking my butt in the chair.

Let's talk about UNMASKING ZORRO!

My contemporary erotic romance, Unmasking Zorro came out today at The Wilder Roses and I’m so excited. I had a lot of fun trying to keep up with Spencer/Zorro and who he was at any particular moment. He was confused half the time and so was I. Poor Melody didn’t stand a chance.

Blurb:

Business becomes pleasure when Spencer Preston attends a masquerade ball and encounters a red-hot she-devil. Especially when the sexy siren turns out to be none other than his prim and proper, no nonsense secretary, Melody Jamison. He’s been fighting his attraction to her for months. Hiding behind the black mask and swirling cape of Zorro, Spencer intends to discover all her deepest desires.

A plain-Jane persona is the only way Melody Jamison can ensure her business assets outshine her physical. Her only priority is attaining a coveted promotion at Preston Enterprises—and based on job skills, not T&A. Yet she desperately needs release from her uptight alter ego. A chance meeting with Zorro provides just the outlet she needs—and allows Melody to explore her most intimate fantasies when her masked lover seeks her out time and again.

When an unknown threat to Preston enterprises throws Melody and Spencer even closer together, will they trust each other enough to reveal their secret identities? Or will Spencer lose Melody forever by Unmasking Zorro?

Excerpt:

Headlights flashed at the end of the drive, and a car pulled through the open wrought-iron gate. Spencer ducked to the left between a white Rolls Royce and a black Mercedes. Damn. Just his luck for one of his brothers to show up and bust him for ditching the party early.

He waited for the car to pass, but instead of continuing on, it stopped next to his hiding place and backed into a spot behind the Rolls. He groaned when he recognized the red Corvette with vanity plates “REESE 3.” His instincts had saved him once again.

Crouching low, he poked his head around the front left fender of the Mercedes. Charlotte Reese slithered from behind the steering wheel. She glanced toward the house, and Spencer reared back, immediately moving to the other side of the car.

He was about to round the opposite fender when the passenger door opened and the toe of a red stiletto appeared. A pair of shapely legs followed.

The door shut, offering him a full-length view of those legs. Sheathed in red-tinted stockings, they led to the sexiest red dress he’d ever seen. A clingy bit of nothing with a hemline that swirled around the top of slender thighs then shrank to hug curving hips and a tiny waist. The neckline—if you could call it that since it came nowhere near her neck—revealed ivory swells that made his mouth water.

He lifted his gaze to see if her face matched the rest of her perfection and promptly fell on his ass. It couldn’t be.

But it was. He’d know that mouth anywhere. In the last six months, it had haunted his dreams almost nightly with the sweet taste of its lush fullness, its soft warmth against his skin. Those lips had promised many things but only in his dreams. And never in such vivid color. Fiery red.

Spencer watched as his secretary—or as she insisted he call her, his Administrative Assistant—settled the red sequined mask over chocolate brown eyes. It looked nothing like the black-rimmed glasses she usually wore. Little red horns topped the mask. Appropriate for the virago who taunted him by day with just a hint of the woman beneath all that starch, while by night she obviously lived a much different life.

“Would you hurry up?” Impatience tinged Charlotte’s voice. Probably eager to sink her hooks into some poor bastard. Spencer wondered who her next conquest was or if she even knew. Didn’t matter as long as it wasn’t him.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.” Yep, that stern voice definitely belonged to Ms. Jamison. “What if someone recognizes me?”

“Too late,” Spencer muttered under his breath, frowning at the reasons why his prim and proper, no nonsense Administrative Assistant might want to hide her more feminine assets. And more importantly, what the hell was she doing with Charlotte Reese, the daughter of his most fierce competitor?

Ms. Jamison moved out of sight, and he was back on the balls of his feet, ready to shift the opposite of whichever direction they took.

They swept past, oblivious to his presence, and his gaze followed the red stocking-clad legs upward to an indecently short hemline that fluttered teasingly in the breeze. Heat speared straight to his cock.

“I don’t know what you’re so worried about.” Charlotte snapped him out of his lust-filled stupor.

“Mitch Preston is supposed to be here.” Did he hear a bit of panic in the she-devil’s voice?

“So? You said yourself you hardly ever see Mitch. And when you do, you’re practically invisible to him. It’s not like Spencer will be here. He shuns these things like the plague.”

“He’s still out of town. I wouldn’t be here otherwise. Too much rides...”

Spencer strained to hear more, but whatever else Ms. Jamison had to say was filtered by distance.

The shadows swallowed them, yet he waited another full minute before rising, disappointment pressing in on him. In the past three years, Spencer and his brothers had run the firm their father built from the ground up, and they’d done a hell of a job turning the moderate business into a multi-million dollar corporation. But over the last several months, they’d begun losing clients. Big money clients.

At first they’d blown the loss off as a streak of bad luck, but over the next few months Reese Consolidated underbid Preston Enterprises by just enough to get every contract they competed for. No way was that a coincidence. Someone at Preston Enterprises was leaking information to Ben Reese. If his suspicions proved correct, he’d just found her.

Spencer looked at Zorro’s mask in his hand. He had to know for sure, and there was only one way to find out.

Anything else in the works you can share with us?

I recently sold to Ellora’s Cave and Saddle Broke, my contemporary BDSM cowboy ménage, will be out April 16!!! Click here to read more but be prepared to saddle up for a smokin’ hot turn between two cowboys who like a little twist with their ride.

Also, the sequel to Unmasking Zorro, will release September 3, 2010 at The Wild Rose Press. Bachelor Auction is Marcus and Charlotte’s story and all I can say is these two fought every step of the way toward their happily ever after. And they were the opposite of most of my characters. He was the stuffed shirt and she was the fun and flirty vixen!

Thanks so much for letting me be here today! I had fun!

Darah!

It was fun, Darah! I hope you'll stop back soon to introduce us to the next hot, hunky Preston brother!

Speaking of, Darah is giving away a free PDF copy of Unmasking Zorro to one lucky winner! Just post a comment and tell us the name of the sequel to Unmasking Zorro--she'll draw from the names of those who get it right!

Darah Lace

Slip into the seduction of Lace...

www.darahlace.com

Wednesday on Writing: Lifus Interruptus

2010-03-24T13:12:00.004-04:00

What do you do when life interrupts your writing schedule? This is one that affects me a lot. Seems whenever I get "into the groove" and back into a regular writing schedule, something comes along to upset my apple cart.

I try not to let the personal things interfere--my dad, after all, is well cared for in the nursing home so even if our last visit didn't go well (sometimes he pleads with me to bring him home, or to tell him when he can go home. Those are the hardest visits.) Anyway, I have to put that out of my head. Same with other personal issues, whether it's finances, a fight with my husband, worried about son #1's sliding grades, or something the MIL said that's burning my behind. I can set all that aside and still write.

But what about the stuff that really takes time away? Sick kids comes to mind. Up during the night so many times that you're dragging all day long, and ready for bed long before the household is ready to let you go there. While I've noticed my oldest son hasn't had nearly the number of ailments as usual this year, my youngest has averaged at least one illness a month since school began in September. I'm a certified germ-a-phobe, one of those mom's that all but dips her kids in hand sanitizer every day after school and after grocery store visits, etc. and is vigilant about hand washing. But he and his classmates are still young enough that they pass things around easily. Since it was the same with my oldest until he hit middle school, I'm guessing I have another couple of years of this before it's over.

This week was a combination of all of the above. I had only one day this week--today-- where I'd be home for the majority of the day--and instead I spent it chasing my youngest to the doctor, and then to the pharmacy for antibiotics and the 40 minute wait for the prescription to be filled. SIGH. I'd love to say I'll find time to write tonight after everyone is in bed, but after having been up and down with him most of the last couple of nights, I know I'll be too tired. Tomorrow night is cub scouts and Friday night is family game night--no give in the schedule at all.

All I can do is hope --and try! --to find time to write this weekend to make up for what I've missed all week long.

So what do you do when life takes a bite out of your writing schedule--how do you bite back?

Monday Morning Musing

2010-03-21T16:19:00.005-04:00

I'm back after a week's absence (dang migraines!)

It's not nice to be fooled by Mother Nature. Figures that the first day of spring would see a return to winter. We went from two weeks of 60 degree weather back to the cold, hard facts this weekend! Sure it's only 38, but after two weeks of shirt sleeves and flip flops.... brrrrr. Guess we'll finally have to admit it's March, not May!

The week from hell. It's never a good feeling when you flip the calendar to a new page and realize you don't have even one open weekend the entire month. I'm halfway through that, but about to embark on a super busy week. SIGH. Don'cha just hate it when life interferes with writing?

Whatever happened to the Class of 85? Have you heard about this? Did you ever wonder whatever happened to the prom queen? The guy voted most likely to spend time in a Federal Prison? The couple voted most likely to succeed? This is a new series the Last Rose of Summer line is doing over at TWRP. Next to the historical lines, LROS is my fave line to write for. I may need to dust off some of those contemporary ideas I've shelved for this one. (Class of 84, myself. Hey! I was 12 when I graduated. Child prodigy. LOL. You don't really beleive that, though, do you?)

Speaking of Class of 84, this week I've been totally obsessed with a band I spent a great deal of time listening to back in the day--saw them in concert twice in those days. I really love what Journey's new lead singer (Arnel Pineda) has done with the old songs. Loved Steve Perry back then, love the energy this guy brings now. And that long black hair (It's Raz hair!! SIGH.) doesn't hurt, LOL. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jEVKoeVYugA http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5ApvzYi9Jwk If you haven't heard his amazing "Cinderella" tale and discovery on YouTube, head over there and search for Journey on Oprah.

New follower? Well, well, well Miz Lace, 'bout time you emerged from hiding. Good to see you back, girlfriend. How many days til Zorro comes out???

Wednesday on Writing: What Frustrates You the Most?

2010-03-10T09:37:00.006-05:00

Funny, for last week's Wednesday on Writing feature I had planned to discus something along those very lines. But a busy schedule kept me from posting and I shelved the topic for this week.

And then something wonderful happened. A similar topic was chosen for discussion on one of the TWRP loops. The question "what drives you crazy about the writing process?" was posted. TWRP Author Delle Jacobs responded and her response not only had me nodding my head in agreement, it touched me--and inspired me.

With her permission, I'm sharing that with you. What she had to say was far better than what I would have come up with. I hope you'll find her words as inspirational as I did.

Do you know what is the most frustrating thing about writing for me? ME!
I am my own worst enemy. There are so many times when I would just like
to kick myself if I could just figure out how to do that effectively.I
probably have a lot of company, from what I hear. Writing is the thing
we love with such an intense passion that we quit our jobs to stay home
so we can devote more time to it. And then what? We waste our newly
found time.

I'm always busy, yes. But doing what? I've never been one to write in
the morning so I try to get other tasks done until my mind is better
set. But it seems there ae so many days when morning doesn't end until
the sun goes down! And that's entirely my fault!

I think we talk a lot about writers' block, but we don't seem to
remember writing is hard work. Most of us can remember the early days of
our writing when it was such pure joy, when the words flowed like warmed
honey, and we think we ought to feel that wonderful experience with
every word we write. But we've forgotten the other side of that time.
Part of why it was so wonderful was just writing without the constraints
that inevitably came with writing better. We didn't really know how to
write, but we didn't know we didn't know. And now we know so much more,
and hold ourselves to a much higher standard. Now writing it hard work.
Yet we tell ourselves how bad our writing is. And we fill our days with
busy work that keeps us from having to face the fear that maybe our
writing stinks after all. What failures, what frauds we are! All because
the stories don't come easily, like we somehow think they should. But if
writing were easy, why would anyone stand in awe of authors and what
they do? If it were easy, anyone could and likely would sit down and
whip out stories as easily as they manage the daily drive to work.

I've decided that when a story hits a wall- or I do- it doesn't mean I'm
a failure or fraud, or that my story is junk and that's all I can write.
It means instead that I have come upon an opportunity to take my story
from ordinary to outstanding. I could probably take the easy, safe way
out and just write what anybody would write. There's always one of those
easy, trite plot lines available. But if my gut is shutting down my
brain and saying "Don't write that," then I'd better listen. It's time
to sit back and analyze my story, brainstorm my plot, or as Joleigh
Kramer said, time to make a list of ten different thing that could
happen next, and throw away the first five, because anyone could think
of those.

But you know what, this is hard! Maybe I just slip back into the bad,
lazy habits because I just don't want to face hard. Maybe some days I
just want to go back to the joy of writing junk and not noticing how bad
it is. And maybe, some days I'm just plain lazy and want to play. And
I'm willing to accept the coming guilt as a perfectly acceptable price
to pay for the fun of being lazy.

Delle Jacobs
http://dellejacobs.com

Isn't that amazing? Big round of applause for her honesty. Now let's all go write and not worry about how good it is, or if we're doing it right. Write, if you will, just for the joy of it!

How about you? What do you find most frustrating about writing?

Monday Morning Musing

2010-03-08T08:45:00.006-05:00

I'm musing, LOL, but only about one thing. I just found out this morning that my 2008 contemporary release The Model Man will be out in audio book on May 12!

TWRP, my publisher, chose only those books that had sold exceptionally well and received great reviews to be among the very first offerings for their new audible book feature. I'm so tickled mine is one of them!

It's exciting and a little scary to think of someone actually giving a voice to my characters!

So that's all I'm musin' 'bout this sunny Monday morning!

Pretty cool, huh?

Muuuuu-sin' .... on a Tuesday Afternoon...

2010-03-02T12:41:00.004-05:00

A busier than usual Monday kept me from musing, so here I am with some thoughts and observations on a Tuesday! My Wednesday on Writing post will probably also be delayed since I won't be near the computer for much of tomorrow. (Sorry, couldn't find any good Maxine's this week, either! I will do my best to find one for next Monday's post!)

Remember when you were a kid and your grandparents told you children should be seen and not heard? That's kind of how I feel about perfume, one of my worst migraine triggers (and air fresheners and scented body lotions, etc.) It should be something someone smells only when they get "thisclose" to you. Not something that lingers from a hundred yards away.

Kids! Sometimes the hardest part about being a parent is not laughing when you really want to. Last night I served stuffed peppers for dinner--never a favorite among kids (or me!), but one of the dh's favorite dishes. I told my 7 YO he did not have to eat the "yucky, slimy pepper" if he didn't want to. He promptly yanked it from his plate, dangled the halved pepper in the air and announced (much to the delight of his older brother): "It looks like an ass." I tried to swallow back my shock and surprise, glanced to the hubby for back up--and he was trying not to laugh, too. Sigh. Outta the mouths of babes.

McCaffrey's Law: We finally get a good snowstorm--and the one street they forget to plow in the entire neighborhood? Mine! Go figure. Thank goodness Mother Nature came through with some great sunshine today and melted it all off. That noise you hear, btw, is not the Wicked Witch of the West, but the giant snowman my kids built Friday after the storm. "I'm melting.... melting...."

Which brings me to:

TGIM! Yes, thank God it's March! You know what they say... "thirty days has September; April June and November. All the rest have 31, except for February which has..... 137."

Favorite quote this week:

A bird doesn’t sing because it has an answer, it sings because it has a song. – Maya Angelou

Friday Fun: Snow Day Entertainment

2010-02-26T10:14:00.002-05:00

Yep, it's a snow day. We haven't had one since 2008, and with a tough school district like ours, my kids know they're lucky they got this one. (However, can't say I appreciated the phone call with the pre-recorded message at 5:30 this morning letting me know schools would be closed. Really? I need to know at that hour?)

Anyway, I'm having fun just hanging with my guys today and after watching our big doofus of a dog romp in the snow, we started browsing You Tube for fun pet videos. Somehow the subject of pets on commercials came up and I introduced these poor deprived children to one of my childhood "heroes," Morris the Cat. We enjoyed some old commercials then stumbled across this one. Apparently Mr. .... er Cat, is still alive and well (and looking great for his age).

This video had us cracking up. If you're a kitty person, you'll love this.

Enjoy!

Wednesday on Writing: Peeping Tom vs. People Watching? (Or: I really need to get a life!)

2010-02-24T10:00:00.002-05:00

Are writers ever bored? I don’t think we are. I mean, sure there are times when we’re restless, but with people and plots living in your head, you're pretty much carrying around your own entertainment 24/7.

And as if that weren’t enough entertainment, there’s always people watching. Which is how I discovered The Black Family. I have no idea what their last name really is, and that’s not an observation about their skin color, that’s just what I call them.

Let me explain. As any of you who have visited here before know, I have two boys. Which is precisely why I sit in the last row at church every Sunday. It started out simply enough—it’s easier to take a wailing newborn, or tantrum throwing toddler out of the building when you sit near the door. Now that they’re older, I sit there because The Walk of Shame (when we leave after mass) is shorter –meaning there are less people to glare at me on the way out for the way my boys have behaved the past hour.

But the acoustics in my church are not all that great, and in-between my hissing “stop that!” or “sit/stand/kneel” I really can’t hear what’s going on up front. Which is why my mind wanders. And I people watch.

This is how I discovered the family referenced above. It started out as simply noticing the well dressed lady several rows in front of us. Maybe it’s because she never turns and glares when my youngest loudly demands “how much longer is he going to talk?” Or maybe it’s because I admired her red curls (my hair is fine and pin-straight; we always want what we don’t have).But after a while I noticed, hmm, she always wears black. If you were to throw open my closet doors, you would see a lot of black, too, so maybe it’s normal I’d notice it.

Most weeks she was joined by a young man I’m guessing (the red hair is a dead give away) is her son. I’m really not a voyeur, I simply noticed him because of his timing. He shows up at a quarter past the hour—you could set your watch by him—seconds before the reading of the Gospel. He also leaves (as does half the congregation) directly after communion. This is an old Catholic trick; technically, if you’ve heard the gospel and received communion, you’ve been to mass. But most of us consider it cheating. Eventually I began to notice that Mr. 11:15 also wears black—coat, shirt and shoes. Every week.

Okay, so maybe those are just their Sunday best, right? Oh, it gets better.

On holidays, the pair are joined by an older man I’m guessing is Dad. Because he has light grey hair and a stocky build, he looks like a Mafia Don, so he kind of stands out. And guess what? He dresses all in black, too. Head to toe.

Still, I was willing to concede that this was a family in deep mourning and leave it go at that. Until one day when I was out walking my dog. I passed Mr. Black—again dressed all in black—and he was walking his dog. It was black. I noticed, because it’s a newfie, and I love newfies.

Then he turned down the driveway toward what I assume is his house. Since this is my usual route with my dog, and I see their dog barking in the window most days when we go past, I’ve had time to notice a few more things. Like the fact that the house has black shutters. And both cars in the driveway? Black. The lawn furniture? You guessed it. Black.

It drives me crazy wondering what’s up with all the black? Is it their last name? Are they huge Johnny Cash fans? Mobsters? Color Blind? If it’s not a mourning thing, who came up with the idea—and how do you convince your family to only wear one color-- only buy things in one color-- for the rest of their lives?

It certainly must make it easier to get dressed in the morning.

The fact that I have mentioned all of this to my husband and he just kind of grunted and shrugged like it didn’t matter, makes me wonder if I'm crazy to wonder. How can he not find this interesting? Are writers the only ones who notice this sort of thing? Or am I just bored out of my mind?

Do you notice things like that about people you see on a regular basis? Whether it's the guy who rides the elevator past your floor every day who always carries an umbrella; or the woman who is always sweeping her driveway in her housecoat? And if so, do you ever start “what if’fing?” wondering at their motivation? Like "It's August, no chance of rain" or "how dirty can a driveway get in 24 hours?" There just might be fodder for some good characterization here, if only you knew what motivates them. Does he have toupee he fears getting wet? Does she have some OCD that makes her need to clean?

Why, why, why, why???? It's a writer's favorite question.

Lately I’ve noticed that Mrs. Black is no longer at mass every Sunday. And Mr. 11:15 still shows up for his half hour “drive through” version of mass.

Hmmm….. I really need to get a life.

Monday Morning Musing... thoughts and observations of the past week

2010-02-22T09:18:00.007-05:00

Ahh the perfect Maxine cartoon after a week spent with the boys both home, LOL.

Spring fever pandemic! Who’d’ve thunk 36 degrees could feel so wonderful, but with sunshine galore, this was a gorgeous weekend. The birds were chirping, the neighbors were grilling and I even got to wear…. shoes!!! No boots on these feet when I headed out for church and shopping yesterday. Felt great!

Westminster Dog Show. Loved it, as always. For some mysterious reason (hmm. I wonder why? *G*), I always root for the herding dogs to win. EW magazine picked this guy as their choice for Dog of the Year, LOL. If you’ve seen the movie Up, you know why I agree. “Squirrel!”

Now, if the judges at Westminster would just overlook that whole “jumping as a form of greeting” thing, and admit that even those fancy pedigreed dogs lick their butts now and then, I think they’d see my side of things and pick this guy. Okay, maybe not. But he’s my pick for best in show any day, LOL.

McCaffrey’s Law: the one night I don’t have trouble falling asleep is the one night both my kids do (hmmm… worrying about heading back to school today, maybe?).

Tiger Woods. I missed it. Did Tiger see his shadow—or do we have six more weeks of sex scandals?

Quote for the day. This is from one of my personal heroes, the jellybean prez himself, who would have turned 99 this month:

“Hard work never hurt anybody. But why risk it?” – President Ronald Reagan

Friday Fun: Just for laughs

2010-02-18T10:19:00.004-05:00

This is not intended as anything other than fun; we've all heard the stories about the Toyota recalls; I have two friends who drive Toyotas and frankly I wish they'd just get rid of the darn things so I could stop worrying.

But when I saw this on YouTube the other day, I laughed out loud--and who doesn't need a good laugh these days! So that's all it's meant to be, --a laugh--no offense to anyone who loves their Toyota, LOL.

Enjoy!

To Judge and Be Judged

2010-02-17T07:57:00.003-05:00

A recent conversation on one of the loops I belong to got me thinking about contests. Love ‘em or hate ‘em , they’re a necessary evil in this business. And they don't stop just because you finally grasp that brass ring -- publication.

They just get more expensive. *G*

But the conversation wasn’t about post-pub contests, it was about entering contests as a pre-pubbed author. It seems that in the early days of a writer’s career, when her work needs a little guidance, the judges are kinder. But for the more seasoned writer who has polished her style and her voice, it seems the claws come out.

Developing a thick skin is a must when you’re a writer but that doesn’t mean unkind comments don’t sting. While I threw away all those old scoresheets a long time ago, there are one or two comments that have stuck in my mind over the years.

“This guy is really pissing me off.”

LOL. This was about Derek, the hero in my 2008 release The Model Man. Years away from that painful barb I can say at least my writing brought out strong emotion in the judge, LOL. But I think the reason I remember that one so clearly is because the comment had absolutely nothing to do with my writing and everything to do with the judge’s personal taste. It was really unprofessional.

Some are just plain amusing and this one has always stuck in my mind:

“Is it supposed to be day or night?”

This one was on the opening scene of Wild Texas Wind. After reflecting on how exhausted he is, how hard he’s worked, how he’s looking forward to a little R&R, my hero, upon learning the size of the reward being offered for a missing heiress, climbs out of a hot bath, hands his cigar and brandy over to the soiled dove he was planning to –er—keep company with and leaves, (telling said prostitute he’s going after that reward money). If that’s not enough to tell you how this man doesn’t give a damn if it’s night or day, rain or shine, or even if there’s a blizzard raging, I don’t know what it’s gonna take, LOL. And this poor clueless judge wanted to know if it was night or day! Oi!

Of course, it goes without saying that the nastiest comments are more than made up for by the glowing remarks of a judge who does like your story, only critiques your skill and gently encourages you on your career path. But it’s funny how some of those comments linger .

What are some of your more memorable comments –good or bad-- from contest judges?

Monday Morning Musing... thoughts and observations of the past week

2010-02-15T08:42:00.003-05:00

*Whatever happened to manners? Maybe it’s because I spend so much time living in the past vicariously through my characters, but… Why does my son’s schoolteacher—a woman a good 15 years my junior—think it’s okay to call me Nicole when I’ve not invited her to do so and always call her Miss So and So? My younger son’s teacher is a good 15 years my senior and she calls me Mrs. Hmm…Maybe I’m an old fuddy duddy. But if you happen to see Common Courtesy out there, will you tell it I’m looking for it?

*Speaking of school…which is worse, that I have the middle school principal (where my oldest attends) on speed dial on my cell phone… or that the principal of the grammar school my youngest attends has me on hers? Hmmm.

*McCaffrey’s Law: the same husband who treats Christmas and birthday gifts as an afterthought will go overboard on Valentine’s Day… especially when you didn’t get him anything.

*February recess. Yes, the kiddies here are off from school all week. Who invented this form of parental torture anyway? I’m betting it was Uncle Walt himself, since this is one of the busiest weeks of the year at Disneyworld.

*How many more days until February recess is over?

Friday Fun: Hangin' with Isabel

2010-02-11T09:20:00.007-05:00

Isabel Roman reviewed The Model Man on her blog on Wednesday; today she's interviewing me. Stop over for and visit!

Here are excerpts from the stories mentioned in the interview:

This Moment in Time

Wild Texas Wind

The Model Man

A Model Review

2010-02-10T07:52:00.003-05:00

I'm so tickled! Isabel Roman has reviewed my 2008 release The Model Man on her blog today!

Stop over and see what she had to say about it, then be sure to stop back at her blog Friday for her interview with me.

Thanks, Isabel!

Monday Morning Musing

2010-02-08T09:32:00.005-05:00

Some random thoughts inspired by my busy weekend. (Is there any other kind?)

*Never again do I venture into a grocery store on Superbowl Sunday. I don't care if it's milk, tampons or dog food that I'm out of. NEV-ER.

*Lone gunman--or conspiracy? No, I'm not talking about JFK, I'm talking about laundry! How is it that skipping one day--just one day!!!-- of doing laundry means the next day, there are at least three loads waiting. There are only four people in this house and at least one of them doesn't change his undies every day (my ten YO--he thinks I can't tell!) so where does it all come from??? I'm betting on conspiracy.

*McCaffrey's Law (since I'm no relation to Murphy): It is a scientific fact that while you are cleaning one room, your hubby and/or kids are trashing the others. You think I'd stop bothering after a while!

*Lastly... why is it that the more determined you are to have a quiet weekend, the less likely it is to happen? (or in other words--can I get a blizzard, please???)

I'll leave you with a quote from a woman who undoubtedly understood.... the late, great Erma Bombeck.

Do you know what you call those who use towels and never wash them, eat meals and never do the dishes, sit in rooms they never clean, and are entertained till they drop? If you have just answered, "A house guest," you're wrong because I have just described my kids. ~ Erma Bombeck

So how was your weekend? Did you get time to relax or spend it watching the clock, waiting for Monday to get here so you could finally have your house back?

Happy Dancing

2010-02-05T07:00:00.000-05:00

As some of you may have noticed on the sidebar, I have my cover for Wild Texas Wind. I'm thrilled with it, and while the cover artist couldn't find a guy with long, dark hair, like my hero, I love that she picked a guy whose hair doesn't show--and if I look close enough in those shadows around his collar, I can pretend his dark hair is there, LOL. And, I should add, the artist got everything else right. I always envisioned the cover to feature my hero, shirtless, in just a long black coat. Kudos to the awesomely talented Nicola Martinez.

What do you think? I love it!

Read on for the back cover blurb and excerpt.

All Raz Colt wants is land, a quiet peaceable existence and to put his life as a hired gun in the past. When the chance to earn a sizable fortune by rescuing a kidnapped heiress comes his way, he seizes the opportunity. Trouble is, the heiress doesn’t want to be rescued. Offsetting Arden O’Hara’s beauty is a rattlesnake personality and shrewish temper. Despite her claim that she faked the kidnapping so her fiancé would ride to her rescue, Raz knows someone is out to kill her. And if anyone gets the pleasure of wringing her lovely neck, it’s going to be him.

Arden O’Hara is desperate to go home. Her fiancé was supposed to ride to her rescue, proving it’s her–and not her father’s money– he loves. Instead an arrogant stranger, with weapons strapped gun-fighter low and a decided lack of sympathy for her situation, shows up spouting a ridiculous tale about someone trying to kill her. It’s infuriating when Raz Colt’s claims prove true after not one but several attempts are made on her life. She has no idea who this fast gun with the deadly aim is, or why he makes her feel as wild and untamed as the Texas wind. But like it or not, if anyone is capable of getting her home alive, it’s Raz Colt.

Excerpt:

“Don’t say it, Colt.”
“No one else has reason to want you dead—other than me. But if you marry him and meet up with some convenient accident, Geoffrey becomes a very rich widower.”
She lunged at him, claws bared. “Bastard.”
Raz caught her arms and pressed her against the mattress. “The sooner you face the truth, the better your chances of staying alive.”
“I won’t listen to this.” She flailed , but when she couldn’t dislodge him, she attempted to put a knee to his groin. “Let go of me.”
He straddled her hips to keep the knee from connecting. “Not until you calm down.”
“I’m not going to calm down as long as you’re on top of me, you jackass! Let me go or I’ll scream.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
She opened her mouth.
Pinning her arms, he had no choice but to muffle her scream with the only thing he had left. Leaning forward, he opened his mouth over hers.
In an instant everything changed.

As good a place to start as any....

2010-02-02T10:16:00.006-05:00

I received this from Sarah Simas (thanks, Sarah!) back in December but haven't had a chance to do anything with it yet. I guess seven random facts about me are as good a place to start as any (if I can think of that many! LOL)

1. It's all about handbags. Some women shop for shoes, some like clothes. Me, I love purses. Big ones, small ones, leather ones, fabric ones. For me, a stroll through the handbag department is like a little kid walking through a candy store.

2. I've always believed that pets are God's way of keeping angels with us at all times.

3. I hate to drive. In fact, if I never had to leave my house again, I'd be a very happy hermit.

4. The first story I ever wrote was called "The Unloved Doll Who Became Loved" (my mother still has it). I've since learned not to give away the ending in the title. *G*

5. Fifteen years together and I am still giddily, ridiculously, head over heels in love with my hubby.

6. Hubby and the boys think I watch Dirty Jobs with them just to spend family time together. But I have a secret crush on Mike Rowe.

7. Must have my NCIS fix daily. A day without NCIS is like... well, a day without NCIS!!

How about you? What's something random about you that nobody knows? Fess up!

Coming Soon from The Wild Rose Press....

2009-10-20T13:13:00.006-04:00

Not even captivity can sway Southern widow Josette Beaumont from spying for the Confederacy. Under the nose of the Union army, she willingly risks her life to pass information to her sources. Until a stranger appears in her bedroom one day with a cryptic message: stop spying or you’ll die. She has no reason to believe his warnings about the future, but his company is the only solace in her long days of imprisonment and his friendship quickly comes to mean so much more. If only she could make the sacrifice he asks of her…

To hell with history, real estate mogul Jamie D’Alessandro has no intention of saving the historic mansion he’s purchased, even if it is the home of a famous Confederate spy. But when he steps into an upstairs bedroom of the old house, time suddenly shifts, bringing him face to face with a very beautiful and irate Southern lady. Against his will he’s drawn into her cause—to save the Confederacy. But Jamie has a cause of his own. According to his research the lady spy has only days to live. Should he change history to save the woman he loves—or sacrifice life in his own century to be with her for This Moment in Time?

Excerpt: (Jamie's first night in the old house is interrupted by unexplained noises from upstairs. An investigation into the source leads him to an upstairs bedroom. )

He took another deep breath to slow his heart rate. While he was out gathering tools tomorrow, he’d have to get something to put over the window. He’d never get any rest with that door thumping all night long, and the air blowing inside would only make the house colder.
Chuckling at his own ridiculous fear, he started to turn. A voice—not the howling of the wind this time— and the sudden sensation of warmth at his back stilled him.
“Honestly, Sebastian, he can’t keep me locked up here much longer. I’ll go mad.”
A woman? She sounded calm, perhaps a little angry.
“Drat it, now I’ve lost count.” A heavy sigh followed. “The last I remember was twenty strokes, I’ll have to start over from there.”
Heart back in his throat, he turned just enough to glance over his shoulder. The first thing to greet him were the windows—the very same windows he’d admired moments ago. Only they were now adorned with white lacy fabric. To the left, a warm fire crackled in the fireplace, casting a golden glow across the gleaming hardwood floor. And directly in front of him, a dark gray cat lay sprawled across an ornate canopied bed, calmly grooming itself. It paused, tongue in mid stroke and stared up at him with curious green eyes.
“Twenty one. Twenty two. Twenty…”
Swallowing, he forced his gaze from the cat to the source of the voice. A woman sat at a vanity, tugging a brush through long, dark hair. In the mirror, he watched as her gaze moved from her reflection. To him. She let out a gasp. The brush fell from her hand. She whirled on her seat to face him.
“Wh—who are you?”
She could see him!

Friday Friend: Meet Debra St. John!

2009-10-09T00:01:00.000-04:00

Tell us a bit about yourself and why you write the genre you do.

Hi everyone! Thanks so much to Nicole for having me today.

I live in a suburb of Chicago with my very wonderful husband. We've been renovating/restoring an old 1920's bungalow for the past 8 years and it's been a labor of love with a lot of blood, sweat and tears involved. One of my favorite parts of the restoration was removing the storm windows the previous owner had installed to enclose the front porch. Now I have a wide open front porch, which when the weather is nice acts almost as an outdoor living room for us. In my free time you'll find me curled up in one of the rockers or on the love-seat bench with a good book. My favorite genre is romance, mostly contemporary, which is why I write what I do.

How long have you been writing?

I've been writing romance since high school, although I have to admit, I'd be pretty embarrassed to have one of those stories make its presence known. Let's just say I've learned a lot about writing in the last 20 years!

Where do you get your ideas?

I love country music and often a certain lyric will bring to mind an idea. I also try to include places I've actually visited in my books, so traveling can be very inspirational as well. Sometimes ideas just pop into my head out of the blue. You never know. I keep a pad of paper and a pencil in my nightstand in case inspiration strikes suddenly in the middle of the night. I actually scribbled notes for my free read on my checkbook register while I was waiting in line at the pharmacy one day. When the idea came to me, I didn't want to lose it. (And, no, the story doesn't have anything to do with pharmaceuticals!)

Describe your typical writing day

I wish I had a typical writing day. (LOL) I have a full-time job that I love, and writing is something I do on the side. When I am fortunate enough to have an entire day to devote to writing (weekends, holidays) I find that changing locations helps the muse to flow. I'll start in the living room on my laptop, move to the front or back porch or even outside on the patio (weather permitting, of course), then finish up back in the living room or even upstairs in bed. The best investment I ever made was my laptop. Usually I'll take a few minutes to review what I've written previously, then get to it. Often I'll have handwritten notes with ideas or scenes that I scribbled down when my computer wasn't near, and I start with those.

Tell me your best cure for writer’s block?

Music helps a lot. But I also find it helps to take a notebook outside and just start scribbling by hand. For some reason a blank piece of paper seems less daunting to me than a blank computer screen.

Tell us a little bit about your latest work.

I have a new book, called "Wild Wedding Weekend", coming out in May 2010 from The Wild Rose Press. Last week I sent my editor my latest manuscript, "This Can't Be Love" which is a spin-off of "This Time for Always", my debut release. This was a really fun book to write, since I got to bring one of my secondary characters to the forefront as the hero. Here's Zach and Jessica's first kiss:

They laughed together, then fell silent. Crickets chirped in the darkness. The scent of Zach’s aftershave drifted to her on the light breeze.

After a while, he turned toward her. “Do you?”

“Do I what? Like apple pie and ice cream?”

“No,” he said softly. His gaze dropped to her lips. “Do you kiss and tell?”

Jessica’s heart kicked into a fast rhythm and she caught her breath. “I…”

“Shhhh.” He leaned closer. “I won’t tell if you won’t,” he whispered before his mouth claimed hers.

His lips stroked over hers, not aggressively, but softly, tenderly. He didn’t touch her anywhere else, but brushed her mouth with gentle intent.

Her first instinct was to pull back, but something stirred deep inside her.. A feeling she’d nearly forgotten. Whispery shivers danced along her nerve endings and fluttered in her stomach. Without meaning to, the action was purely a reflex, she opened to him.

The kiss deepened. Their breath mingled. Her palm slid up his chest, feeling the play of muscle beneath his shirt. She fisted the flannel of his open collar in her hand.

His knuckles grazed the sides of her face.

Her body tingled with awareness. Scattered thoughts flitted through her mind, but she couldn’t hold onto any of them. Not while Zach kissed her. Not when his mouth fitted so perfectly against hers. Not when the pulse racing at the base of his throat matched the cadence of her heartbeat.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt like this. Had felt anything.

Should she be feeling this way about Zach?

Almost as if sensing her conflicting emotions, he softened the kiss, tenderly brushing his mouth over hers one last time.

She waged a silent war within, trying to calm her racing heart.

She still clutched his shirt. She relaxed her fingers one at a time, releasing the twisted fabric from her grasp. Finally she drew in a deep breath, then slowly let it out.

Her eyes found his.

Zach’s gaze searched hers, then he smiled. A smile as soft and tender as his kiss. He touched his finger to her lips, then rose. “Good night, Jess.”

Anything else in the works you can share with us?

Right now I've dredged up an old manuscript from the deep depths of my computer's memory. I'm hoping to revamp it a bit and submit it to The Wild Rose Press in the near future. My first step will be to bring it to my local RWA group for a critique session. The fabulous ladies of Chicago-North always get me off to the right start on any project.

Feel free to visit me at www.debrastjohnromance.com

or at http://acmeauthoslink.blogspot.com where I'm the Sunday blogger.

Thanks, again, Nicole, for having me today!

Thanks for coming, Debra, and best of luck with getting that MS polished up and sent out! Keep us posted on what comes of it!

Friday Friends... meet Ilona Fridl

2009-10-02T06:39:00.004-04:00

Friday Friends returns today with special guest author Ilona Fridl. I had a little trouble on my end (my fault, not Ilonas!) with the post, she's here now so let's get started! (And thanks, Ilona, for putting up with this scatter brained author!)

Tell us a bit about yourself and why you write the genre you do.

I'm originally from Southern California and when I was twenty-two, moved to Wisconsin, which was a shock to the system! Seriously, I fell on ice and cracked the bone in my elbow the second month I was here. Not a winter fan, but I'm still in Wisconsin, since I met my husband, Mark, here. Took up writing when we got our computer in the 90's and started a novel in 2000.

I enjoy writing about the twentieth century, because there was so much happening at that time. The last half of it, I don't have to to a whole lot of research, because I was around then.

How long have you been writing?

In a way, all my life. I used to make children's picture books for myself when I was little. I loved creative writing in school and doing research for reports in high school. Occasionally, I would sell a story or article to a magazine, but that's as far as it got. When we bought a computer, I really took to it. You see, I was terrible at typewriters. I made more mistakes than there was paper, now the computer corrects all my boo-boos.

Where do you get your ideas?

A lot of them come from a “what if” game I play with myself. Silver Screen Heroes came from a “what if a crime family bought a movie studio for making and distributing liquor in the 20's?” (ooooh, pardon me for interrupting, but that sounds sooo fun! Definitely just landed near the top of my TBR pile! -Nic) Others come from songs, poetry, pictures, etc.

Describe your typical writing day

Usually, I start after breakfast checking email, and taking care of any business I need to online. Then the rest of the morning I work on edits or on my work in progress. After lunch, I put in two more hours on writing. I average about four hours a day of actual work on manuscripts. The rest of the time is for any of the household chores I need to do. Although, I find I'm always working on the story in my head.

What was your “Aha!” moment—when you knew you had to be a writer?

I think I've always kicked that around, but I never acted on it. When I sold a couple of short stories to magazines, I guess that was an “Aha!” moment for me. I found an editor that thought I could write well.

If you weren’t a writer, what would you be?

If I was able to continue with my college education, I probably would have made a good teacher. I enjoy being around children. I got to do some of that when I worked at Old World Wisconsin as a costumed interpreter. It's a living history museum and we had many school tours.

Tell me your best cure for writer’s block?

This may sound silly, but I play some solitaire on the computer and my mind stays active about the story. Or I just get away for a day or so and a scene that was bothering me seems to work itself out.

Tell us a little bit about Silver Screen Heroes.

My first book of the Dangerous Times series, “Silver Screen Heroes,” was released July 31^st. I'm working on the edits for book number two, “Golden North,” and writing number three, “Bronze Skies.”

I'll share an excerpt of Silver Screen Heroes:

Addy couldn’t shake the dread she felt for Muriel. When she hugged her, Addy said in a low voice, “If you ever need me, you know where to find me.”

Muriel smiled. “I’m all right. You take care of yourself.”

“I really wish I had more time to talk to you.”

“We’ll get together at work. Goodnight, Addy.”

Addy took hold of Zeke’s hand when they were well on their way back. “I don’t know what it was, but—”

Zeke touched her lips with his fingers. “Not now.” And he nodded toward the chauffeur.

They were silent for the rest of the way, for fear the chauffeur would hear them. Muriel, what have you gotten yourself into? Yes, Tony has money, but how did his family get it? Are you in danger now?

When the chauffeur let them off, Zeke offered a tip, but the man waved him away. The auto disappeared down the street while Addy walked with Zeke to his Model T.

“I was going to say I didn’t feel comfortable with Tony’s family. They were kind to us, but something about Joe Giovanni was menacing. I don’t mean his eye patch, although it looks like he got that in a fight.”

Zeke nodded. “I got that impression, too. They’ve bought into the studio. I wonder whether that’s going to be a good thing. I don’t trust that man.”

They held each other in a brief embrace. Addy felt so safe in his arms that she didn’t want it to end. All the bad things of the world seemed to go away when she was with Zeke. She put her face next to his shirt and breathed in the warm scent of him, a scent that was becoming very familiar to her.

He pulled back and kissed her. “Let me walk you to the door.”

She put her hand on his cheek. “That’s all right. I can find my way.”

“Goodnight, Addy, I love you.”

She smiled. “I love you, too.”

Zeke set off in his auto, and Addy had started toward the building when she heard a scuffling sound coming from the wall. “Addy!” she heard a voice call in a harsh whisper she thought she recognized.

“Roxie! Is that you?” She saw two crouched figures. “Beth, is that you, too?”

“Yes! We’ve run away from Mr. Rudd. He and one of his goons—” Roxie got no farther before an auto came squealing up the drive.

“Stop, you!”yelled a man from the auto.

Addy grabbed both girls by the arm. “We’ve got to run inside!” She dragged the exhausted girls as she flew along the walkway. They had gotten to the corner of the building when she heard a bullet whiz past her head. Another hit Beth, who cried out, and then Mrs. Hutton was at the door, pulling them all in and locking the door behind them.

“Roxie, Beth, go into the parlor! Addy, call the police. I’ll be right back!” Mrs. Hutton charged to the back room.

Addy jiggled the cradle of the phone in the lobby. “Operator! Get me the police!” When the station answered, she said, “I’m Adeline Garcia at Dormitory Number Three at Majestic Studios. There are two men with guns trying…” Suddenly, the line went dead.

Anything else in the works you can share with us?

After this series, I'm going to rework my first manuscript set in the 1960's in Los Angeles and San Francisco

Visit me at Liana's Place

2009-09-23T13:31:00.001-04:00

I'm guest blogging on Liana Laverentz' blog today about mom stuff, writing stuff and just finding the time stuff.

Stop on by for a visit!

Nic

Guest Blogging re: Remembering Patrick

2009-09-15T13:14:00.001-04:00

If, like me, your memories of Patrick Swayze are a little removed from his roles in Dirty Dancing or Roadhouse, pop on over to the American Civil War: Beyond Scarlett and Rhett blog today where I'm remembering Patrick in a very different role.

When buildings fell, hereos rose...

2009-09-11T13:34:00.006-04:00

Friday Friends will be back next week, I took a little break for Labor Day weekend and it just didn't seem appropriate for today.

Instead, let's take a moment to remember those who lost their lives eight years ago today.

My nephew (below) is in Iraq right now fighting for our freedom. God willing, he'll be home safe and sound this time next month. But this is one of his favorite songs so I thought I'd share it with you. Here's hoping this American Soldier knows how much his auntie loves and misses him! And in case he stumbles across this blog... I've already bought the ingredients for the homecoming cheesecake!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AyJTIXKI1mA

And the Winner is....

2009-08-31T15:17:00.002-04:00

The winner of a PDF of Isabel Roman's latest release is....

Gayle! (orelukjp0@gmail.com)

Please contact Isabel Roman at isabel@isabelroman.com

Congratulations, Gayle!

Friday Friend: Meet Isabel Roman

2009-08-28T00:01:00.001-04:00

Wow, did you see that cover? As if August wasn't hot enough already!

Today's Friday Friend is someone I've had the pleasure of getting to know over the past several years, fellow Scandalous Victorian, Isabel Roman. Isabel has promised to give away a free .pdf of her latest release (I'm still drooling over that cover!) if we have ten or more commenters.

Welcome, Isabel, and thanks for spending your Friday here with us!

How long have you been writing?
Serious writing? Maybe 7 years. Seriously serious writing? Where I realized there were rules and reasons and that things were done certain ways in romance that weren’t done elsewhere? About 4 years. Takes a lot to learn the craft…especially now that I know there is a craft to learn!

Where do you get your ideas?
Everywhere. A twist on an old story I’ve read. Something I see on the news and think, oh, how can I work that in? Or better, take a modern day something and make it historical? Staring blankly outside a window works, too.

Describe your typical writing day.
I have two: One where I have the entire day, one where I work all day then write. The first involves copious amounts of red licorice and chocolate, pizza (fast and easy to heat and reheat) soda and V8 Splash/iced tea/water. Then I write (or plot the story) with minimal interruption for close to 12 hours. I then crash. The second involves me deliberately shutting off NCIS reruns and forcing myself not to turn the TV back on as I usually work on dialog or edit. This mostly happens during work days.

What was your “Aha!” moment—when you knew you had to be a writer?
I don’t know. I pretty much always knew, I think. I’m not sure it was one of those moments I can remember rather than something that’s always been with me.

If you weren’t a writer, what would you be?
I AM a librarian and business woman, lol. One day, maybe, with planning and work, my only paying profession will be writing, but that isn’t happening. YET.

Tell me your best cure for writer’s block?
NCIS reruns, sleep, cleaning if I’m desperate. (Cleaning lets the mind wander.)

Tell us a little bit about Kiss of Scandal.

It came about when my publisher, Ravenous Romance, asked if I could do something non-paranormal historical. Hmm, sure. I always have ideas bobbing along in my head. I decided on Russia during the Crimean War. Not a time or country often done, so the research was difficult but very enlightening, and ultimately very fun.

Blurb:
In the wreckage of a friend's death, Countess Katria Markova finds her perfectly ordered life, irrevocably altered. Russian politics proves more dangerous than the front lines of war, and when her fiancé’s future is threatened by rumors of treason, their cat-and-mouse game ends. In its place, a political game, where their very lives are at stake, begins.
Count Nikolai Orlov will do anything to clear his brother’s name. Anything except put Katria in harm’s way. Attracted to her from the moment they met, he’s spent their time together breaking the wall that surrounds her heart. He wants the passionate woman beneath, wants to shatter her cool exterior.
With her life in danger, Nikolai’s only course of action is to exact revenge. From the snowy streets of St. Petersburg to the River Neva’s icy depths, they search for the answers to clear Nikolai. But in their search, will they lose each other?
Excerpt:
“I expect venom to spew forth momentarily.” The deep voice rumbled from behind her.
She could feel his hot breath tickling her shoulder, skin tingling with awareness. His lips brushed the base of her neck, there and gone in a heartbeat. Scandalous in so public a setting. Heart racing, she forced herself to turn slowly, arching an eyebrow as Count Nikolai Andreiovitch Orlov joined her and Anatoli in front of the Jordan Staircase.
Her need to rush up to the state rooms vanished.
Drinking in his appearance, Katria kicked the hem of her heavy skirt as she faced him. Her focus left his eyes to graze down his tall, muscular frame. As tall as Anatoli, Nikolai towered over her. It was the look, however, the one she now knew he reserved for her, that aroused sinful thoughts whenever they met. She smiled.
“Count Orlov.” She extended her hand, but instead of delicately kissing the back of it, Nikolai raised his dark eyes to meet hers and kissed her gloved palm. Katria tilted her head and offered a cordial nod for the benefit of any who may be watching.
“Countess.” Nikolai offered his arm and they started up the stairs. Closing his other hand over hers, keeping her close by his side. Katria couldn’t say she minded. “The vipers are restless, slithering about the rooms in search of prey.”
The way he’d said prey, the hungry look he slanted in her direction, made her shiver. Her fingers tightened on his arm, and Katria was certain he noticed. Then again, everything about Nikolai elicited a reaction, the strength of his arm, the power in his smooth, deep voice. Now, as they climbed the stairs, his fingers brushed over her wrist, teasing the bare inch of skin between glove and dress.
“I’ve missed you,” Nikolai said. The words were so low, for a moment she wasn’t certain she’d heard them. Then he chuckled, and the sultry sound went straight through her.
Anything else in the works you can share with us?
Oh, lots! So many stories, so little writing time…

I just submitted a zombie romance story to Ravenous…no worries, this isn’t a romance between zombies, but between those killing the zombies. Kick ass all the way! OK, more like Night of the Living Dead meets Scooby Doo.

Currently, I’m working on an 1807 England-set story involving deception, treasure hunting, and mistaken identity. A little suspense with your historical romance and a lot of fun.

I’m also in the midst of plotting a series of stories for The Wild Rose Press that take place at the tail end of World War I. These are short stories with a romantic overall arc that plays out over the 4 (so far) planned shorts. Lots of tension, lots of romance, lots of dead people and deception. I’m picturing it almost like The Thin Man, but with spice.

Thanks for stopping by today! And thank you so much, Nicole, for having me!

You sound like one busy lady! Thanks for spending some time with us today.

To purchase Kiss of Scandal, or any of Isabel's other works, click here.

And the winner is....

2009-08-22T11:19:00.002-04:00

The winner of the drawing for a PDF of one of Rebecca's books is....

Martha!

Martha, since you've already read Rebecca's books, she has kindly arranged for you to receive a free read from Class Acts books instead. (Talk about a Class Act!)

In order to give away one of her books, Rebecca did another drawing and this time the winner is....

EA, or Evie Alexis! Please contact Rebecca at dixie92298@yahoo.com to claim your prize!

Congratulations winners, and Rebecca, thanks again for spending time with us yesterday!

Nic

Friday Friend: Meet Rebecca J. Vickery!

2009-08-21T00:01:00.002-04:00

Welcome, Rebecca, and thanks for sharing your Friday with me! Good news, if we have ten or more commenters today, Rebecca will be drawing names for a giveaway of one of her books! Please let it be me!! Oh, wait, I don't count, do I? :o(

Rebecca, tell us a bit about yourself and why you write the genre you do.

Hi Everyone. Hope you are having a great day. I’m Rebecca J. Vickery; a wife, mother, grandmother, and an author who loves to write happy ever after romances with a twist of the paranormal, adventure, or suspense along the way. I write HEA romances because I truly believe in them, but I am too adventuresome to settle for just a romance. There has to be some excitement, an element of danger, or an unexpected twist because that is life. You can see some photos and learn more about me at my website:
http://www.romancewithatwist.com/

How long have you been writing?
My serious fictional writing began in 1998 when my sister kept pushing and nudging for me to put my bits of stories and notes onto my computer. Once I finished, with some editing and polish, I actually had a romance novel.

Where do you get your ideas?
I get ideas from the world around me, people I meet, television news, and even my dreams. My debut novel, Surviving With Love, was born from two separate snippets heard on the news. My next book, Looking Through The Mist, was hastily written down after a very realistic dream, and the third one, Following Destiny (coming in October) came from a photo I saw and my vivid imagination. One of my current WIPs came from a few second radio spot I heard in the car on the way to Myrtle Beach. So anything and everything inspires me.

Describe your typical writing day.
My typical writing day actually begins after everyone else is asleep. When the house is quiet and it is just my MUSE and I, the words seem to flow and I can feel the characters telling me their stories. I can’t type fast enough to keep up most times. Soon after dawn, my 3 year-old granddaughter Taylor, who stays with us, hits the floor running. Forget writing after that. My MUSE runs and hides. My husband and my mother watch her for several hours in the morning so I can sleep. Once I’m up I check emails, do promos, visit my groups, and take care of any business with my publisher. I usually do this and edit between helping to entertain Taylor and required household chores. Late evening is supper, bath-time, and bed and then I can finally return to my writing. (ummm....anyone else wondering when she sleeps??? Gosh I envy people who can get by on little to no sleep...)

What was your “Aha!” moment—when you knew you had to be a writer?
I’ve always wanted to write and had a poem published in a children’s magazine when I was in elementary school. I have always written in one fashion or another. Reading Celia Garth while a pre-teen got me hooked on romances for life. But my AHA moment for romance writing was probably when I finally gave in to my sister and put all my notes on the computer. When I saw what resulted, I knew I wanted to be published. I had to share my stories with others and pay back some of the great feelings I’ve enjoyed over the years from my reading.

If you weren’t a writer, what would you be?
SAD. Sincerely, if I couldn’t share my stories and write, I would be one of the unhappiest people on earth. But I would still be a researcher and a technical writer, if not a fictional author.

Tell me your best cure for writer’s block?
My very favorite cure for writer’s block is a long walk on the beach. The sound of the waves and the ocean air always un-block me. But, failing that, doing something physical like chasing grandchildren or my toy poodle usually helps. Also editing the last few chapters will sometimes help me get my characters going through my mind again and wake my MUSE.

Tell us a little bit about your current release.
My current release is Looking Through The Mist and is available from Class Act Books at http://classactbooks.com/bkpgLookingMist.html It is a full length paranormal romance novel. Please visit the site to read the first chapter free.

LOOKING THROUGH THE MIST
by
Rebecca J. Vickery

Psychic Jessica Wilder was a consultant for the FBI until she suffered burnout. The visions leave her alone for several months and she starts to make a peaceful life for herself. Then suddenly, they come back with a vengeance visions of children being kidnapped. How could she not try to save the children?
Detective Jonathon Lansing doesn't believe in psychics, but the young woman in front of him is very convincing. Can she truly help him track down a kidnapper? Or is she involved in the crime?
Another child is taken right from under their noses. As they follow her turbulent visions through several states and into Canada, Jessie and Johnny begin to discover they want more than a working relationship. But will it distract them from finding the children in time?
ISBN 978-1-935048-18-3 1-935048-18-X
Word Count: 84,177
Paranormal Romance

Anything else in the works you can share with us? I have my third novel, Following Destiny, being released by Class Act Books in October. I really enjoyed working on it. A down-on-her-luck young woman inherits a house in Texas and all her grandmother’s possessions including a very special antique ring. There is a handsome sheriff, an extremely large dog, and a serial killer tossed into the mix to make her life interesting. I’m also working on a contemporary western titled Seeking Shelter with a bit of an inspirational twist to it along with a rogue stallion and some bad guys. I hope to have it ready for a New Year’s release. Then another paranormal romance, Healing Rain, about a young woman who has the gift of healing is in the works for release in March of 2010. These will also be with Class Act Books.

I have a video showcasing my 2009 releases for anyone interested at:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jfgNMWIOa48

And I blog at: http://www.rebeccajvickery.blogspot.com/

Please drop by and visit anytime. I love company and Taylor and I enjoy reading the comments.
Thanks so much for having me here today, Nicole. It’s been fun.

Thanks for coming, Rebecca and sharing your love of writing with us!

Friday Friend Malfunction!

2009-08-14T10:12:00.003-04:00

Today's scheduled Friday Friend had a computer problem and wasn't able to return her interview in time. I considered moving up next week's Friend but didn't want to do that to her last minute.

So instead, you're stuck with me. *G*

In true keeping with summer vacation mode, I can think of nothing to blog about. So I leave you with one of the funniest videos I've seen in a long time (maybe I'm just easily amused?) *G*

Hope you enjoy it!

Blogging with the Victorians today...

2009-08-11T12:56:00.002-04:00

Hope you're enjoying the summer!

Take some time today to stop by the Slip into Something Victorian blog and read my post on the Confederate Prisoner of War Camp called The Elmira Hellhole.

Friday Friends: Meet Kat Henry Doran

2009-08-07T00:01:00.001-04:00

Nic—thanks so much for inviting me to your blog. It's always a treat to talk with you!

LOL Kat, you're my best bud, I love hanging out with you!

Tell us a bit about yourself and why you write the genre you do.

I am a wife, mother, and grandmother, semi-retired nurse-paralegal, and former victim advocate and sexual assault nurse examiner. Over the years, I've been honored to work in several different areas of nursing [though at the time I didn't always consider the 'honors' side of things] which sparked my imagination, forced me to use my brain, and has left me very grateful for the opportunities I've been given.

My husband and I recently celebrated our fortieth wedding anniversary—and haven't killed each other! Our youngest child turned 30a the other day. I spent the day feeling quite sorry for myself because, of course, I'm not much older than that myself [at least in spirit] so how did that ugly reality of life rear it's ugly head? It's been an adventure, sometimes quite rocky, staying married and raising three terrific kids. I admit I had help along the way from my mother-in-law and her son.

Now, how many women can say that with a straight face and uncrossed fingers?

Why do you write the genre you do?

I write romantic suspense because it turns me on and it's fun. At this stage of my life, if it ain't fun, I can't be bothered. Since I am basically lazy, I don't have the drive to research historical figures, crucial dates, or modes of dress like you, my friend. I'd much rather slap a pair of tight jeans and a golf shirt on some guy than worry about if zippers or snaps had been invented yet. I also like to curse, so of course my characters do, too. I don't want to worry if a certain phrase was in use at the time of the story. And don't get me going on historical medical practices. It's amazing that people survived even though most didn't wash their hands often, had no refrigeration or indoor plumbing, antibiotics or immunizations. Yech!!!

That doesn't mean I don't do research for my books. I once spent the day making rounds with an equine veterinarian, an afternoon at the Mounted Patrol barn of the local police department, interviewed [read: interrogated] a physician who'd spent months in Central America, working for Doctors Without Borders. Years ago, I spent the entire summer reading every book in my local library branch about the Rom [Gypsies], a much-maligned, often misunderstood culture.

My byline is “romance takes a bite out of social injustice”. So whatever I write, no matter the length, feature at least one medical professional, one from the criminal justice system, and someone[s] who have been abused or misused by the system. Write what you know. I do.

How long have you been writing?

26 years.

Where do you get your ideas?

Often a newspaper or magazine article will stir my imagination. Occasionally song lyrics do it for me. George Gershwin and Cole Porter are particular faves. Recently, while traversing the yellow pages looking for one thing, I came across pages of ads for escort services and the “services” they offer. What an eye-opening experience that was. With that, the idea for a story was conceived. I pattern how my heroes look from movie stars. The escort story features a Daniel Craig look-alike. He's the newest James Bond with the great bod and a fabulous lived-in face. I honestly don't know who I pattern my heroines after.

Describe your typical writing day.

It depends on the time of year. From September 1^st through June 30^th, I provide child care for my three [soon to be four] grandchildren. Right now I'm on “summer vacation” and have not suffered one second of withdrawal. So . . . after inhaling my usual pot of coffee while ESPN's Mike and Mike in the Morning debate the latest in sports happenings on ESPN, I complete the two cross-word puzzles from the morning paper. Then, I either head to my sewing room to create the next in a long line of made-to-order tote bags which are masterpieces [not!].

Sewing for long periods of time is not good for people with tricky backs so I don't sew every day. I spend as little time as possible with emails; and admit I don't blog as often as I should. I loathe writers' loops, though I do read the digest titles and will zone in on something that interests me. As a result, I am so far out of the loop, it's pathetic. I had no idea a schism occurred recently within RWA. Whoa!!! Treason, insurrection, and heresy all rolled into one. If someone would email me privately and give me the scoop, I'll make you a tote bag!!

I tend to write at night and on weekends. When September 1^st hits, beats me when I'll have time, or the strength, to do anything beyond breathing.

What was your “Aha!” moment—when you knew you had to be a writer?

It was 1983; I received a card from someone I'd worked with in the Operating Room. We'd not seen or talked in probably 5 years. I sat down at the dining room table to catch her up on what I'd been doing with my life. After a while I robbed my kids' school supplies for ruled paper. Before I knew it, I had twenty pages written. I couldn't believe it!! And I knew I had to be a writer.

If you weren’t a writer, what would you be?

A baseball groupie or a nun.

Tell me your best cure for writer’s block?

I review what I last wrote, even if it's 50-100 pages. Never fails for me.

Tell us a little bit about your latest release.

Try Just Once More will be out in re-release through the Wild Rose Press in May of 2010, one of the Last Rose of Summer line. It's a contemporary romantic suspense, set in the Adirondack Mountains of Northern New York State.

After being cleared of murder charges, Maggie McGuire escaped back to her childhood home to rebuild her shattered life. Now, three years later, the past has returned with a vengeance and it's aimed directly at her kids.

The nosy Chief of Police is relentless about uncovering her sordid past in order to deal with the present. She once paid a very high price for trusting a cop. Is Michael Brandt for real—or another uniformed bully disguised as a smooth-talking hunk? He'll have to walk a very long road before Maggie puts the lives of her precious children in his hands.

No innocent when it comes to personal betrayal, Mike will have to put aside personal resentments in order to convince Maggie to try just once more.

Anything else in the works you can share with us?

I'm in the process of strengthening the goals, motivation and conflict[s] for the male escort story I mentioned before. The “escort” is a cop [what a new and interesting concept for me!] on the trail of tag team serial killers and an investigative reporter or photojournalist with one Pulitzer Prize under her belt and is a nominee for a second for her work in the Middle East on behalf of the plight of women in a misogynist culture. She is in town to attend an important gala where she is to receive a humanitarian award, but needs a date. Guess who's the date? Sparks fly immediately, not all are positive. Her acceptance speech blows him out of the water—and forces him to take a second look at her and all those “bleeding heart liberals” willing to risk their lives to right a wrong.

Wow. Kat, thanks so much for hanging out with me today! It was fun!

Friday Friends: Meet Sarah Simas

2009-07-31T00:01:00.002-04:00

Today's Friday Friend is someone I've known only a short while, but somehow, she felt like an old friend right from the start. Her enthusiasm and drive reminds this jaded "been there, done that" author just why I got into this business in the first place. Cause I love it! I'd forgotten that.

Sarah, tell us about The Lovestruck Novice, and why you chose to gear your blog toward the beginning writer.

I'd only been writing a short time when I started having words like POV and Active Writing thrown at me like darts and had no clue what they meant. So, I started asking questions and did my homework. Luckily, I have a great group of experienced writers who were more than willing to let me pick their brains. As I started growing as a writer, I knew I had to pay it forward and help other newbies. So, I started The Lovestruck Novice.

It’s been a long time since I started out in this business. What challenges do you find as a writer just starting out?

When I started writing, I had no idea about the current industry standards. I formatted my pages like I would an essay from college. Double spaces after a period, spaces between paragraphs, and a list of other editorial nightmares.

I only knew what I read. Johanna Lindsey, Julie Garwood, and Jude Deveraux lined my bookshelves. Fine and dandy, right? Sure for reading purposes, but not so much for writing. My first draft had so many -ly's and -ing's!! I remember wondering if I was leaving a trail of red ink out the door when I left my first critique session. Books from the 80's and 90's are wonderful! Just not great examples of current writing practices. LOL

I think anyone trying to break into writing needs to research their genre. Looking for support, I joined some writer's Yahoo groups and started lurking. There is a lot of good information that gets passed around on loops. *heehee* It's where I find the authors to interview and tidbits for my other blog.

I call "lurking" research and my hubby calls it stalking. LOL I find I learn more when I listen and observe. I also follow links. If someone has a link in their siggy line, I'll follow it. You never know what information, tips or sites they list. I've met quite a few of the authors I've interviewed that way.

Tell us a bit about yourself and why you write the genre you do.

I'm a huge fan of romance novels. I snitched my mom's copy of Silver Angel in Jr. High to take with me to camp and was hooked. I cut my teeth on some of the greatest names in romance. After I'd read a book, I'd find myself wondering why an author didn't have a character do this or do that. By my senior year, I'd already tried to write my own novel. LOL I still remember the beginning scene. Merciful heavens, I hope I've progressed!

When I'm not writing, I'm a stay at home mom. If not submerged in housework, I'm chasing around two toddlers. I have a 3 y.o daughter and a 2 y.o son. This fall, I'm so happy that my girl is starting preschool. I like imagining that I'll have a lot more free time, but I know I'll be just as busy! Before I was a mom and a writer, I was a foreman in a quality control lab for one of the world's leading mozzarella cheese makers. There are some juicy stories I have tucked a way from that blip of my life! *sheesh*

How long have you been writing?

I've been writing for almost a year. Right after I had my son, an idea hit me for a prologue. I tried to write the scene out but kept getting lost. I had no idea of what I was doing! LOL Life got busier when I started watching my nephew. I had two 2 y.olds and an infant all day- everyday. I often felt my mind was leaking out of my ears! So, I put the story on hold until last summer when the scene just wouldn't leave me alone. I had to write the story or go crazy!

Where do you get your ideas?

I get my ideas from words, songs, conversations, etc. Anything is fodder for my imagination. For my current WIP, I think I had been watching a movie about a serial killer and that sparked a vision of a scene in my mind. I took the idea and ran with it. I'm constantly scribbling away when I hear something funny or think up a scene. Usually, my best ideas come to me either when I'm doing dishes or just before I fall asleep.

Describe your typical writing day.

I think one of the good things milking cows and feeding calves through college taught me was the benefit of being up early. I'm usually up at 5:15am or so to write before my kids awake up. After that, it's all down hill until naps. Writing during the evening and night is difficult. So, I have to be very organized and as productive as possible! Someday's, I'm lucky to write at all!

What was your “Aha!” moment—when you knew you had to be a writer?

Probably when my story idea wouldn't go away. The devious killer (who oddly I've come to love writing the most) wanted his story told. And we all know that once unleashed, sometimes characters just won't shut the heck up!

If you weren’t a writer, what would you be?

CRAZY! Writing gives me time just for me. Plus, I get out of the house every Friday night for my critique group. *score!*

Tell me your best cure for writer’s block?

I'm still trying to master writer's block! Usually, I'll go back and work on edits. I find this helps me get refocused on where I'm heading.

Tell us a little bit about your current WIP, In Pursuit of Love

IN PURSUIT OF LOVE is my current WIP. It's set in England during the Regency Era. I've had a lot of fun putting my heroine, Melanie, through the ringer. Here is my newbie attempt at a blurb:

Orphan Melanie Wainscott returns to London to reclaim her birthright and unlock the secrets of her past. When her quest for the truth attracts the attention of a killer with a score to settle, Melanie must fight for her life and chance for true love.

EXCERPT: - In this scene Melanie is locked in the boudoir of a brothel where she is about to be sold to the highest bidder. All her attempts at escape have been futile and panic is gripping her hard and fast. Bradford stumbles upon the girl he nearly seduced by a pond but days before while searching for his father's missing ward.

Melanie’s knees threatened to buckle. Her skin tingled with awareness. His magnetism was palpable. She felt as drawn to him as the tide to the shore.
He stood paces away, but his heated gaze scorched Melanie’s skin. A bevy of emotions overwhelmed her when he stepped into the room and shut the door quietly behind him.
The time for the auction was close at hand and her nerves were as frayed as an old rope. His presence soothed her better than a dram of outlawed whisky.
Elated by his arrival, she threw decorum to the wind and ran to Bradford with open arms.
Melanie met with a wall of warm flesh. The heady scent of sandalwood and leat her hit her senses like a storm. She sighed when he wrapped his arms around her. The cut of her gown left a ribbon of delicate skin exposed down her back. His gentle caress sent shivers of delight down her spine.
Being held within Bradford’sl embrace filled Melanie with renewed hope. She squeezed her arms tighter around his waist. She was safe.
“Look at me.”
His voice was thick and weighted with promise. Melanie’s stomach fluttered. She longed to know if Bradford felt the same fire upon his skin when she touched him. Unable to deny him, she lifted her eyes to meet his smoldering stare. In an instant, Bradford lowered his head and captured her lips for a long, hot kiss.
Over and over, he plundered her mouth while his hands ran the length of her body. She rose up on her tip-toes and settled shaky arms around his neck. The delicious feel of his body pressed against hers was intoxicating. She felt the fevered clip of his pulse beneath her fingertips. Lightly, she stroked the back of his neck.
When he broke off the kiss, Melanie felt robbed. Warm hands cupped her bottom and pulled her closer. His breath whispered across her shoulder and Melanie trembled. She opened her mouth to speak, but words failed to form.
He nuzzled the base of her neck. “Let me take you away from here.” He place a soft kiss on her shoulder. “Be mine.”

Wow--did she say she's only been writing a year????

Anything else in the works you can share with us?
I'm always busy looking for authors to put in the Hot Seat for TLN. I've also got some ideas going for a Depression Era romance and a Contemporary Romantic Suspense.

I'd like to thank Nicole for turning the tables on me! It was fun seeing what being in the Hot Seat feels like. I guess I should have remembered the saying- Turn about is Fair Play! LOL

LOL. Thanks for stopping by, Sarah!

Words for Women to Live By

2009-07-27T07:14:00.003-04:00

The busy month of July continues... so with no time to post a "real" blog today, I thought I'd share this.

1. Aspire to be Barbie - the bitch has everything.

2. If the shoe fits - buy them in every color.

3. Take life with a pinch of salt... A wedge of lime, and a shot of tequila.

4. In need of a support group? - Cocktail hour with the girls!

5. Go on the 30 day diet. (I'm on it and so far I've lost 15 days).

6. When life gets you down - just put on your big girl panties and deal with it.

7. Let your greatest fear be that there is no PMS and this is just your personality.

8. I know I'm in my own little world, but it's ok. They know me here.

9. Lead me not into temptation, I can find it myself.

10. Don't get your knickers in a knot; it solves nothing and makes you walk funny.

11. When life gives you lemons turn it into lemonade, then mix it with vodka.

12. Remember wherever there is a good looking, sweet, single or married man, there is some woman tired of his bullshit!

13. Keep your chin up, only the first 40 years of parenthood are the hardest.

14. If it has tires or testicles it's gonna give you trouble.

15. By the time a woman realizes her mother was right, she has a daughter who thinks she's wrong..

Have a great week!

Friday Friends: Meet Paisley Kirkpatrick

2009-07-24T00:01:00.002-04:00

This week I'm joined by another Scandalous Victorian, the lovely Paisley Kirkpatrick. Adopted mother, loving aunt, gracious cheerleader--that's the role Paisley plays for everyone she meets. Her writing journey is an inspirational one, and I'm delighted to have her here today as a Friday Friend. The fact that she's a fellow Western fan and writer just makes me love her more. *G* Oh, and I'll let Paisley tell you why I chose a pic of Gerry Butler to post here today.

How long have you been writing?
I started writing in 1989, but didn’t join RWA and learn the proper way to construct a story until Fall of 1999. I’d been reading a lot of the ancient Harlequins and had no idea what POV was or any of the craft rules we live by. In fact, when someone read my first story, she gave it back to me after reading only a few pages. Told me to learn what POV is. My claim to fame is: In one paragraph with five sentences I had four different points of view and one of them belonged to the rock.

Where do you get your ideas?
I have often wondered where my ideas come from. I really don’t know. Plots just appear in my head and the characters start telling me their stories. I don’t know how many stories there are, but if I don’t write them as the characters want, they stop talking to me.

Describe your typical writing day.
I use the morning hours to edit what I have written the night before. For some reason I like writing late afternoon and into the night. Early morning I feel stiff mentally and need to experience part of the day until the writing juices start to flow. Since I now have a laptop along with my main computer, I can write as late as I like. The length of time depends on my hands as I have carpel tunnel syndrome that slows me down if I push too hard.

What was your "Aha!" moment—when you knew you had to be a writer?
My dream was to write a book. I’d always told my children to dream big if you are going to dream and never stop until you achieve that dream. I’ve finished three stories and am into my fourth. So, actually, my dream has already come true even though I am not yet published. I’ve loved the journey, the learning, the friends, the thrill of putting together plots and having feedback from people who’ve read my chapters.

If you weren't a writer, what would you be?
A secretary – which is what I did for years in the accounting business and in property management.

Tell me your best cure for writer's block?
People always raise their eyebrows at me when I confess my cure – I listened to the music to Phantom of the Opera or watch the movie with Gerard Butler as the Phantom. The music, or maybe the Scot, always seem to break through the muse that is blocked and ideas flow like crazy. So far, this method has never failed to work for me.

Tell us a little bit about your current WIP.

Prey of the Huntress is my current WIP. It takes place in 1853 in the mountain community of Paradise Pines, located in the Sierra Mountains of California. The setting is a few years after the gold rush of 1849. Rebecca Ryder arrives to accept her inheritance only to find it is not what she expected – a rundown shack and the ownership of the local newspaper. She knows there is a gold mine somewhere and to keep her property she must discover its location to pay the property taxes. The hero , Trevin MacGregor, owns the property around her inheritance and he and his brothers run a cattle ranch. They need the property she now owns to be able to move their cattle. Her grandfather had promised them the “gate” they need to safely move their livestock through the mountains, but changed his mind and leaves it to Rebecca. The MacGregors try to take her land by paying the back taxes, but she is able to take care of business first and saves her land temporarily. Now the next property tax payment is due in six weeks. She must find the gold mine entrance or the cattlemen will take her land.

EXCERPT:

A tremor shook the shack a good ten seconds. Her hands flailed. He grabbed her arms and held tight when she lost her balance. They rolled down the side of the roof and over the edge, landing with her on top of him.

“Are you all right?” she cried, running her hands over him.

Stunned, he couldn’t move, couldn’t catch his breath.

She laid her ear against his chest. “Your heart’s still beating.”

He moaned, opening one eye a crack and then the other. “You’re dangerous, lady. What kind of power do you have to knock me breathless every time we meet?”

“You’re a monster for scaring me like that.” She got to her feet and brushed off her skirt.

He rolled onto his side enjoying every moment of her scolding. God, but she was even more beautiful than he remembered.

“What happened? Did the cabin move or was it my imagination?”

“The cabin definitely moved. We’ve experience several earthquakes over the past few days.” He got to his feet, wincing and rubbing his aching backbone. “I need to talk to Garland’s granddaughter. Where is she?”

“I’m Garland Boone’s granddaughter and new owner of this grand place. My name’s Rebecca Ryder.”

“But,” he stopped, shaking his head at the discovery, “Garland led me to believe you were much younger.”

She snickered. “I’m not a bit surprised. Grandpa always referred to me as his little rebel. Guess he forgot I grew up.”

He limped to an overturned crate. Sitting, he rested his head in his hands. Good God! What an impossible position. He glanced at his huntress and saw more trouble than he wanted to deal with. His brothers wanted Miss Ryder gone but he couldn’t - wouldn’t - let her go.

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

“No, I’m not all right. Your grandfather promised me rights to the passageway through the Black Gate. He reneged and my brothers are ready to skin you alive.”

She stepped away from him. “Are those your sentiments as well?”

He glanced up. “No. I’d like to think I’m the mature MacGregor.”

“You have a strange way of showing your maturity, Mr. MacGregor.”

“What’s that supposed to mean. You don’t know me well enough to make a judgment like that.”

“No? Let me see. Does ‘that harebrained female is not keeping us from running our livestock through the Black Gate,’ sound familiar? Or, my favorite, ‘A woman’s place is in front of a stove or warming a man’s bed.’”

Good Lord, she heard the twins’ outburst in the lawyer’s office? He jumped to his feet. His head started spinning. He reached out and she wrapped her arms around him.

“You’re not all right.” She led him to the cabin’s front door. “Come inside and rest before you collapse. What were you thinking dragging me off the roof with you?”

He dropped his arm over her shoulder and let her help him along the narrow space to Garland’s rocker. “I thought I was saving your life.”

He sank onto the chair with a deep moan. “Garland has some whisky in that cabinet over there, I could use a drink.” He nodded toward the bottom of a stand.

“You shouldn’t have alcohol, Mr. MacGregor. You might have a concussion.”

“I didn’t hit my head. I landed on my back with you on top of me, remember?”

“Aren’t you the grumpy one?”

He glanced at her tapping toe. “I’m sorry. I’m miffed at my brothers for speaking out of turn at your expense. I should have cuffed them when they poke ill at your expense. They’ve been a handful since our parents died and my other two brothers and I’ve taken on raising them. I’ll see they apologize appropriately to you.”

“Thank you, but it’s not necessary.”

He nodded at the cabinet again.

She grunted and knelt before the opened cupboard. “There’s only a couple bottles of Scotch in here. Will that do?”

“It’s only the finest whisky made.” Jesus did he need some of the drink.

A huge rat bolted from between the bottles plowing against her chest, knocking Rebecca on her buttocks. Her frantic glance up at him came with a loud shriek. In a quick moment she moved onto his lap, pulled her feet high off the floor and buried her face against his chest. “Is that horrid thing gone?”

This was more than he could ever have hoped for. She was right where he wanted her, in his arms.

Anything else in the works you can share with us?

I have a trilogy of three sisters who travel west, each traveling in a different way and they all end up in Paradise Pines. Have started sending the stories to contests.

Thanks, Paisley, for stopping by and visiting with us today! Be sure to stop by and visit her gorgeous website!

Friday Friends: Meet Susan Macatee

2009-07-17T00:01:00.002-04:00

I think it's rather fitting that my first guest blogger for my new Friday Friends series is Susan Macatee. I've known Susan for about five years now and her journey from unpublished to multi-published author, whose first full length release is out today from The Wild Rose Press is particularly inspiring.

Tell us a bit about yourself and why you write the genre you do.

I’m Susan Macatee and I live with my husband and three grown sons in Philadelphia. Along with my husband, I’m also a Civil War reenactor.

I write romance, primarily in the historical and historical/paranormal genres, set in the Civil War era. My love and knowledge of the Civil War period in American history compelled me to set my stories in that time period.

How long have you been writing?

Basically, I’ve been dabbling since grade school, but I started writing toward publication when my youngest son, now in college, started kindergarten. So, about 14 years.

Where do you get your ideas?

Facts about the Civil War and historical biographies inspired a lot of my stories, but I also get ideas from reading other novels, movies and television shows.

Describe your writing day

I do my best writing during the early afternoon hours, so after spending my mornings working out, running errands, taking care of household tasks, and checking email—after my half-hour lunch break—I settle down to my computer to work on my primary writing project. After an hour and a half, I take a short break, then usually switch to another project. I always have more than one writing project in the works.

What was your “Aha!” moment—when you knew you had to be a writer?

I’d always entertained the thought of writing, but it wasn’t until—after spending about nine years as a stay-at-home mom for my three boys—my youngest was starting school, that I decided I needed something of my own to do. I signed up for a writing course and never looked back.

If you weren’t a writer, what would you be?

I loved to draw as a kid and always thought I’d go into a field like design or illustration. And in college, I really liked the psychology and sociology courses I was required to take as part of my English major. I took a few courses beyond the basics as electives and considered majoring in one or the other for a time. So, I could have ended up as a designer, illustrator, therapist or counselor, if I wasn’t a writer.

Tell me your best cure for writer’s block?

Actually, I don’t get writer’s block, because I always work on multiple projects. If I get stuck or feel my enthusiasm ebbing on one project, I just jump to another and before long, I’m itching to get back to the first one newly inspired.

Tell us a little bit about Erin’s Rebel.

Erin’s Rebel is my first full-length romance. The story is a time travel, where my heroine, a modern-day reporter, travels to the year 1863. There she meets the hero, a Confederate army captain and the romance begins.

Blurb: Philadelphia newspaper reporter, Erin Branigan, is engaged to marry an up-and-coming lawyer, but dreams of a man from the past change those plans and start her on a journey beyond time. After a car accident, Erin wakes to find herself living in the 1860s in a Confederate army camp.

Captain Will Montgomery, the man of her dreams, is now a flesh and blood Rebel soldier who sets her soul aflame. But the Irish beauty holds a secret he needs to unravel before he can place his trust in her.

Can she correct a mistake made long ago that caused his death and denied her the love she was meant to have? Or is she doomed to live out her life with nothing but regret?

Excerpt:
The sound of her name on his lips made her skin tingle. She tore the paper off the package. At the sight of the brooch, her breath caught.

"Do you like it?" he asked anxiously. "I had it made just for you."

Eyeing him, she had a hard time finding her voice. This was Erin O'Connell's brooch, the very one that had sent her back in time. It shone in her hands, new and unworn from time and wear.

What did this mean? She must be following Erin O'Connell's footsteps. As far as she knew her being here hadn't changed anything. Will was still destined to die this year.

"I didn't mean to upset you, Erin. If you don’t want the brooch--"

"No." She clasped the pin against her chest as the meaning of his gift sank in. "It just means so much to me."

His look of concern softened into a lopsided grin. "I'm happy you feel that way."

"Thank you, Will." She slipped the brooch into the pocket of her wrapper, then stood on her toes, lifting her arms to circle his neck. She kissed his cheek, inhaling his musky scent.

His mouth was on hers, hot and urgent. The softness of his moustache and chin beard tickled her lips. She opened to him, her tongue slipping inside to taste him thoroughly. He groaned, pressing the length of his body against her.

Anything else in the works you can share with us?

Besides Erin’s Rebel, I’ve got four releases coming out with The Wild Rose Press this year. The first is a short story, Angel of My Dreams, part of the Civil War romance anthology, Northern Roses and Southern Belles; another full-length Civil War romance, Confederate Rose; a stand-alone short vampire story, Sweet Redemption, that will be released as a e-book and a short Christmas story, The Christmas Ball, that will be part of a TWRP Christmas anthology, An American Rose Christmas.

Besides those, I’m working on two new full-length projects. One is a post-Civil War romance that’s a sequel to an earlier novel now out-of-print, the other is my first ever science fiction romance.

For more about me and my books, visit my website: www.susanmacatee.com

Thanks for stopping by, Susan! And congratulations on the release today!

Blogging with the Victorians today...

2009-07-14T13:13:00.002-04:00

Not even the fuzzy, foggy effects of my migraine meds could keep me from talking about my latest research into Civil War spies.

Stop over at the Slip Into Something Victorian blog site and check it out.

Author of the Month..... me????

2009-07-02T11:47:00.004-04:00

I'm blushing furiously.... I'm featured on MyShelf as Author of the Month for July!

To check out the interview, click here

To read Faith V. Smith's wonderful review of The Model Man, click here

Wow, what a way to start the month!!

Hangin' with Sarah

2009-06-26T07:20:00.004-04:00

I'm spending this gorgeous summer day hangin' with Sarah Simas of The Lovestruck Novice. Pour yourself a tall glass of lemonade and stop by for a visit!

BTW as a dyed-in-the-wool, card-carryin' 80s girl, I'd be remiss if I didn't mention the loss of Michael Jackson. Just as I will always remember where I was the day I heard that Elvis died, my kids will probably remember yesterday.

I remember watching this performance as a young teenager in 1983 and being mesmerized. This is the Michael Jackson I'll always remember.

And the winner is....

2009-06-23T09:56:00.003-04:00

And the winner of the free PDF of The Model Man is.... Sarah Simas! Congratulations, Sarah! Your copy is on its way!

Nic

Stop and Smell the Roses Blog Bouquet

2009-06-21T23:59:00.003-04:00

Welcome to TWRP's fist "Stop and Smell the Roses Blog Bouquet"--several of my fellow TWRP authors will be posting blogs today. The list of those participating can be found at the end of this blog. All who leave a comment today will be put into a drawing to win an e-copy of my TWRP release "The Model Man." Check back tomorrow to find out the winner's name!

Happy blogging fellow roses!

Onto today's blog topic...

To agent or not to agent? That is a question I’ve pondered many times in recent years. I’ve heard of so many people who have gotten burned, so many people who had their hopes raised only to see nothing happen to move their careers forward. That, added to the 15 or 20 percent that comes right off the top, and my take on the subject was pretty much “who needs ‘em?”

Well despite what my kids would tell you, I’m not totally inflexible. *G* I attended a workshop recently entitled “Do You Need an Agent?” I went in a solid “no way” and came out a “maybe I do!”

The agent who spoke to our group was approachable, informative and professional—not the “Danny DeVito in a brown polyester suit” I’d pictured in my mind, LOL. I really enjoyed listening to the responses she gave to the many, many questions our group asked her, and since we’re a widely varied group of writers, the questions all covered different areas of writing.

She started off by mentioning the Association of Author Representatives. A quote from the homepage: The AAR's objectives include keeping agents informed about conditions in publishing, the theater, the motion picture and television industries, and related fields; encouraging cooperation among literary organizations; and assisting agents in representing their author-clients' interests.
To qualify for membership in the AAR, an agent must meet professional standards specified in the organization's bylaws and agree to subscribe to its Canon of Ethics.

That definitely sounds like a good place to start when looking for an agent. The website also contains lists of questions you would want to ask before signing with an agent. Some of them were real eye openers. Click here to read the full list.

She also went on to say that as the publishing industry gets busier and busier, there are few NY publishers left these days who take unagented submissions. Unless you’re lucky enough to get a foot in the door with a contest entry, your work may never make it to the desk of your dream editor without an agent’s help. Having an agent, after all, tells an editor that your work is “worthy” of her time and attention.

The main focus of an agent is a sales person –it’s her job to sell your work. It’s her goal to see you published and published well. An editor’s primary responsibility is to her publisher; an agent’s serves only you.
Many agents will also offer editorial suggestions, but some don’t. It’s a good idea to ask if there are fees involved for those who do.

The agent’s role is to serve as a buffer between author and editor. While an author who has been working with a certain editor for a while may not feel comfortable asking for a bigger advance or larger percentage of the royalties—an agent won’t. The author may not even know if she’s entitled to more, again, it’s an agent’s job negotiate better advances, royalty rates, etc.
An agent will also take care of the business end of things—chasing down contracts and royalty payments.

So it sounds as though an agent’s role is to take care of the business end of things—those areas we writers all hate—so that we can focus on the creative end of things. I’d say that’s worth the 15-20% fee.

Some helpful tips from the agent I spoke to:

*Make sure the agent you query represents what you write.

* Don’t take it to heart if an agent passes on your work. This is a subjective business—an agent’s opinion is just that—her opinion.

*Persevere. Never give up.

*Don’t write to market trends. By the time you finish the story and it gets published, the trend will be passed.

*Write what you know and love. No matter what you write, if it’s wonderful, someone is going to buy it.

A lot to think about, but I definitely came away a believer! Don’t forget to stop by my fellow Stop and Smell the Roses blog bouquet authors’ blogs today. And don't forget to leave a comment for your chance to win a copy of The Model Man!

Here’s the list of those participating in today’s bouquet:

http://AnnWhitaker.blogspot.com
http://bethcaudill.blogspot.com
http://blog.skhyemoncrief.com
http://catemasters.blogspot.com
http://christinecolumbus.blogspot.com

http://donnamichaelsauthor.blogspot.com

http://happyendingsblog.com
http://kyAnnwaters.blogspot.com
http://laurirobinson.blogspot.com
http://lindabanche.blogspot.com
http://lynnreynolds.blogspot.com
http://marywritesromance.blogspot.com

http://melanieatkins.wordpress.com
http://missmaesite.blogspot.com
http://nicolemccaffrey.blogspot.com

http://plparker.blogspot.com
http://romanticcravings.blogspot.com

http://roniadams.blogspot.com
http://sherilewiswohl.wordpress.com

http://skypuringtonwrites.blogspot.com

Coming Out of the dark...

2009-06-11T06:27:00.001-04:00

...long enough to post a blog over at Lilac City Rochester Writers. Stop by if you can!

You Made Me Love You...

2009-06-03T12:35:00.008-04:00

Time is short today, but I wanted to update the blog. Most of my blog thoughts are a bit too long for the amount of time I have today, so I thought I'd post this one.

I fully intended to get a full night's sleep last night. With all the craziness that went on with my dad during the month of May (he's now in a nursing home, most likely permanently. It's a lovely place and he's getting wonderful care but there is a boat load of guilt that comes along with the relief of knowing he's getting mental stimulation and aggressive physical therapy.) I've been really exhausted lately.

Anyway, this is the guy who kept me up past my bedtime.

"It Happened One Night" was on television and once I came across it, I couldn't stop watching until it was over. It's not just that it's one of my favorite movies, or that the plot reminds me of Wild Texas Wind, it's... that Gable magic. You can't look away from him when he's on the screen. Even now, nearly 50 years after his death when male movie stars have changed so much, he's riveting.

My love affair with Clark goes back a long way, I remember the first time I saw him in "It Happened One Night";I don't recall how old I was, probalby 12 or 13--I fell under the spell even then. Not long after, there was a "television event" (remember those? In the days before cable? When things like North & South, The Thorn Birds or Gone With the Wind on television were "events") and Gone With the Wind aired. I had never seen it before, but had read the book a few times. One look at Rhett and I was hooked. For life, LOL.

I won't say I've watched all of Mr. Gable's movies, but I've burned the midnight oil a time or two when the movie channels have had a "Gable weekend". He's worth losing a little sleep over.
Like I said, I don't know what it is about the man, but he's definitely got that indefinable "it" factor. Heck I'll bet he could even teach ol' Brad Pitt a thing or two about being a movie star.

So while to most of us, he'll always be Rhett, I still think of him as my first love, LOL. Right up there with Shaun Cassidy. Only better! Sigh. I have a busy weekend ahead, but I definitely feel a date night (me and Clark, that is!) with Gone with the Wind coming on....

Some Gave All

2009-05-25T11:37:00.003-04:00

With a nephew serving in Iraq this summer, and our veterans marching in parades, I wanted to take a moment to remind everyone that this day is about more than picnics and cookouts. It's a day to remember those who made the ultimate sacrifice.

Some say Memorial Day began in Kingston, GA for both the Confederate and Union soldiers while the South was still occupied by Sherman's army. New York State was the first to officially recognize the holiday in 1873; by 1890 all northern states recognized the day. Many southern states refused to acknowledge the holiday and kept their own day to recognize their Confederate dead. Things began to change after WWI when the holiday--then called Decoration Day--expanded to include the dead from the Spanish-American War and WWI.

In 1971, Memorial Day was moved to the last Monday in May to give Federal employees a three-day weekend.

I hope you'll pause in whatever you're doing at 3 p.m. today for our National moment of remembrance and think about what this day really means.

A Little Ray of Much-Needed Sunshine

2009-05-08T07:40:00.007-04:00

It's been one of those roller coaster weeks. First, we lost my husband's uncle unexpectedly. I've loved this man as if he were my own uncle from the first time I met him. My husband was very close to his uncle and cousins so we spent a lot of time with them, especially when we were first dating. In many ways, I was more comfortable with Uncle Jimmy and his wife than with my own in-laws. It's hard to see those you love suffering, and hard to be strong for them when you'd really like to find a corner and cry your heart out yourself.

Then, just as we were starting to wrap our minds around the fact that Uncle Jimmy is gone, my dad (who suffers, as some of you know, from senile dementia) wound up in the hospital after a fall. Right now it's not clear if he'll be able to come home or when. Until his mobility improves, my mother can't care for him, so he remains in the hospital, possibly heading to a nursing home for short term care --or longer(which none of us wants to see happen) and we remain on that roller coaster of ups and downs.

So when I found this in my inbox this morning it was a nice ray of sunshine in what's been a week of dark skies and rain (both literally and figuratively, LOL).

A four star review from The Romance Studio:

The Model Man
Nicole McCaffrey
Contemporary romance
Available from The Wild Rose Press
ISBN: 1-60154-237-2
March 2008

Single mom Kelly Michaels is a popular romance author whose children always come first. She didn't want to attend the writers' convention but lets herself be convinced to go. She definitely doesn't want to have a liaison with a playboy cover hunk who is fifteen years her junior.

Derek Calavicci is used to women throwing themselves at him. But the author of the novels he poses for isn't interested in a fling. He has a chance to convince her he won't tire of her when they are compromised by the paparazzi and to save their reputations they pretend to be a lovestruck couple.

This is an extremely enjoyable, fun romance. The characters are fabulous and everyone interacts naturally. Derek and Kelly are filled with realistic qualities, but I wish I could have seen more of his feelings involving 9-11. I loved all of the wonderful secondary characters; I want a best friend just like Sharon! I was entertained by every aspect of this story; the chemistry between this couple is hot. Their growing relationship kept me spellbound and I'm a sucker for a well-written older woman/younger man romance. The settings were perfect, the plot flowed so well that I didn't put the book down until the last page and was, in fact, sad when it was over.

Overall rating: Four hearts
Sensuality rating: Very sensual

Reviewer: Theresa Joseph
May 6, 2009

I don't know who Theresa Joseph is, but she sure made my morning!

Mental Health Day -- or Back in the Saddle?

2009-05-01T08:53:00.003-04:00

Dilemmas, dilemmas!

It's been a brutal week at the day job--and that includes the mom job. It seems whenever we get to these final weeks of the school year, the whininess kicks in. And my kids have been whining, too! *G*

It's light until well after 8 p.m., so they don't want to get ready for bed and end up getting there later than they should. Then in the morning they're tired and don't want to get moving. Which makes for some very stressful mornings--and this will undoubtedly continue until school lets out for summer break in mid June.

Since it's been a busy, stress-filled week, I find myself in a quandry this morning. Mental Health Day? I sure could use one. Or do I jump back in the saddle to do some writing, which I haven't had time for all week.

If I take the mental health day and read or do something relaxing, I'll probably be calmer and in a better frame of mind by the time my Kindergartner gets off the bus in a couple of hours. In truth though, I probalby won't be able to relax--the house is showing signs of neglect from my busy week and I'll probably end up cleaning. And what self-respecting writer actually has a clean house?

If I choose to write then I have to decide which of my characters I want to spend the day with.

Hmmm...

Which of these two options will feed my soul and bring me inner peace?

Rats, I knew you'd say that! Now I'm off to listen to the voices in my head and see who is calling the loudest...

Wish me luck!

How are you spending this sunny spring Friday?

Green... for all the wrong reasons?

2009-04-22T16:50:00.005-04:00

Today is Earth Day. I’m sure you already knew that. I really didn’t; I don’t pay much attention when people start talking about “green” living. Both my hubby and I were raised by depression-era parents so the idea of “recycle”, “reuse” and “don’t waste” is something we’ve had drilled into our heads from infancy. (You don’t know gross until you’ve seen my father-in-law rinse the slime off of old cold cuts or hot dogs and eat them—even if he isn’t hungry—rather than throw them away.)

I learned it was Earth Day at 8:30 this morning when my son, who just rolled out of bed (spring break, lucky me) came downstairs and promptly turned off my kitchen radio and the light above my kitchen sink. I howled a protest; long ago someone added a room off of my kitchen (which I now use as an office) and because of that, there is very little natural light in the kitchen—it’s gloomy and depressing even on the sunniest days, and since I spend so much time in front of that sink—rinsing things, putting dishes away, preparing meals—I usually just leave the light on most of the day. So--as I said to my son--sue me!

The radio, tuned to the local talk radio station, has long been the only link to the sane world I’ve had. I can walk in there most any time of day and hear real, live grown ups talking about intelligent subjects. No talking sponges or star fish; no tween queens living double lives as singing stars and no mop-haired, cherub faced twin boys raising havoc in a hotel—or on a cruise ship. No, that kitchen radio is my link to the grown up world. Back during the days of dancing purple dinosaurs and little blue dogs playing guessing games, it was my life line. If I'm home and awake, that radio is on.

But I can’t leave it on today because it’s Earth Day and we all have to do our part. Or so I’ve been told by my kids. Over and over. Apparently they think I’m not green enough.

This is very un-PC to admit, and I’ll probably even get hate mail, but I don’t do the “green” thing for the right reasons. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to see the polar bears go extinct any more than anyone else, but… I have been known to throw away the odd condiment bottle without rinsing it and placing it in the recycle bin. I know, I know. I’m a criminal. Or just lazy. Your call.

I remember my mother serving nearly every meal on paper plates—we even had little holders for them so your plate didn’t drip or sag. Same with the Styrofoam coffee cups; no one walked around carrying a Starbucks cup made from recycled materials with one of those nice little cardboard snuggies on them to keep their hands from getting burned. If you were drinking coffee in public and weren’t seated at a restaurant, you were probably drinking out of Styrofoam. I even remember those little “bottomless” plastic coffee cups my mom kept in the car to put the Styrofoam cups in at picnics or outdoor events. (I only remember them because she still has them. In lovely shades of 70s-era brown, orange and avocado.)

Well I don’t think my kids even know that disposable plates exist. I have a dishwasher so there’s no reason to use plates I’d have to throw away—what an expensive waste. But here are some things my kids have double checked with me on today, to make sure we’re doing our part to be earth friendly:

Changing light bulbs. I use those little swirly ones in most of the lights in my house—even that necessary one over my kitchen sink. But for the lamps that matter most to me, (i.e., my bedside lamp, or the one on the desk in my office, or the little one in my front foyer) I still prefer the old style. Those fluorescent bulbs give off a cold blue light that does nothing for me on those grey, overcast days we see so much of here in the Northeast. The old style bulbs cast a nice warm glow that feels inviting on a chilly winter evening. But again… I don’t use those “environmentally friendly” bulbs because it’s good for the earth or the right thing to do. I use them because in the long run it saves money. They last longer. Plain and simple.

Use your dryer less. I use it about once a week, if that. And for drying towels only. I would line dry my towels if it were up to me but my family doesn’t appreciate “stiff” wash cloths and face towels—plus I don’t have that much room for clothes line, and they take too long to dry. Again, this isn’t a conscious “green” choice... I grew up on laundry dried outdoors in the sunshine. There’s simply nothing that smells better. Best of all... that sunshine and fresh air? Absolutely free.

Use the cold water setting on your washer. Please. I’m a 42-year-old woman. Do I look dumb enough to wash my jeans in hot water? They’d never fit again!

Only run the dishwasher when it’s full. Well… duh. Why would I run it if it’s not full? That’s a waste of money and water.

Walking more places. Now that the weather is warmer I’m back to walking my kids to and from school. Again… it’s not a green choice, but because it’s a waste of gas to drive them the short distance to school. Not so long ago, gas was up near $5/gallon around here, so it makes sense not to waste it.

Use a tank-free hot water heater. Ahhh, my dream. Our hot water heater is old and due to bite the dust any day now. I want to replace it with a tankless one. Not because it’s the green thing to do but because I’m usually the last one to get the shower at night. Need I say more?

Reduce your use of paper towels and paper products. For a long time now I've used my husband’s old worn out under shirts and the ones my boys have outgrown as wipe rags. They’re white; they’re nice absorbent cotton and best of all, I can toss them in the washer with some bleach and they come out clean and germ free. When the undershirts become too stained or small for use as tee shirts, I cut them into wash-cloth sized rags that I keep under both bathroom sinks and the kitchen sink for easy access. I clean up a lot of “yucky” messes throughout the day (if you have boys you know what I’m talking about when I tell you I wipe down the toilet bowl and the floor beside it daily—sometimes twice daily.) And—you guessed it—I don’t do that to be “green”, I do it because it makes economic sense to me.

Plant a tree. Another no-brainer for me, LOL. I bought a house in an older, established neighborhood because I love all the old trees around here. We looked at the little suburban tracts with their cookie-cutter style houses and spindly baby trees lining the walk but… I didn't want to wait 30 years to have a nice, mature tree in front of the house. So we now have 20 nice mature trees around our house, LOL. It goes without saying that those big trees do a beautiful job of shading the house, which means we run the AC a lot less in summer...

Hmm… I guess I’m greener than my kids thought I was. Who knew?

How will you celebrate Earth Day?

Hanging Out with The Love Struck Novice

2009-04-17T07:17:00.002-04:00

Looking for me? I'm not here. I'm spending the day over at The Lovestruck Novice, talking about the mistakes writers make when they first start out. I've even shared my own blush-worthy "oops!" story from my early days in this business. Hope you can stop by for a visit!

Happy Friday!

Nic

Blogging with the Victorians Today

2009-04-14T16:42:00.003-04:00

Happy Spring!

I'm blogging with the Scandalous Victorians today. Stop by for a visit!

Meanwhile, I'll be sitting here chanting "I am not afraid of the butterflies in this picture. I am not afraid of the butterflies in this picture..."

Guest Blogging Today

2009-04-01T07:30:00.001-04:00

I'm guest blogging today over at Romancing America's Past with Mary Ann Webber. Mary Ann is one of my fellow Scandalous Victorians, and was kind enough to ask me to talk about one of my favorite subjects ... The Model Man. I've even posted a never-before-posted excerpt! And that's no

Hop on over for a visit!