Monday Morning Musing

Had a busy weekend though I can't complain about it.  Got to see some old friends at a graduation party over the weekend, people I grew up with and even one person from high school.  The pictures sent to me afterward had me wondering who those old, fat people were wearing our clothes.  ;o)

Sunday was largely spent working in the yard with hubby and dog nearby. Bliss.

Since I didn't get time to think about what to blog about, I leave you with this gem from Maxine.

Hope you had a wonderful weekend!

Nic

Friday Inspiration

Once upon a time this spot was reserved for a feature called Friday Friends, where fellow authors answered interview questions and promoted their latest story.

But since I'm still getting my feet wet at blogging again, and the main visits to this page have been from me, checking to see if I've had visitors, :o) I think I won't try that just now.

Instead I'll leave you with some writing inspiration, something I have loved for many years and have probably shared before.  But for me, it never gets old:

The truly creative mind in any field is no more than this: A human creature born abnormally, inhumanly sensitive. To him... a touch is a blow, a sound is a noise, a misfortune is a tragedy, a joy is an ecstasy, a friend is a lover, a lover is a god, and failure is death. Add to this cruelly delicate organism the overpowering necessity to create, create, create -- so that without the creating of music or poetry or books or buildings or something of meaning, his very breath is cut off from him. He must create, must pour out creation. By some strange, unknown, inward urgency he is not really alive unless he is creating.

-Pearl S. Buck

Happy weekend!

Nic

Wednesday on Writing: Conflict and Character Conundrums

Part of getting to know my characters again involved re-reading Wild Texas Wind, the story in which the hero, Kip Cooper, was initially introduced. It's been an enjoyable time reliving that story, but the problem remains the same: turning a scoundrel into a hero.

Sounds fun, right?  Maybe.  Yes, I loved Kip when I was writing for him, and of all my secondary characters, he gets the most mention.  Everyone wants him to have a story. Including me.

But herein lies the problem. He's not hero material.  He was introduced as a side kick, a bad boy, a con, a cheat. But secondary characters don't have to be quite as complicated as heroes and heroines --they don't have to be heroic (certainly not when you're creating them with no plans to give them their own story, as I did).  I did lay the groundwork for his "reawakening" toward the end of WTW, a near death encounter had left him shaken and ready to change his ways.  But by the end of the book, it's clear he's struggling with the whole "leopard changing spots" idea.

So Wild Texas Bride is partly about Kip's journey to becoming a hero, he's thrust into a position where he learns to care about someone more than himself, even as he's saving his own hide in the process (because Kip is all about saving his own hide--at least he was in the past). Easy peasy, right?

Not so fast.

Now, more than halfway into the book, he's taken my conflict and blown it to bits (I won't bore you with the details). And you know what? Without a conflict, there's no story. That's the first thing that jumped out at me when I opened up WTW to re-read.  Conflict. Convinced this was just a fluke, I grabbed my copy of Northern Temptress and read a few pages.  The first thing to hit me? Conflict.  The same thing happened with The Model Man.  Conflict, conflict, conflict. Maybe this is why I've been struggling to finish this story--it needs more conflict!

So how to wrangle your characters back onto the proper path when they've taken off in a direction of their own choosing? I've always let the characters drive the story, they seem to know more than I, so my gut tells me to simply take this journey with them and see where they lead the story.

I'll keep you posted.

Meanwhile, I am going to take my own advice and re-read everything I've written so far in WTB, just to reacquaint myself with the story.

BTW the picture of Owen Wilson is more than just eye candy. This is pretty close to how I picture Kip.

Monday Morning Musing... Is Blogging Still Relevant?

So a week or so back, while looking for the post on the heroes of Gettysburg (turns out, I had never posted it here, but on another blog) I came across my old author blog.  I say "old" because I'd forgotten all about it, neglected it, and quite honestly, thought I'd deleted it ages ago.

As I scrolled through, I was struck by how many memories it brought back.  Of my dad during the long journey of his illness, my boys when they were just little guys, my beloved dog when he was just a pup.  I've never been one for keeping a journal (Yikes! I don't want anyone reading my most private thoughts after I'm gone) but this was the next best thing.  A snapshot of a time in my life that was very different than now. Not better or worse, per se, just... different. Life now is teenagers (who ever said boys don't do teen drama was very, very wrong!) elderly in-laws who are not well, worrying about hubby, whose health is affected by the stress of caring for said IL's on his own and an old dog who, at 11-1/2 is slowing down on me. But here I am, still trying to balance, home, job, kids, etc without sacrificing sanity.

When I reached a milestone birthday last fall, it triggered not quite what I'd call a midlife crisis so much as evaluating and taking stock. I realized I'd let life and work push writing to the background and that I went days at a time without doing something for myself--not even one small thing.  I guess as moms we just get used to putting ourselves last, but I realized I was letting something important slip away--the writer in me.

I reconnected with my longtime critique partner and have been trying to resurrect my writing self.  It's hard.  That same muscle that we know gets stronger with regular writing definitely has weakened from lack of use. And reconnecting with characters I created a decade or more ago hasn't been easy, but I really want to get to know them again and see where they take their story. The new characters clamoring for space in my head can wait their turn.  ;o)

So here I am, trying to find time in my day for a little writing and, since I realized how much I'd missed blogging, trying to resurrect that as well, at least once or twice a week.

We'll see if life lets it happen!

Throwback Thursday: Wild Texas Wind

Another fun blast from the past for Throwback Thursday, this time from my first historical western, Wild Texas Wind...


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 fiance 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 fiance 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.

~~~

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.

Throwback Thursday - The Model Man

For Throwback Thursday, one of my favorite scenes from one of my favorite stories.  This scene was so much fun to write...

This is from chapter 3--my hero isn't used to being turned down, especially by a woman he knows wants him...

The Model Man by Nicole McCaffrey

Earlier this morning he’d decided to forget about Kelly; she’d made her lack of interest clear enough last night. Somewhere along the way he changed his mind. “I sent roses, dammit.”

He reached the atrium. Looking relaxed, happy and gorgeous, Kelly chatted with her fans. He was struck once more by her fresh-faced beauty and mesmerizing blue eyes, especially with the sun’s glow on her pale blonde hair and her face alight with humor.

The memory of her in that red dress and the soft, sweet smell of her perfume rushed back to him. The way her nipples stood at attention when she removed his jacket. He knew he’d affected her, every bit as much as she had affected him.

“If she isn’t interested, she can damn well tell me why.”

Behind him, Frankie warned. “Derek, don’t do anything stupid.”

He never slowed his pace. As he made his way to Kelly’s table, an audible hush followed in his wake. She was so engrossed with the fans she didn’t seem to notice the change in the atmosphere.

At the table, the women waiting in line stepped aside for him. Bright sunlight streamed through the glass walls and ceiling, casting his shadow as he loomed over her. She stiffened before she looked up. He heard a slight hitch in her breath when he shoved a book beneath her nose.

Without a word, she quickly scrawled her name, then handed it back to him. “Who’s next?”

He stepped to the side, blocking her view. “Why?”

Her gaze flickered over the loincloth he wore since that was at eye level. A delicate flush crept over her face as her gaze slowly moved upward. When at last their eyes met, he was fighting the stirrings of an erection—and she seemed barely able to speak.

“I—I told your...” she waved a hand in circles, “zoo keeper, or whatever she is, I have plans.”

He folded his arms over his chest, uncaring if he sounded like an arrogant ass. “Change them.”

“I can’t.” She peered around him and gestured for the next person to come forward.

He leaned closer, covering the books spread out before her with both palms. “Why not?”

The glance she spared him was as prim and proper as a schoolteacher. “Because I don’t want to.”

“Then meet me afterward.”

“No.”

Knowing he was invading her space, he moved even closer, his face inches from hers. “Don’t make me beg, you won’t like it.”

“Then go away and stop asking.”

A wicked thought came to mind. Before he even had time to second guess it, he moved around to her side of the table and scooped her up in his arms.

“What are you—?”

“You left me no choice.” He lifted her high, tilting her toward him until she had to put her arms about his neck to hold on.

“Ladies,” he said, turning to face the room of startled onlookers. “Don’t you think if a man spends the night making love to a woman, the least she can do is have dinner with him?”

“Oh God,” she moaned. “Don’t do this...”

“I warned you you wouldn’t like it,” he said in a low voice.

****

Single mom and romance novelist Kelly Michaels has no time for a man in her life. But when mega-famous cover model Derek Calavicci puts the moves on her at a romance writers’ conference, she succumbs to temptation. Common sense prevails, however, and after a few passionate kisses she turns him down; she has impressionable teenagers at home, after all, she doesn’t need a one-night-stand with a much younger man, no matter how hot he is. When photos of their passionate moonlight kiss hit the tabloids, her agent has to do some fast footwork to save her reputation. Will the notorious bad boy go along with her scheme?

Derek rarely hears a woman say “no” – it’s been that way his entire life. If Kelly isn’t interested, he’s not going to push her-- even if she does melt like ice cream on a hot sidewalk every time he touches her. But when an unexpected opportunity falls into his lap by way of Kelly’s scheming agent, he jumps at the chance. Pretend he’s in love with Kelly Michaels for two weeks? No problem. After all, the lady may say she’s never going to sleep with him... but he's got two weeks to convince her otherwise.

Friday Friends: Laura Strickland

Sometimes you just can't help but smile at the way life works...last summer I posted a note on a FB group and the nicest lady responded.  We chatted back and forth and began to find all sorts of little things in common.  As it turns out, we only live about an hour apart.  Talk about chance meetings!  I had the great pleasure of meeting her at an area TWRP author's luncheon in August and had a great time chatting with her. We bonded over our love for our dogs, and our love for writing historical romance and within minutes of meeting I felt like I'd known her for years. 

In case I haven't mentioned it, she's an amazing writer!  Please meet my friend and the first Friday Friend for November...Laura Strickland!

Welcome, Laura! Tell us a bit about yourself and why you write the genre you do.

I write Historical Romance because I’ve always liked the idea of time traveling via the power of my mind.  For years I’ve been a student of Celtic history and fascinated with the lore and legends of the British Isles.  Reading is a great way to visit the past.  But as a child, I soon discovered even the best books end too soon.  (I can still remember weeping over the end of Marian Cockrell’s Shadow Castle.  When my mom asked me why, I wailed, “It was so good!”)

I remember the day when it hit me: if I made up the story, I could continue it as long as I wanted and create the same kinds of worlds I enjoyed inhabiting through the stories I loved.  As an adult, I’ve enjoyed creating my own worlds and then going back to visit them time after time.  The books of my “Celtic” series, which includes The God’s Song, The Shadow Ground, The Waking Dream and The War Raven, are all set in what I thought were fictitious places in Scotland and Ireland.  But when I visited Scotland, I actually located two of those places, so there must be some mystical connection.

Have you ever thought about it?  Most people have an affinity for a particular place or time in history.  For some of us it’s the American West, for some the exotic Far East, for some Victorian England or our own Civil War period.  Many of us love the Scottish Highlands, populated by fierce, Scots warriors.  Fortunately for us, we can time travel to all those places, no matter where, through the joy of reading.

I know what you mean!  I feel the same way about Gettysburg.  How long have you been writing?

I wrote my first “book” in third grade.  It was hand-printed in pencil with a construction paper cover and had the unoriginal title of The Haunted House.  Do I really have to confess how long it’s been since third grade?  Let’s just say a long time!  I wrote my way through High School, scrawling story after story in loose leaf binders that would get passed around among my friends.  In fact when, as a freshman, I met my best friend (she’s still my best friend) I introduced myself by saying, “I write books about Scotland”.  Earlier this year when I presented her with a signed copy of my first Historical novel for The Wild Rose Press, Devil Black, I wrote inside the cover, “I write books about Scotland”. 

That is a darling story and how wonderful to have a friend we can go that far back with!  Where do you get your ideas?

Oh, there’s never any shortage of ideas.  My favorite author, Sir Terry Pratchett, has mentioned in his books he believes inspiration comes like invisible arrows out of the sky, striking people indiscriminately.  If they hit just right, or if the person is paying proper attention, s/he will get an idea and become inspired.  That’s how it feels for me, with writing.  The ideas just come from nowhere and strike me in the brain.  I’ve joked to my editor at The Wild Rose Press that my plans for books to come are all flying around inside my head in holding patterns, like planes stacked up at the airport, waiting to land.  Often I’m not sure which one is going to come in first. 

Frequently I get my ideas while I’m busy doing something else: cleaning the house, folding laundry, doing the dishes or grocery shopping.  I’ve had whole plots for books unroll in my head while I’m in a store and I have to scrabble wildly and scratch it all down on a scrap of paper or a receipt so I don’t forget anything. 

Describe your typical writing day.

Well, first let me say there’s never enough time.  I work outside the home and also juggle the same demands as most of us: family obligations and that never-ending housework!  Oh, and my dog, Shannon, always makes sure to stake her claim on a large chunk of my time (thank goodness for her, because she gets me out walking).  Most of my writing is done early in the morning or if I can snatch some precious time on weekends.

My husband and I heat our home with wood, so in the winter I’m the first one up.  I kindle the fire and then settle down with Shannon for the best part of my day, those moments when the world is quiet and I can devote myself to whatever story’s in progress.  I’m usually up when it’s still dark outside, so in the summer, when the windows are open, I hear the first birds begin to sing. 

I always listen to music while I work – Pandora if I’m editing and the stereo if I’m writing.  I still use a spiral notebook and a pen and type it all up later, doing the first edit as I go.  An entire day with nothing to do but write would be sheer bliss!

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

Wow, that’s an interesting question.  It’s hard for me to imagine not being a writer, at least part time.  Back in school, when we took aptitude tests, they told me I should be an interpreter – still working with words.  I’ve always been fascinated with word origins, so perhaps I should have been an etymologist (words again).  (Nic-butting in.  Another one of those weird coincidences between us, Laura!  I'm obsessed with word origins!) The truth is I have the perfect job now.  I work for a Library System where catalogue books and also assemble loans to send out.  I get to see all the new books as they come in and read the very best new fiction.  Since, as a child, I was always known in my family as the girl who kept a paperback book in her pocket, it’s a natural progression for me to do this job.  And I love everything about books – even the smell of them!

Tell me your best cure for writer’s block?

I’m very fortunate because I don’t suffer from writer’s block often.  The only time I struggle to write is when I’m very tired or so depleted I have too little energy.  Something many people don’t understand is that writing requires huge amounts of energy – it’s the fuel my mind and creativity burn. 

On the few occasions when I’m stuck for an idea, or between books, I love to employ the “what if?” strategy.  What if my dog started talking and turned out to be Albert Einstein reincarnated?  What if I found Viking treasure in a shoe box?  What if I inherited the ashes of an ancestor and he magically came back to life?  This never fails to trigger great ideas for me.  In fact the first book of my Celtic series, The Sacred Fire, came about when I answered the question, “What would happen if an elite Celtic warrior, the best of his clan, was injured in battle and could fight no more?”

Tell us a little bit about Daughter of Sherwood: The Guardians of Sherwood Trilogy Book One.  I loved this story --it definitely pulled me out of my usual reading comfort zone and introduced me to new worlds.  I couldn't put it down and can't wait for the next in the series!

Daughter of Sherwood, released by The Wild Rose Press on November 1st, is Book One of The Guardians of Sherwood Trilogy.  When I first conceived of setting a Historical Romance in the time of Robin Hood, I told myself I must be crazy.  It’s been done so often both on the large and small screen, and ever since the days of that great writer, Howard Pyle, Robin’s been a literary institution.  But the idea wouldn’t go away so I decided I would create my own Sherwood and make it a place of deep magic, an entity that would help in the Saxons’ fight against Norman tyranny.  And I’d populate it with a whole new set of characters, the descendants of those we know from the old stories.  Robin and Marian’s daughter, Wren, became my heroine, and a member of the magical triad that includes two young men: Martin, son of Will Scarlet and Sparrow, son of Little John.  Though she must bond with both of them to become a guardian of Sherwood, she must also choose which of them to love as a woman loves a man.

Here’s the blurb:

Raised in the kitchens of Nottingham Castle, Wren has no idea she is the daughter of the legendary Robin Hood until she is summoned to Sherwood Forest.  Since Robin’s death many years before, the resistance against Norman tyranny has been upheld by a magical triad, but now one of the guardians has died.  With two young men, Sparrow and Martin, Wren must form a new triad with a bond strong enough to defend Sherwood’s magic.  To one of them, she will also give her heart.

From the moment Wren bursts into his life, Sparrow loves her.  But he knows she may choose his lifelong rival, Martin, as her mate.  Martin wants Wren also, but Sparrow fears Martin is driven not by love but ambition.  When Martin is captured and held at Nottingham Castle, will the conflict between love and duty destroy the triad?

Anything else in the works you can share with us?

Well, here’s the exciting thing.  When I wrote Daughter of Sherwood, I never dreamed it would be the first book of a trilogy.  Not until my editor sent me the contract for it did a light go on in my head.  The significance of the number three is so strong in this story: Wren was born three days after Robin’s death, her mother cared for her three days before giving in to her grief and retiring to a convent, and since then three have upheld the magic of Sherwood.  It suddenly seemed obvious there should be three books and the story should form a circle that ultimately brings the tale back to the point where it began.

My editor agreed and so I began work on the second book of the trilogy, which is called Champion of Sherwood.  That book is now under contract and we’re hoping for a release date in the spring.  I’m currently at work on the third book, Lord of Sherwood, in the final stages of the editing process.

Each book can definitely be read and enjoyed on its own – after all, that’s what Daughter of Sherwood was meant to be when I wrote it.  The other two books tell complete stories also but I think there’s a little extra magic when they’re all put together. 

It’s been great fun working on this trilogy and my one hope is that readers find joy in the books.  I’m very grateful to be associated with a wonderful publishing house like The Wild Rose Press, where creativity is given free rein.  Do I have ideas for more books after the Trilogy?  All I can say is the planes are circling the airport!

LOL I love that analogy!  Laura, thanks for visiting with us today!

Born and raised in Western New York, Laura Strickland has pursued lifelong interests in lore, legend, magic and music, all reflected in her writing. Though her imagination frequently takes her to far off places, she is usually happiest at home not far from Lake Ontario with her husband and her "fur" child, a rescue dog. Currently she is at work on the third book of the Guardians of Sherwood series.