Monthly Archives: March 2009

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Married at 8 by Carolyn J Coles

My first marriage … I was 8 years old and married my father’s younger best friend, Bill Abner. He was so nice to us kids. I had three brothers and a sister. He would buy whatever toy we wanted from the grocery store while he picked up items Mom needed for dinner. Mr. Abner was a regular Sunday dinner guest at our house after Church. I remember all five of us kids would ride home with him from Church and make Mom and Dad go home together alone. Now, that I’m older … it must have been the only peace and quiet they ever received. Probably thinking about poor Mr. Abner stuck with those loud noisy kids. One Sunday Mr. Abner let me give the directions home … I told him to turn left or right and he would do so. Well, we ended up at the country club where he and Dad played golf. He told me then that I was his “kind of gal”. I beamed as love bloomed, at least for me.

When we arrived home my best friend Mindy Conover and her family were there for dinner too. The Conover’s lived two doors down the street on the same side as my home. After greeting Mindy I announced to Mr. Abner that I would marry him some day. Well, he thought he’d call my bluff – and said how about after dinner? Mindy piped up and stated she wanted to marry him too. I told her no. She would have to marry someone else since Mr. Abner was mine. I wanted him all to myself. I was overruled. Mr. Abner said he’d marry both of us. Mindy and I ran upstairs to dress for our wedding. I had a sparkly princess tutu from ballet recital that I put on over my clothes and wore my half slip on my head for the veil with my tiara on top. I dressed Mindy in Mom’s full slip for a white wedding gown and one of Mom’s half slip for a veil. She didn’t have a tiara. I grabbed the cut flowers from a vase in the upstairs hallway for our bouquets. We took our time strolling down the stairs decked in our finery so our future husband would be surprised. Thinking about it now, it’s a wonder all the adults kept a straight face. God only knows how they did it …. but they did. Mindy’s father performed the ceremony and Bill our new husband packed us off in his car for our honeymoon at Dairy Queen. He said we had to take off our wedding attire before going inside. We were so thrilled with our bridal dresses and veils we wanted to wear them everywhere. Sadly, we compiled. It was our choice we could have anything on the menu. I chose a large hot fudge sunday with chocolate ice cream. Mindy had a banana split and our “husband” had just plain vanilla ice cream.

After our honeymoon ended, we went back at my house. All the adults were still there talking together while our husband played board games with his new brides and their brothers. When it was time for him to leave … I decide I’d go home with him, after all we were married now. He told me I wasn’t quite old enough yet and that I needed to stay with Mom and Dad – for school. He promised to come and get me when I was old enough to be a real wife to him.

The trouble was … I had forgotten all about being married when I turned 9. It wasn’t until I was 15 sitting with Mr. Abner and his new wife that I remembered being married to him. I looked over at Mindy who was sitting next to me, we were always together, and reminded “our husband” that we were still married and now he had three wives. His latest wife, the real Mrs. Abner, laughed so hard when hearing of our wedding and honeymoon, tears were streaming down her face as she wrapped her arms across her abdomen. Mr. Abner was grinning too at the memory and said, “How about I take all my wives to Dairy Queen.” Of course, it was like a trip down memory lane with all his wives laughing and giggling.

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You’re either going to love this or you’re going to hate this. by Kathye Quick

Believe it or not, the concept for Cynthia and Constantine, my new release from the Wild Rose press, sprang up during a season of American Idol.   

I work for county government and we have several satellite offices around the county.  Once a month seven of us get together to have lunch.  We call it the Lusty Ladies Lunch Group.  Other times we keep in touch via email. 

During this particular season, Bo Bice and Constantine Maroulis were competing.  Two of the Lusties choose these guys as their favorites.  While we didn’t agree on who should win that season, we did all agree that they had ‘romance book cover’ hair; the long and flowing kind of hair usually depicted on Knights in Shinning Armor on historical romances. 

After one particularly hot and heavy day of emailing (after our constituents were served, of course) I went home and wrote a small piece about a knight meeting his ladylove.  The next day I sent it off to the Lusties and got requests for more.  Well one thing lead to another and I began to serialize a story about Bo and Constantine as knights in the Arthurian days.    I named my hero Constantine and his lady was Cynthia, one of the Lusties.  I gave Sir Constantine a brother, Sir Braeden and named his lady, Jane, another Lustie.   

The story just evolved on a weekly basis with email scenes going back and forth until I had 100 pages.   

I thought that was the end of the adventure until I decided to flesh out Constantine and Cynthia’s story and turn it into a 55,000-word book.  I was fortunate enough to have the Wild Rose Press expressed interest in the novel and then publish it. 

And yes, you’ll either love this or hate this, but the antagonist of the story is named after one of the American Idol Judges.  I’m sure you can guess which. 

There will be a sequel to this book called Jane and Braeden because in the course of fleshing out the story so it would be long enough for a book, Jane’s character became an integral part of the story and now we need to hear her story also. 

The moral of this story is that you never know when or where inspiration is going to sneak up and bop you on the side of your head.    In my case it was with a microphone on Fox-TV.

Other

Back-Door Love Story by Carolyn Martin

What happens when an aspiring author is seduced by her hero’s best friend?

Something bad happened in the middle of my first book.

I always considered myself a one-man woman. And my book’s hero-graced with strength, looks, and an unerring moral center-was so perfect I thought he was everything I’d ever want in a protagonist. I would never stray. Never.

But then-poof!-his best friend appeared on the scene.

I didn’t pay him much attention at first. I only had eyes for my first love. But the best friend was always there on the margins. Always ready to help the hero pull off a narrow escape or point out the heroine’s strong points-the ones my hero was too stubborn to appreciate. Always the right man to supply some timely exposition or a much-needed slug of whiskey.

He was…different. More smart-alecky than my hero, the best friend had just enough humor to break the tension in a nail-biting moment, just enough skill in masculine trash-talk to make sure my protagonist never got too full of himself.

Just enough character to make sure I couldn’t ignore him.

And then one day I…I…

I checked out his backstory.

I took a good, long look.

And God help me, I was attracted to it. It was strong and well-rounded and very, very sexy.

I fell head over heels for my hero’s best friend! And it got worse-soon I was downright obsessed, stalking the best friend through my hero’s story, finding him in places he had no business being.

I had to spend more time with him. But not in my novel-his growing presence there was too disruptive. We needed someplace private:  a new password-protected document just one window over, easily hidden with a single click.

Tucked away in our top-secret file, the best friend’s charm and sensuality tempted me beyond words. Actually, it tempted me to lots of words. Just a few hundred, I promised myself. Just a few hundred words to satisfy my curiosity. Then I’d return to my hero and forget I’d ever fantasized about his best friend.

But a few hundred words became a thousand. Then five thousand-ten! I lingered for sentence after addictive sentence, ignoring my original hero and wishing with all my heart I’d met his best friend first.

Can you blame me? The best friend was more fascinating, funnier, more carnal than my original hero. Certainly less demanding. The closer I came to finishing my first hero’s book, the more he wanted from me. He insisted on logical explanations for all his actions-and everyone else’s too! Sometimes things came out of his mouth that made no sense whatsoever, and I’d waste a half-hour translating it into standard English. And did he ever, ever thank me for how I kept his book nice and neat, tying up loose ends with every word correctly spelled, every line grammatically flawless and all the scenes organized into perfectly paced chapters? No!

My hero didn’t appreciate me any more. He didn’t care what I wanted, what made me happy. It was all about him-him, him, him!

His best friend wasn’t nearly as needy. He was always glad to invite me into his novel, for however long I cared to roll around in his rumpled paragraphs or rub up against his dangling participles. I could climb through his window whenever I wanted, even in the middle of a sentence. He was so thrilled to be on the receiving end of something only I could give him-his own book-that he never complained. Meanwhile, he gamely continued his supporting role in my first novel, never hinting there was anything untoward behind his sly smiles. My second novel was our little secret. The thought of syntax never crossed my mind.

I’d meet him in the oddest places-at Starbucks, by the neighborhood pool, on the kitchen table. Even while my kids were watching SpongeBob in the next room!

“Mommy’s coming!” I called from the office as I teased out a final, mischievous double entendre before shutting him down for the night. I’d chance anything to explore all the naughty, naughty things he could do in my laptop.

It was exciting. It was intoxicating. It was madness! I was throwing away a perfectly good book to cavort with a new one.

“Are you crazy?” a writer-friend screamed over the phone. “If you get involved with another novel you’ll never finish your first one! You can’t flit from book to book like some little…”

She bit back her words before she said something hurtful, but her sigh spoke volumes.

“Don’t do it,” she said softly. “I know what I’m talking about.”

That sad note in her voice forced me to consider the consequences of my reckless actions. After all, I’d made a very public commitment to my hero-I’d told everybody I was writing a novel. What would my friends-Oh, God, my family!-think if they knew I was not only abandoning my hero, sometimes for days, but also hooking up with someone else? And his best friend, of all people! What kind of author was I?

There was only one solution. I had to find him a girlfriend-fast.

Someone spunky. No-someone uptight, someone who wouldn’t find his snark as amusing as he did. Someone who’d resist him-at least for a while-better than I ever could. A woman who’d give him a taste of his own medicine.

I set them up to meet cute. Sparks flew, along with an unexpected dish. (How was I supposed to know she had a temper? I just met her myself!). And then, just pages into their tempestuous affair, the most astonishing thing happened:  my back-door lover became just like his best friend, my original hero, now jeering from the sidelines of this new story. The best friend was still to die for, but he turned out to be as frustrating and time-consuming as my first love.

I guess I had to learn it the hard way.

So with the best friend distracted by the woman of his dreams, I crept back to my first book, a bit older and much, much wiser. To his credit, my hero never uttered a single reproachful word. And my heart had indeed grown fonder during our break. All those traits that once drove me nuts-his murky motives, his occasional inarticulateness, his infuriating tendency to tell, not show-were easier to deal with, even a little endearing. Sure, he wasn’t perfect; what hero is?

But before I fully recommitted to my first novel, I made sure the best friend had something to remember me by-a detailed storyline so he wouldn’t get lonely while I worked things out with my original hero. As thanks for the lessons he’d unwittingly taught me, I gave the best friend everything he ever wanted-the fiery girl, a rollicking family, the whole nine yards.

Maybe it was too pat, but it eased my conscience. And everything went back to normal, except…

Except…

You know that cheeky orphan the best friend and his new wife adopt at the end of their story? In twenty years or so, I suspect he’ll turn out to be quite the hero himself-gorgeous, resourceful and more than a little dangerous.

Wait a minute. It’s already twenty years later-in the new file I just created.

Only few hundred words, I swear.

Carolyn Martin’s original hero stars in her historical western Something Fierce, which placed third in the Music City Romance Writer’s 2008 “Melody of Love” contest for pre-published authors. Her hero’s best friend is still bumping around in his own file, waiting for his turn in the spotlight.

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Books on Craft by Melinda Leigh

Face it. Most of us do not have unlimited funds to attend workshops and conferences on a regular basis, especially those of us who are yet pre-published. So what do we do to improve our technique and therefore increase our chances of getting “the call?”

I’ve recently finished two incredibly helpful books on writing. The first is Syd Field’s The Foundations of Screenwriting. I know what those of you who haven’t read his book are thinking. You write novels, not screenplays. Mr. Field is a plotting genius. He lays out the foundations for a story so simply, in such a plotting-for-dummies kind of way that the only thought running through my head as I read his book was “duh.” Why didn’t I see that before? So that’s where my book should really begin or end or climax or whatever.

After this epiphany, I started on Debra Dixon’s Goal, Motivation & Conflict. Where Mr. Field’s book shines on overall story structure, I found Goal, Motivation & Conflict to be most helpful in developing individual characters and scenes. As in do I need that scene? Or darn it! I spent four days on that scene and it stinks. How do I save it? What is my character doing in this scene and why?

Does anyone else have recommendations for excellent books on the craft of writing? What do you like about them?

Melinda Leigh is an award winning pre-published author of romantic suspense.

http://www.melindaleighauthor.com

News

Humor—A Droll Business by Jacquie Rogers

People, both readers and writers, often ask me how I write humor. In fact, this issue arises in nearly every writing conversation and interview. I’m puzzled by the question and completely stumped by the answer, whatever it may be.

So how did I end up writing humor? The first bit of fiction I endeavored to pen was a murder mystery set in the future. That was ten years ago and futuristics weren’t exactly the hot item then, but that’s beside the point. I have 32 first chapters. That doesn’t count the first chapters I revised and revised. It was dark and gritty. Oh, I was so happy to be lord over such drama!

Only there was a problem-my critique partners kept laughing at it. By the last half of the book, I made it into a pretty decent romance, except of course most of it took place in the Virtual Wild West Theatre. Then I had two elements I hadn’t ever bargained for: humor and western. (Westerns weren’t selling, either.)

So my next venture into a novel took me to western historical romance. This wasn’t a stretch at all for me because I grew up in a sparsely populated county in southwest Idaho where the Old West still lives, sorta. But I knew westerns weren’t selling and humor sure wasn’t, so at least I could make it dramatic. Only I soon found that plopping a laced-up schoolmarm in a brothel with batch of color-coded prostitutes was . . . well, dang it, funny. And it finaled in the Golden Heart that year.

Neither of these books sold, nor did the next three. So westerns and humor aren’t getting me very far. Until I hit the short story market.

Some writers thrive in a shorter format. Me? I’d never tried to write a short story and didn’t think I was suited for it at all, but was badgered into it. So while I love to write full-length novels (I have three of them started right now), my first success came in short stories. Two of my stories, Faery Good Advice and Single Girls Can’t Jump, were included in an anthology to benefit breast cancer research, No Law Against Love.

The editor asked me to write a faery anthology based on Faery Good Advice, so Faery Special Romances was born. I decided to write ten stories chronicling the life of the lead character, Keely, a matchmaking faery princess with attitude. And the first thing I thought of was a four-year-old faery with not so good wing control and downright lousy faery dust control, not to mention a lack of understanding when it came to consequence. Made me laugh. Thus, the concept of writing ten short stories starting in 1199AD when Keely was a kindergartener and works to match the faery Shaylah with the knight Sir Darian, to the future when Keely gets her own HEA. It’s a fun book.

For me, situational humor tickles my funny bone the most. And in fantasy, you can create nearly any situation you want. What if: Bill Shakespeare was a changeling? A servant girl’s faery godmother stranded her on a pirate ship? A Regency miss needs glasses? A faery woman singing in a speak-easy is committed to the wrong man?

I suppose another person could make all these into dark stories, but I see the humorous side. Once, I was critiquing a synopsis for a friend of mine, Eilis Flynn. I raved about her story idea and laughed at the possibilities. She looked at me, puzzled, and said, “It’s not funny.” And when I protested she said, “I have no sense of humor.” Maybe not, but nearly everything she says cracks me up. I love clever wit.

Clever wit, ah, another topic. Rowena Cherry blogged earlier this week. I loved her latest release, Knight’s Fork. And one of my favorite quotes is from the tyrant emperor’s sidekick, Grievous: “The problem with your bloody Great Djinn gene pool is that there’s no lifeguard on duty.” This book is rife with clever nuances.

Unexpected roles is another way to create humor. In Deborah Macgillivray’s Invasion of Falgannon Isle, The Cat Dudley (yes, an actual cat) plays poker every Friday night at the pub. And wins. I loved The Cat Dudley-a great character. Made me laugh many times. My current release, Down Home Ever Lovin’ Mule Blues, features a cogitating mule named Socrates who has decided his human needs love and sets out to find him a woman. Socrates is assisted by an Australian Shepherd named Perseus and a skunk named Guinnevere.

The only other thing I can say about writing humor (and believe me, analysis of humor is very un-funny) is to let your hair down and don’t let your brain interfere with what your fingers type. And good luck! About reading humor? Suspend disbelief as much as possible, because the more you do, the more open you are to ludicrous characters, situations, or events.

And enjoy the ride!

Jacquie Rogers is a former software designer, campaign manager, deli clerk, and cow milker. Her first release, Faery Special Romances, won the Fall NOR Award for Best Print Sci-fi/Fantasy Romance and finaled several other contests. She also has stories print-published in two other anthologies–soon to be e-published as well. Her current print release is a short contemporary novel, Down Home Ever Lovin’ Mule Blues, which has garnered outstanding reviews: two Keepers, two Top Picks, a TRS 5-Heart Sweetheart of the Week, and several other 5-star/heart reviews. She lives in the Seattle area with her husband and cat.

Jacquie has donated all royalties from Faery Special Romances to The Children’s Tumor Foundation, ending neurofibromatosis through research.

You can find Jacquie at…

Website: http://www.jacquierogers.com
Myspace: http://www.myspace.com/jacquierogers
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Jacquie-Rogers/18676302690
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/jacquierogers

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That First Kiss by Anne Carrole

As writers, we necessarily have to draw on our own experiences—with a little poetic license, of course. From your first kiss ever, to your first French kiss (oo-la-la) to your first kiss with your significant other—firsts are memorable, but sometimes for the wrong reasons.

My first ever kiss was when I was nine years old. Shocking isn’t it? But then I didn’t experience another one until I was sixteen so I’m chalking it up to curiosity or the boy, Frankie T., all of twelve, being a little, well, exuberant.

We were sitting in a tent in his backyard, sharing a bag of salty potato chips. How did he know that potato chips were my favorite snack?

I didn’t know him all that well, but he was very cute. He was always getting into scrapes, always very daring and adventurous. There were lots of neighborhood stories about Frankie T. These facts should have been clues as to what might happen, but a nine- year-old’s trouble antenna isn’t generally attuned to THAT kind of trouble yet.

He leaned close, looked right into my eyes and said, “Wanna, kiss?” My pulse rate, which was already thumping away just being in a tent with him, went into overdrive. I don’t remember saying anything, just staring into his golden brown eyes. Next thing I knew, his lips were on mine, salty and firm. He was kissing me. I held my lips tightly shut and barely moved. It was exciting—but nothing more. He kissed me again. This time, I remember, I didn’t find it exciting—just salty.

And my trouble antenna finally started bleeping. Before he could try again, I rose, grabbed a handful of chips (had to have those chips) and told him I had to go. Walking home I wondered about what I had done. And figured I probably shouldn’t have. So I never went over to Frankie’s again. And he never said more than hi to me. I probably wasn’t much of a kisser.

Still, for seven more years, I clung to the fact that I had at least been kissed once! And I can promise you, my kissing experience at sixteen went a whole lot better for both of us.

Sometimes, then, writers have to supplement their own experiences with a little research-of the virtual kind.

The web site Virtualkiss.com has a whole section devoted to first kiss stories, http://www.virtualkiss.com/stories/firstkiss. A quick perusal of sixty-five first kiss listings showed that the majority of people (40) were fourteen or under when they had their first kiss. Of them, twenty-seven experienced their first kiss at age thirteen or fourteen. Only one cited age nine. (My cheeks are red!)

And did you know that there are sites that will give you step-by-step instructions on kissing? Check out http://www.kissingnet.com/french-kissing-tips for matter-of-fact, fairly reasonable kissing instructions. Who knew?

Some of their suggestions include brushing your teeth and taking a bath—ahh, definitely. And “don’t bite. Just nibble. Whatever, you do, don’t bite.”—can’t argue with that.

But nothing beats the first kiss of the man you fall in love with. The heart-stopping, world jarring, lightening striking kiss of real love. Especially if you’re not expecting it!

In my story Re-ride at the Rodeo from The Wild Rose Press, Clay is a saddle bronc rider on the rodeo circuit looking for a good time when he spies a feisty little blonde who looks like she could use one. Unfortunately for him, Dusty wants nothing to do with a rodeo man. Her father did the circuit and he was never there for her—and then he died. Now she’s looking for a happily ever after that includes a white picket fence, not a horse trailer..

When Clay corners her in a honky-tonk parking lot and asks her why she hadn’t danced with him, she knows he’s looking for than just a dance.

He was going to kiss her. She knew it and still she rooted in place. Firm lips gently breezed across hers. The taste of hops filled her senses. His lips brushed again as his hand touched her shoulder and tugged her closer. She tingled clear to her toes. His lips pressed harder against hers, seeking a response. She opened and his tongue slid inside. A whimper of surrender escaped. He reacted to the sound by pressing her head closer to him, holding her for his taking as his mouth devoured her. She barely noticed the stubble of his beard scraping her cheek.

“So sweet,” he mumbled against her lips. Strong fingers threaded through her hair. Hot and hungry, he deepened the kiss as he fitted her between his legs and moved against her like he couldn’t get enough, like he was ready to swallow her up.

Her legs weakened.

Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around his neck, skimmed her fingers through the hair that feathered his collar, and hung on, giving into the desire for a connection with someone warm and willing. Need pounded within her. It had been such a long while since Bradley.

Clay’s hands, hot and heavy, moved to her waist as his mouth drank her in. One hand slid across her back and pressed her nearer, while the other inched near her breasts. His thumb rubbed against her nipple. A jolt of sensation shot through her, and her mind switched on.

What was she doing?

So do you have a “kiss” story to share—first or otherwise? Or maybe there was a particular book you read or movie you watched that had a memorable kissing scene? Inquiring minds want to know so please share with us in the comment section.

Thanks for stopping by!

Anne Carrole writes both contemporary and western historical romance and is co-founder of the popular website, www.lovewesternromances.com. For more about what Anne is up to, stop in at http://www.annecarrole.com

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Keeping up with the times… by Christine Bush

All of a sudden, I’m reminding myself of my grandmother. Uh oh.

My grandmother used to talk so much about how things were in the “good old days”, and as a kid, my eyes would roll back in my head. She talked about motorcars that had no turn signals, and the fact that only one family on the block had a phone.   An ice box was actually an ice box.  She wrote thank you notes on nice smelling pink paper, with an aged ink pen.

“These things were perfectly fine.  Why, oh why, do they have to change?”

She spent the older years of her life very baffled by television remote controls (“Where’s the wire? How does this contraption work?”), credit cards (“How does that little card know how much you have in the bank? Don’t they need to see the money?”) and froze at even the sight of a computer. ( “What WILL they think of next?”)

We smiled at her questions, and spoke (ok, sometimes condescendingly) about how old folks have so much  trouble adapting to the new.  They just can’t “keep up with the times.” Sigh

Onward, upward,we must embrace the inventions and improvements of our society.

I wrote my first three books on a turquoise blue portable manual Olivetti Underwood typewriter that had been a graduation present.  Black ribbon. No correction function. Maybe I was high on the smell of white out.  The lovely sound of each key hitting the paper (except the “e” which was a little off, but who cares), and swinging the little bar to return the carriage after each line.  Honest.  Three books. I loved that typewriter.  You had to REALLY want to write to finish a book like that.  Sigh.

When I discovered my first writing group, I thought I was in heaven.  Every month, I LONGED to go to the meeting, desperate to meet and visit with other creative minds. There was no way to communicate realistically in between. Long distance was expensive.  No such thing as email back in those early days.  We all just showed up.  In person. Sigh.

“These things were perfectly fine.  Why, oh why, do they have to change?”

Onward, upward, we must embrace the inventions and improvements of our society.

So I did. Today I love my computer, survive by email, cell phone, and plastic.  Haven’t I kept up with the times so far?  Sigh.

Now book trailers? Kindles? On line workshops? Blogging? I panic.

The knowledgeable young ones smile at my questions (ok, sometimes condescendingly) and tell me I have to adapt to the new. Technology is here to stay.  I must CONTINUE to keep up with the times.

So I will.  I will try to stop sounding like my grandmother quite yet.  But I have to admit, there is still this panicked  little voice echoing in my head.  “What WILL they think of next?”

But meanwhile, I’m blogging.  How about you?

Other

Good Luck by Cris Anson

Ah, Friday the 13th. Generator of bad-luck legends and B movies. To me the date has meant good luck ever since I met my husband on one of those star-crossed days a long, long time ago.

So okay, we only had some twelve years together before he died, but I was fortunate enough to be struck by Cupid’s dart twice and I spent another twenty-two years with Real-Life Hero #2 before he, too, passed.

But as I muse on this humongous circle from then to today, I realize that this date has been good luck for me, in the way making a silk purse out of a sow’s ear is good. Unlikely, but good. Because of that first traumatic loss way back when, I began a diary wherein I raged at God and the world, where I poured out my heart and transferred all my emotion from brain to pen to page (yes, this was before I owned a typewriter, never mind a computer).

One day I looked back at all I had written and realized there was a story there. Somewhere. A story that, having bought a used IBM Selectric (remember them? With the bouncing ball of type?), I began pulling out of my brain. Elite 12 type much smaller than the Courier 10 of traditional submissions, 512 pages’ worth squeezed 27 lines per page—probably in the neighborhood of 130,000 words, but who knew to count?— I shipped it off with a feeling of accomplishment.

Can you say “crushed”? I was, when I promptly received a rejection, saying it sounded like…a diary. A story needed a beginning, a middle and an end, it said, and yours had nothing but rambling. Unsaid was, “and don’t bother us again.”

After crying and moping for several days (“this is REAL LIFE! A story doesn’t get any more emotional than this!”) I noticed the local community college offered a writing class, so I paid my tuition and went. Talk about eye-opener. When I read parts of this rejected masterpiece to the class, one of the critiquers said, “I was bored.”

I was crushed. Again.

So began a long journey to publication. Twelve years of assiduously applying butt to chair, of joining writers’ groups and critique groups, of form-letter rejections (one recipient even sent back my SASE with a stamped “No thanks” on the envelope and nothing inside), then of more personal rejections like “Send me the next thing you write”, and finally, ACCEPTANCE!

Everyone’s path is different—through life, to publication. What I’ve learned in both cases, every aspiring author has probably heard time and time again. Never. Give. Up. I gave up writing at least two dozen times, both before and after The Call. Ask KQ.

By the way, I’m still giving up. After #2 beloved died, I didn’t write for two years. Couldn’t get excited over some fictional person’s problems or love life. Then I felt strong enough to retire from my day job, which had given me a reason to get up every morning, and I slogged through another year of…nothing. Oh, sure, I read 226 books in 2008, but didn’t start writing again until the sun began shining longer into the afternoon last month and I realized I must have had Seasonal Affective Disorder (blame anything except myself!). So now that Spring is almost here, I have no excuse.

Yes, to those who may think to ask. Yes, I’m finishing Rolf’s story (the youngest of the Thorvald brothers in my DANCE series). Yes, I’m writing a novella of a scandalous triangle set, of all places, in 1693 Massachusetts Bay Colony. Yes, I have a heroine and an inciting incident for the son of my hero in SECOND BEST and will get to Cliff’s story soon.

For I have come full circle. I’m writing again, I’m out in the world and looking for love again, and Friday the 13th seems a good time to talk about it. Because luck is what you make it.

—Cris Anson’s DANCE series for Ellora’s Cave consistently garnered five-star reviews. Her latest releases, for Cerridwen Press, feature twin brothers: FIRST TO DIE (an “Outstanding Read” from Simply Romance Reviews and a “Golden Blush Recommended Read” from Literary Nymphs Reviews) and SECOND BEST (five bookmarks from Wild On Books). Read more on her website, www.crisanson.com or at www.myspace.com/crisanson

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How Today’s Headlines Can Become Tomorrow’s Historical Romances By Debra Mullins

I’ve always subscribed to the theory that writers are like sponges. We absorb the world around us, whether that means the news reports or the song on the radio or the couple at the next table in the restaurant who look as if they are having a fight. As writers, we take that one little headline or line from the song or body language of that couple, and we add to it. Expand on what we have observed with the writer’s favorite question “What if…”

 

Humankind is an ever evolving race in the way we do things, and yet with each stride we take, beneath the surface there is a hard-coded core of unchanging beliefs that have driven people since the beginning of time. This is why soap operas can stay on the air for twenty years or more, or why genres in books and movies cycle around. How many times have you heard this: “Well, that’s not selling very well right now, but hang on to it because it will be back again.”

 

The more things change, the more they stay the same.

 

People love and live and want the same things now as they did centuries ago. Everyone wants to be loved. People want security, to know they can live their lives without fear of losing their homes or not being able to feed their children (a challenge in today’s economy). And if something terrible happens to a person, our fast-paced twenty-first century culture helps us recognize the problems more quickly—and we have different tools with which to deal with them.

 

I write historical romances. The bulk of my work has taken place in the Regency time period in England. So how can I get ideas that are fresh and contemporary yet can be reflected in the historical time period where my stories take place?

 

Back to good old What If.

 

A few years ago I got an idea from a well-publicized news story about a kidnapping. The young girl in question was recovered alive, and it was clear she had been through a horrible ordeal. Yet every time I saw her on the news, she was smiling. My first thought was that if she was able to smile like that, she must have a great therapist helping her work through the trauma of her abduction—and thank God for that. I mean, how could she have begun to heal without people who knew how to guide her? What if there were no such thing as therapists? How would she have coped?

 

That little ‘what if’ question led to a book called JUST ONE TOUCH, about the daughter of a wealthy duke who was kidnapped but recovered alive. She coped by holing up at her father’s estate and never going out on society, but when her father learns he is dying, he must arrange a marriage for her so he knows she will be cared for when he is gone.

 

Modern headline, historical story.

 

My upcoming release (TO RUIN THE DUKE, June 2009) creates a historical story from another modern topic—identity theft. The Duke of Wyldehaven has been sequestered at his estate for more than a year, mourning the deaths of his wife and unborn child. Called to London to attend the funeral of a friend, he discovers that someone who closely resembles him is impersonating him—running up bills in his name, causing scandals and—as he discovers when the heroine enters the story—fathering children! So identity theft is alive and well in the Regency time period.

 

Again, modern headline, historical twist.

 

Ideas are all around us. We absorb them naturally due to our natures as writers. But if you write a genre that is not taking place in today’s contemporary place and culture, you can still use these ideas.

 

Maybe the guy impersonating your character is actually the same man, but from the future. Now you have a paranormal story. Or maybe my guy was replaced with a clone or an alien being for your science fiction book. Or maybe the person stealing his identity (and his face!) is a thousand year old demon who plans on killing everyone in town—for your horror novel, of course.

 

With the right twist, anything can lead to a story!

BIO:

Debra Mullins is the award-winning author of eleven historical romances for Avon.  She has been writing seriously for seventeen years and recently signed a new contract with Avon for two more historical romances. Read an excerpt of her new book at www.debramullins.com.

News

2009 March Member News

Dianne Gerber, writing as Autumn Jordon, is proud to announce that first novel, a romantic suspense, HIS WITNESS (working title) and recently sold to The Wild Rose Press, is a finalist in the Romance Writers of America Golden Heart contest. Please visit her at www.autumnjordon.com where you can sign up for her quarterly newsletter.

Caridad Pineiro is pleased to announce that FURY CALLS was a Fresh Fiction Fresh Pick! and was featured on every page of the Fresh Fiction website on March 20th. In addition, FURY CALLS has been receiving rave reviews, such as: Vampire Romance Books: “Ms. Pineiro has done an amazing job of blending suspense with the vampire genre. Her tale keeps you reading not only because of the chemistry between Meghan and Blake, but also to find out how they are going to neutralize the threat that surrounds them.” The Book Pedler: “In Fury Calls, Piniero has given us a story of true, bittersweet emotion. She has given us a novel where the characters on the page are so alive, they seem to live and breathe off of the pages.”

Shobhan Bantwal has just received the cover for her September release, The Sari Shop Widow from Kensington Publishing.

Amy Heffernan has joined the world of blogging. Visit her first blog post! http://alheffernan.blogspot.com/
Chris Redding has had her first Authors Day on her blog. The author was Harry Ramble (www.harryramble.com) author of Sex Offender Lives Here. Chris is looking for authors who are interested in being a guest blogger. Please contact Chris privately if you are interested.

Joanne Timrum, writing as Joanna Aislinn, has just received the cover for her Wild Rose Press Release, No Matter Why.

Coffee Cup Romance reviewed Elaine Charton’s Pandora’s Justice, gave it 5 coffee cups and noted “Wow! What a great book. Action, romance, cute kids, all that is missing is the puppy. The characters are well honed and pull you into their story to ride along for one heck of an adventure. The storyline just races along, making you try to turn the pages faster. I totally enjoyed this story and all it had to offer and I am sure many other readers as well. Wonderfully done, Ms. Charton.”

Caridad Pineiro is rounding up items for a Liberty States Fiction Writers donation to the annual Brenda Novak Diabetes Auction. This is a great opportunity to not only donate to a worthy cause, but get your name out there for the thousands of people who bid on items in the auction. The deadline to send in your information is April 15th so please e-mail Caridad with the items you wish to donate. You can reach Caridad at cpsromance@att.net.