Author Speed Dating: Claire McEwen

Author Speed Dating(1)

If there’s one thing I enjoy almost as much as writing books, it’s READING books. I love discovering new authors, too. So I thought my blog would be a perfect place to introduce my authors friends to potential new readers. Only to give it a twist, we’re doing this Speed-Dating style. Check out a new author here every Wednesday, and if the spark is there, you’ll have a match.

 

This week’s guest: Claire McEwen

 

Author Photo - Claire McEwen

superlogo

 

15 Questions

1. Which Scooby Doo character best describes you in high school?

Scooby Doo himself!  Blundering around (socially, that is), looking for snacks and making a lot of mistakes.

2. How many rejections did you receive before you sold your first book?

None.  Thank you Harlequin and the So You Think You Can Write Contest and my amazing editor who took a chance on me!

3. Bon Jovi or Tim McGraw?

Tim McGraw.  Country music inspires my western romances!

4. In which genres and subgenres have you been published, and what does your narrow or sweeping focus say about you?

So far I’ve only written Harlequin Superromance books.  I’m wordy and complicated, just like they are!

5. When you give into a craving for fast food, what’s your drive-thru destination, and what would be found in your bag?

Does Starbucks count as a drive-thru?  Because…coffee!

6. Which is your preference to write: love scenes or murder scenes?

Love scenes, absolutely. I am a total wimp about murder and scary things.

7. Jane Austen or Stephen King?

See Question #6.  Jane Austen, without a doubt!

8.  What is your best advice to a writer who has just received a rejection?

Chocolate helps.  Keep working on your writing, keep pushing yourself, keep enjoying the writing process.

9. Are you more dangerous in a bookstore or a shoe store?

I am EXTREMELY dangerous in both!

10. Which heroine from one of your books is most like you?

Jenna in my second book, More Than A Rancher.  Her story is based on my experiences teaching dance and living in San Francisco. But no, I didn’t do that thing she does at Aquatic Park. Just in case you were wondering!

11. The Bachelor or Sons of Anarchy?

The Bachelor.  I cringe at all the drama, but it’s addictive!

12. What is the first thing you do when you finish a book?

If my family is home, I take a victory lap around the living room and kitchen shouting, “I typed The End!”  Then I clean my house.

13.  Name one thing you wish you could change about yourself.

Do I have to pick only one? Because there’s my procrastinating, my self-doubt and my awkward, bumbling inner-Scooby Doo, as mentioned in question #1.

14. Does your perfect vacation involve high-altitude and the word “jump” or umbrellas drinks at poolside?

Ack! No jumping! Ever!  (Grabs her umbrella drink and takes a soothing gulp.)

15. Sure, it’s like picking a favorite child, but which one or two of your titles do you secretly love just a little more?

My most recent book, Return to Marker Ranch. It’s straight from my heart onto the page.

***

Cover Return to Marker Ranch

Return to Marker Ranch

By Claire McEwen

 

Even though Marker Ranch was just down the road, Lori had never actually been here. She’d grown up with Wade and wasted her teenage years in the throes of a tortured crush on the bad boy he became. But no one she knew had ever set foot on his family’s ranch. Wade’s dad and older brothers hadn’t exactly encouraged visitors. In fact, they’d been downright scary.

She squinted at a weathered sign nailed to a post at the start of the driveway. The faded black letters read Keep Out. Lori wasn’t usually one to break the rules, but today was different. Her ranch was at stake.

Her truck pitched and bumped through the minefield of potholes that passed for a driveway. The place was a mess. One entire pasture was filled with rusted-out cars. The main barn was leaning and sagging, tired and gray, its paint long gone. The farmhouse was in a similar state. Roof shingles were missing and the porch looked like it was about to fall right off the house. It was a shame because it had obviously been a lovely home long ago.

The place looked deserted. There was none of the bustle you’d find around a typical ranch house. No dogs barking, chickens fluttering or livestock clamoring for dinner. The silence made her uneasy, and suddenly she wondered if she should have brought someone with her. She stepped out of the truck, keeping one hand on the door. “Hello?” she called.

Her voice disappeared into the dry heat of the late afternoon. “Hello?” she tried again.

She shut the door and took a few steps toward the house, but a noise coming from a ramshackle plywood shed to her left stopped her in her tracks. There was a clanking and a scraping, and then a skateboard came flying out the shed door and landed in the grass with a thud. As Lori watched in amazement, a weed whacker followed. Then a chainsaw. Then another.

She took a few steps toward the shed. A car wheel rolled out of the dim interior, and she dodged out of its path. “Hey!” she yelled. “Anyone in there?”

There was silence, then the crunching of boots on gravel. A man stepped out of the shadows, and Lori’s heart hit her stomach with a soft, sickening thump of recognition. Wade Hoffman.

***

Return to Marker Ranch may be purchased through these online retailers: Amazon, Harlequin, Barnes & Noble.

***

About Claire

Claire McEwen lives by the ocean in Northern California with her family and a scruffy, mischievous terrier. Her books feature strong heroes and heroines who take emotional journeys to find their happily-ever-afters.  When not dreaming up new stories, she can be found digging in her garden with a lot of enthusiasm but, unfortunately, no green thumb.  She loves discovering flea-market treasures, walking on the beach, dancing, traveling and reading, of course!

Connect with Claire through her website, http://www.clairemcewen.com, or through these social media sites: Amazon Author Page, Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest and Instagram.

 

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Collateral Losses on the Path to Progress

Some people consider themselves lovers of progress and new technology. They get excited over the announcement of the newest smartphone, version 43 zillion. They’re the first to try out that amazing computer watch with tiny buttons and a miniature screen that even the best reading glasses can’t conquer.

I don’t happen to be one of them.

Sure, I use newer products and technology all the time. I update this website and blog myself (with only emergency backup from my webmistress). I have a smartphone, though I refused to join that bandwagon until a few years ago. I own a larger flat-screen TV (a gift from our desperate daughters), and I sometimes binge-watch TV shows from a video streaming service. I even write using the most recent version of Word, though I clung to my beloved Word ’97 until the New Millennium wasn’t close to new anymore. (My publisher forced that issue by refusing to accept manuscripts with my old software.)

But sometimes I still long for the good old days. For simpler things like chalkboards with real chalk. I miss useful things that have been collateral losses on the path to progress. Here is just one example.

Ties5

Remember this little baby? It is from the set of attached ties that used to come packaged inside a box of tall kitchen garbage bags. It happens to also be one of my favorite products in the world, something lost to progress, an increased focus on the environment or, perhaps, just cost-cutting. Handle-ties and drawstrings don’t do it for me.

I get it. Really. There are probably millions of these little things taking up space in landfills at this moment. And I really don’t want to leave the planet in worse shape than when I arrived on it.

But these things are really cool. I admit, though, when they regularly came in my trash bag boxes, I wasn’t sure what to do with them. Of course, I used them sometimes for their stated purposed of tying off trash bags. Other times, I just tied a knot at the top of my trash and stuck the leftover ties in a zipper bag in my laundry-room closet. Have I mentioned that I have trouble throwing things away sometimes?

Then I discovered that these ties just might have other purposes. I started using them for everything.

Ties2Ties1Ties3

These magic little implements could be used to tie off the mess of cords behind my desktop computer. They helped keep my leftover frozen vegetables from spilling all over the freezer. They closed off dried beans and powdered sugar and the bags of semi-sweet chocolate chips that my kids refused to leave alone. (You know who you are!) They also were great for tying off cords for all of my small appliances. Best of all, unlike some bag ties, they could be reopened and reused for a long time. So I kept replenishing my supply every time I bought a new box of trash bags.

Then they were gone.

Suddenly, trash bags came only with handle-ties and drawstrings. I was sad. My little collection of yellow ties became a precious commodity, carefully returned to their zipper-bag home as soon as the sack of frozen peas was empty. I became all about the “3 R’s of the Environment” – reduce, reuse and recycle – at least when it came to one particular product. I hoarded them and handled them with care.

But, unfortunately, even reusable products eventually wear out, and my stash has dwindled.  I have realized that eventually I will run out completely, so I have considered putting out a plea to more successful hoarders, hoping they might consider sharing the wealth.

As I have been writing this post, though, I have been doing doing online research, and I am happy to report that my favorite little ties still exist, after all. Hooray! Due to the growth of the Internet marketplace, I can buy a whole roll and be happily tying off things for years to come. So I must celebrate progress today.  You really can find anything on the Internet.

I promise to use my ties wisely and only send them to the landfill after they have been well loved. Ties4

So tell me, do you have any special products that you love and have lost, at least temporarily, to progress? Please share some of the interesting uses you have found for them.

Now you’ll have to forgive me for cutting off this post so abruptly. I have some shopping to do.

 

 

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Author Speed Dating: Isabelle Drake

Author Speed Dating(1)

If there’s one thing I enjoy almost as much as writing books, it’s READING books. I love discovering new authors, too. So I thought my blog would be a perfect place to introduce my authors friends to potential new readers. Only to give it a twist, we’re doing this Speed-Dating style. Check out a new author here every Wednesday, and if the spark is there, you’ll have a match.

This week’s guest: Isabelle Drake

Isabelle Drake - pic

Erotic Romance

 

15 Questions

1. Which Scooby Doo character best describes you in high school?

The Witch Doctor in “Decoy for a Dognapper”. I didn’t kidnap any dogs, but I did have a wild streak and wore some wild clothes.

Scooby character Isabelle Drake

2. How many rejections did you receive before you sold your first book?

About seven year’s worth. But I sold short stories in the meantime.

3. Bon Jovi or Tim McGraw?

Tim McGraw. He’s the chauffer, driving me to dinner with Jason Mamoa.

4. In which genres and sub-genres have you been published, and what does your narrow or sweeping focus say about you?

Sweet romance, Erotica, Romantic Suspense, Chick Lit, Erotic Horror, Young Adult Romance, Young Adult Thrillers, Short Stories, Young-Adult Thriller and Zombie Noir. (Is that a genre?) What does this say about me? I love stories. Writing them, reading them, living them.

5. When you give into a craving for fast food, what’s your drive-thru destination, and what would be found in your bag?

Hamburger Happy Meal from McDonald’s with milk and apple slices. Mikey D’s has the best toys.

6. Which is your preference to write: love scenes or murder scenes?

How about a love scene that ends in murder? Okay. Just kidding. Both! But I usually write love scenes at night and murder scenes during the day.

7. Jane Austen or Stephen King?

Jane Austin, for the humor.

8. What is your best advice to a writer who has just received a rejection?

Aside from the very common advice, keep writing, I’d add, have fun. Once you sell, you won’t have as much time to enjoy the process.

9. Are you more dangerous in a bookstore or a shoe store?

Shoe store. I plan my book purchases ahead of time and order from my local bookshop. Shoes are totally impulse. (Dana actually already knew my answer to that question. Ask her about the gorgeous, strappy Diane Von Furstenberg sandals I “made” her buy in San Francisco.)  

10. Which heroine from one of your books is most like you?

Victoria from Cowboy for Hire. She’s fixing up a dude ranch, doing her best to make her dream come true. She’s not afraid of hard work and not afraid to make mistakes. Also, she’s determined to do “it” (whatever it is that’s she trying to do) on her own. I know, being stubborn isn’t necessarily a good trait, but it is one of mine.

11. The Bachelor or Sons of Anarchy?

Well…I like the idea of  The Bachelor, but I don’t have regular TV. I only have Netflix. Yeah, I know I could probably watch The Bachelor on streaming or old episodes on Netflix, or Prime, but it’s really too late. Everyone has already talked about what happened. So, Sons of Anarchy. I’d argue that the driving character, the one person the story line centers on, is the mom. So that’s neat. She’s terrible but with good motives, so very dynamic and compelling.

12. What is the first thing you do when you finish a book?

Clean my office!

13. Name one thing you wish you could change about yourself.

Sometimes I wish I could sit still and relax “like a normal person.” But alas, I am always wanting to be doing at least one thing, if not two or three simultaneously.

14. Does your perfect vacation involve high-altitude and the word “jump” or umbrellas drinks at poolside?

Umbrellas and drinks. But I’ll be doing day trips that include hikes or bike rides. Then, while I’m at the pool, I’ll probably be writing or reading.

15. Sure, it’s like picking a favorite child, but which one or two of your titles do you secretly love just a little more?

Servant of the Undead, read it free on Wattpad!, for its raw complexity. And the setting – a Boston  blizzard. Unfinished Business, from Totally Bound, for its sweet intensity. And the setting-Detroit.

***

CB 1Pink Bow final cover

 

Cuckold  Beach 1: Pink Bow

By Isabelle Drake

Troy didn’t say anything as we passed through the towns along the water. It wasn’t the kind of quiet when he’s upset, but the kind when he’s excited or anxious or just considering something important. So I didn’t worry about him not talking. I looked out the window and tried not to think about the fact that only a tiny layer of fabric separated my bare pussy from Troy’s view.

As we went farther down the coastline, the buildings became smaller and closer together but it was obvious that everyone who lived along the coast was loaded. The yards were landscaped with flowers, beach grasses and fan palms, and lit with soft spotlights. Many of the houses were tall and narrow, with parking garages on the ground level and living spaces above. It was a neighborhood way out of our price range, that was for sure.

Another thing I was sure of—we didn’t know anyone who lived here. Or maybe it was just me who didn’t know anyone, otherwise why would Troy bring us here?

After a long while, Troy turned off the main road and started checking the map on his phone. My curiosity was making me so jittery, each minute dragged, but finally he parked. Once he cut the engine, he turned to me and put his hand on my leg. “You know how much I love you, right?”

“More than the moon loves the stars,” I said, repeating our special phrase.

“That’s right. And I always will.” He slid his hand up my leg. “I know about the porn.”

My mind went blank.

Was that what he’d been thinking about during the drive? Heavy silence settled between us until I broke it with words, even though I didn’t know exactly what I wanted to say. I explained about a girl at work telling me to check out a particular site and how the site made me curious, so I kept looking… And I kept babbling, telling most but not all of the truth, until he cut me off.

“It’s okay. I love you, Abby. And I know what you need—so I’m going to make sure you get it.”

I started to talk again, telling him how much I loved him and that he always satisfied me, but he cut me off a second time by kissing me firmly on the mouth. His hard kiss stirred up all that lust that had brewing since he’d told me to change clothes. Within a minute, I was panting and reaching for his belt. He guided my hands away with a smile and laugh.

“No, no. Tonight is going to be different. For one thing, you aren’t in charge.”

“What else?” I asked, eager to know.

He shook his head and climbed out of the car. “Follow me and find out.”

***

Read a longer excerpt of Cuckold Beach 1: Pink Bow here: Sample on Amazon . Purchase a copy here: Amazon buy link.

***

About Isabelle

Isabelle Drake got her start writing confession stories for pulp magazines like True Confessions and True Love. Since publishing those first few stories, she has written in many genres, but tends to write about everyday people in extraordinary situations.

During the day, she is a Professor of English and Writing. When away from the keyboard and classroom, she likes watching classic horror films, especially Hammer films such as the Karnstein Trilogy, and reading (of course). An avid traveler, she’ll go just about anywhere – at least once – to meet people and get story ideas.

Connect with Isabelle on social media at these locations: her website, http://isabelledrake.blogspot.com/; Facebook; Instagram; TwitterPinterest; Amazon; Tumblr; Goodreads; YouTube; Wattpad; and Snapchat @isadrake.

 

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Novice No More in the World of Pampering

Toes-1
Making those toes all pretty.

I’m not a spa day novice anymore! This might not seem so amazing to you, such a little thing in the grand scheme, but to me this is a big deal.  Somehow I managed to live many decades on this earth without ever having a massage, a facial or a paraffin manicure. Until last week. But after my little outing, I can only ask myself one question: Why not?

A spa day had never been on my bucket list. It seemed too indulgent. But it felt like a bucket bonus when my three daughters gave me a gift certificate for my significant birthday in January.  (I won’t tell you my age, but it rhymes with nifty, and there are days when it’s kind of not.) Yes, I said January. It took me eight months to finally get around to using my gift certificate. What can I say? I’m a busy gal. But as I sit here with relaxed muscles, smaller pores and hands so silky smooth that a baby’s bottom would be jealous, I wonder why it took me so long.

Pretty fingers, too.

I admit it. I was a little nervous going into the spa. I was out of my element in that big, fluffy robe and those little spa socks. I even had a moment of  panic as I considered the all-important decision: underwear or no underwear. Ultimately, I just picked one, but for the record, my masseuse told me that either way was fine.

I learned several things throughout my 4 1/2 hours of absolute indulgence. For one thing, Swedish Massage rocks! I could have stayed all day with my face in that little hole on that massage table, the scent of vanilla-lavender aromatherapy oils swirling around me. And who knew there could be so many lotions and creams and gels to exfoliate, hydrate and brighten my skin? It was a whole new world for someone like me. When the esthetician asked what I used to cleanse my face, I had to admit that it was “precious little.”

I’m not positive that I took a nap during my pedicure while cocooned in heated blankets, a cool sleep mask over my eyes and my hands covered in a paraffin treatment, but it was a whole lot later when the manicurist uncovered my eyes.  I learned that I like having someone bring me cups of ice water with lemon every hour or so. And I learned that butter mints from a candy dish are addictive. Oh, I already knew that.

Toes2
Back to the real world.

Yes, I learned a few new things that day about the tricks of beauty and relaxation, but the spa day had me thinking on a larger scale about how many of us don’t take time for ourselves. For our bodies, our minds, our spirits. We get caught up in our busy lives –  work, meetings and our children’s ballgames and plays. All of those things are important. Vital. But we don’t take time to decompress from all that busyness so that we can reflect and appreciate. Those things are important, too. At the end of each of my spa-package sessions, my beauty team members would ask me to breathe in and out a few times. I need to remember that as I reenter the real world, where I have to get my own ice water and smooth on my own lotions and creams: When relaxation and renewal seem out of reach, I can still take time to breathe. Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Author Speed Dating: Eileen Dreyer

Author Speed Dating(1)

If there’s one thing I enjoy almost as much as writing books, it’s READING books. I love discovering new authors, too. So I thought my blog would be a perfect place to introduce my authors friends to potential new readers. Only to give it a twist, we’re doing this Speed-Dating style. Check out a new author here every Wednesday, and if the spark is there, you’ll have a match. The clock is ticking. Ready! Set! Go!

This week’s guest: Eileen Dreyer

Eileen Dreyer pic

 

Historical Romance2

 

15 Questions

1. Which Scooby Doo character best describes you in high school?

I’d love to say I was Velma. Truth was I was more klutzy Daphne.Although I can’t imagine waiting for somebody else to save me.

2. How many rejections did you receive before you sold your first book?

Let’s put it this way. I threatened to wallpaper my bathroom.

3. Bon Jovi or Tim McGraw?

Bon Jovi. Rock’n’roll, baby!!

4. In which genres and sub-genres have you been published, and what does your narrow or sweeping focus say about you?

As Eileen Dreyer and my evil twin Kathleen Korbel–medical suspense, romantic suspense, contemporary romance, paranormal, historical romantic adventure. It says that I’m an old trauma nurse. We bore easily.

5. When you give into a craving for fast food, what’s your drive-thru destination, and what would be found in your bag?

Steak ‘n Shake–Steakburger with everything, fries, Diet Coke (although I just had my first In-N-Out Burger, and I could be swayed).

6. Which is your preference to write: love scenes or murder scenes?

Murder scenes. You can murder people a million ways, but love scenes comes down to Slot A and Tab B. And as much as  I love it, emotion is much harder to write.

7. Jane Austen or Stephen King?

Jane Austen. King scary.

8. What is your best advice to a writer who has just received a rejection?

Congratulations. You’re now a real author. Now sit down and get back to work. Often the difference between published and not is the inability to hear the word no.

9. Are you more dangerous in a bookstore or a shoe store?

Have you seen my shoes? Bookstore, obviously.

10. Which heroine from one of your books is most like you?

Probably Lady Kate Seaton from Always A Temptress (without the dysfunctional family-my dad wants people to know that). I’m kind of a snot, and I love to outrage people when I can.

11. The Bachelor or Sons of Anarchy?

Sons of Anarchy. Give me story over schlock.

12. What is the first thing you do when you finish a book?

Clean my office. It gets pretty awful in there when I’m on deadline. Keep thinking I’ll find the Lindbergh baby.

13. Name one thing you wish you could change about yourself.

I do wish I could get my ADD more under control. It would be so nice to be able to write without deadline….squirrel!!

14. Does your perfect vacation involve high-altitude and the word “jump” or umbrella drinks at poolside?

I’m probably going with “jump.” I love experiences. I can drink by any pool.

15.  Sure, it’s like picking a favorite child, but which one or two of your titles do you secretly love just a little more?

One Kathleen Korbel Silhouette, A Rose for Maggie (going back up soon), and my first Eileen Dreyer historical romance, Barely a Lady .

 

***

Eileen book

 

    Once a Rake

By Eileen Dreyer

 

There were six riders in all, four of them dressed in the motley remnants of their old regiments. Foot soldiers, by the way they rode. Not very good ones, if the company they kept was any indication. Ragged, scruffy and slouching, rifles slung over their shoulders and knives in their boots.

Sarah might have dismissed them as unimportant if they had been led by anyone but her husband’s cousin, Martin Clarke. She knew better than to think Martin wished her well. Martin wished her to the devil, just as she wished him. A thin, middling man with sparse sandy hair and bulging eyes, he had the harried, petulant air of an ineffectual law clerk.  Sarah knew better. Martin was as ineffectual as the tides.

Just as Sarah knew he would, he trotted right past the great front door and toward the outbuildings where he knew he’d find her at this time of day. She stood where she was, egg pail in hand, striving for calm. Martin was appearing far too frequently lately.

“Martin,” she greeted him quietly as he pulled his horse to a skidding halt within feet of her. She felt sorry for the horse, a short-boned bay that bore the scars of Martin’s spurs.

“Sarah,” Martin said in a curiously deep voice.

He did not bow or tip his hat. Martin knew exactly what she was due and wasn’t about to let her forget it.

“Lady Clarke,” the sixth man said in his booming, jovial voice.

Sarah’s smile was genuine for the Squire, who sat at Martin’s left on an ungainly-looking sorrel mare. “Squire,” she said, then walked up to rub the horse’s nose. “You’ve brought our Maizie to call, have you? How are you, my pretty?”

Pretty was not really a word one should use for Maizie. As sturdy as a stone house, she was all of seventeen hands, with a Roman head and a shambling gait. She was also the best hunter in the district, and of a size to carry Squire’s massive girth.

Maizie’s arrival was met by a thud and a long, mournful squeal from the pig pen.

The squire laughed with his whole body. “Still in love, is he?”

Sarah grinned back. “Caught him not an hour ago trying to sneak over for a tryst.”

The squire chuckled. “It’s good someone loves my girl,” he said with an affectionate smack to the horse’s neck. Maizie nuzzled Sarah’s apron and was rewarded with an old fall apple. Willoughby sounded as if he were dying from anguish.

“To what do I owe the honor, gentlemen?” Sarah asked, wishing she had at least had the chance to tidy her hair before facing off with her cousin by marriage. She hated feeling at a disadvantage.

“Have you seen any strangers around?” Martin asked, leaning forward. “There’s been some theft and vandalism in the area. Stolen chickens and the like.”

“Oh, that,” Sarah said with a wave of her hand. “Of course. He’s taken my eggs.”

Martin almost came off his horse. “Who?”

Shading her eyes with her hand, Sarah smiled up at him. “Who? Don’t you mean what? Unless you name your foxes.”

That obviously hadn’t been the answer he was looking for. “Fox? Bah! I’m talking about a man. Probably one of those damned thievin’ soldiers preying on good people.”

Did he truly not notice how his own men scowled at him? Men who undoubtedly had been wandering the roads themselves? Well, Sarah thought, if she’d had any intention of acknowledging her surprise visitor, Martin’s words disabused her of the notion. She wouldn’t trust Napoleon himself to her cousin’s care.

“Not unless your soldier has four feet and had a long bushy tail,” she said, genially. “But I don’t think he would meet the height requirements for the army.”

The squire, still patting his Maizie, let out a great guffaw. “We’ll get your fox for you, Lady Clarke,” he promised. “Not great hunt country here. But we do. We do.”

“Kind of you, squire. I’m sure the girls will be grateful. You know how fatched Mary and Martha can get.”

“Martha….” Martin was getting redder by the minute. “Why haven’t I heard about this? You boarding people here? What would Boswell say?”

Sarah tilted her head. She knew better, but she couldn’t help gigging Martin. He was just so disagreeable. “I imagine he’d say that he was glad for the eggs every morning for breakfast, Martin.”

For a second she thought Martin might have a seizure, right there on his gelding. “You’re not going to get away with abusing your privilege much longer, missy,” he snapped. “This land is….”

“Boswell’s,” she said flatly. “Not yours until we know he won’t come back.”
“Bah!” Martin huffed. “It’s been almost fourth months, girl. If he was coming back, he’d be here.”

Sarah stood very still, praying that none of them caught the sudden tension in her shoulders. Instinctively her gaze wandered over to what they had taken to calling Boswell’s Arbor, a little sitting area by the cliff with a lovely view of the ocean. Boswell had loved sitting there. His roses, though, were dying.

“He will be back, Martin,” she said, throwing as much conviction as she could into her voice. “You’ll see.Men are returning all the time from Belgium. The battle was so terrible it will be months yet before we learn the final toll from Waterloo.”

“You’re only putting off the inevitable, girl. And wasting my time.”

It was the Squire who brought their attention back with a sharp ‘harrumph’.

For the first time, Sarah blushed. “My apologies, Squire,” she said. “You didn’t come here to be annoyed by our petty grievances. As for your question, Cousin Martin, no. I have seen no one here.”

“Big man,” Squire said. “Red hair.”

She was already shaking her head. After all, she hadn’t seen anything but a shadow.

“I’m sure you won’t mind if we search the property,” Martin challenged.

He was already dismounting his horse. Pretending that the action didn’t set her heart stumbling all over again, Sarah smiled. “Of course not. Start with the house. I’m sure the dowager will be just as delighted to see you as the last time you surprised her.”

Martin was already on the ground and heading toward the stables. With Sarah’s words, he stopped cold. Sarah refused to smile. She didn’t need to incite him further. It was a good thing, though, that he couldn’t hear her heart or sense how sick she suddenly felt at the thought of him searching the property.

“Just the outbuildings,” he amended, motioning to the men, who followed suit.

Sarah was a heartbeat shy of protesting when she heard it. Willoughby. The thudding turned into a great crash and the heartfelt squeals turned into a near-scream of triumph. She turned just in time to jump free as the pig came galloping across the yard, six hundred pounds of unrestrained passion headed straight for Squire’s horse.

Unfortunately, Martin was standing between Willoughby and his own true love. And Sarah sincerely doubted that the pig could see the man in his headlong dash to bliss.

Sarah called out a warning. Martin stood frozen on the spot, as if staring down the spectre of death. Howling with laughter, the Squire swung Maizie about.

It was all over in a moment. Squire leapt from Maizie and gave her a good crack on the rump. With a flirtatious toss of the head and a whinny, the mare took off down the lane, Willoubhby in hot pursuit.

But not before the boar had run right over Martin, leaving him flat in the mud with hoofprints marching straight up his best robin’s egg superfine and white linen. Sarah tried so hard not to laugh. The other men weren’t so restrained, slapping legs and laughing at the man who’d brought them as they charged down the lane after the pig.

Sarah knew that she was a Christian, because she bent to help Boswell’s unpleasant relation off the ground. “Are you all right, cousin?”

Bent over and clutching his ribs, Martin yanked his arm out of her grasp. “You’ll pay for this, you little…”

The Squire frowned. “Language, sir. Ladies.”

Martin waved him off as well. “This is no lady. You know it perfectly well. Why my cousin demeaned himself to marry her…”

“Is no bread and butter of ours,” the Squire snapped, casting a contemplative eye in the direction Willoughby had taken, as if considering once again setting him on Martin. “Apologize to the lady, Clarke, or I’ll know why. And then let us leave her to her work. We certainly haven’t made her day any easier.”

Martin huffed, but he complied. He was still brushing off his once-pristine attire when the soldiers, bantering like children on a picnic, returned brandishing Willoughby’s lead, the pig following disconsolately behind. With a smile for the ragged soldier who’d caught her pig, Sarah held her hand out for the rope.

“Thank you, Mr…”

The man, lean and lined from sun and hardship, ducked his head. “Wilms, ma’am. Pleasure. Put up a good fight, ‘e did.”

She chuckled. “I know all too well, Mr. Wilms.” Turning, she held her hand out. “Thank you, sir. Squire. I’m so sorry you had to send Maizie off.”

The squire grinned at her, showing his gap teeth and twinkling blue eyes. “Aw, she’ll be at the bottom of the lane, right enough. She knows to get out of yon pig’s way.”

Tipping his low-brimmed hat to Sarah, he turned to help Martin to his horse.Sarah waved farewell and tugged a despondent Willoughby back to his pen. She was just pulling the third knot tight when she caught sight of that shadow again, this time on her side of the coop. Casting a quick glance to where the Squire had just mounted behind the pig-catching soldier, she bent over Willoughby.

“I wouldn’t show myself yet if I were you,” she murmured, hoping the shadow heard her. “And if it was you let Willoughby go a moment ago, I thank you.”

“A search would have been…problematic,” she heard, and a fresh chill chased down her spine.

There was a burr to his voice. A Scot, here on the South Dorset coast. Now, how frequently could she say she’d seen that?

“You didn’t by any chance recently shoot at someone, did you?”

As if he would tell the truth, if he were indeed the assassin.

“Not who you think. No.”

Why she instinctively believed him, she had no idea. She should turn around this minute and call for help. Every instinct of decency said so. But Martin was the local magistrate, and Sarah knew how he treated prisoners. Even innocent ones. Squeezing her eyes shut, Sarah listened to the jangle of the troop turning to leave.

“Give you good day, Lady Clarke,” the Squire said, and waved the parade off down the drive.

Martin didn’t follow right away. “This isn’t over, missy,” he warned, pitching his voice low enough to not be overheard. “This land belongs to me now, and you know it.”

Sarah sighed, her mind made up. She simply could not accommodate Martin in this or anything. Straightening, she squarely faced the dyspeptic man. “This land is Boswell’s,” she said baldly. “Until he comes back, I am here to make sure it is handed back into his hands in good heart. Good day, Martin.”

And she deliberately turned back to her pig.

Martin opened his mouth to argue, and then saw the Squire and other men waiting for him. He settled for a final, “Bah!” and drove his heels into his poor horse.

Sarah stood where she was until she could no longer hear them. Then, with a growing feeling of inevitability, she once more climbed past the broken pigpen and approached the shadow at the back of the coop. And there he was, a very large red-headed man slumped against the stone wall. He was even more ragged than the men who had ridden with Martin, his clothing tattered and filthy, his hair a rat’s nest, his beard bristling and even darker red than his hair. His eyes were bright, though, and his cheeks flushed. He held his hand to his side, and he was listing badly.

Sarah crouched down next to him to get a better look, and saw that his shirt was stained brown with old blood. His hands, clutched over his belly, were stained with new blood, which meant that those bright eyes were from more than intelligence. Even so, Sarah couldn’t remember ever seeing a more compelling, powerful man in her life.

“Hello,” she greeted him, her own hands clenched, as if that alone would protect her from him. “I assume I am speaking to the Scotsman for whom everyone is looking.”

His grin was crooked and under any other circumstance, would have been endearing. “Och, lassie, nothin’ gets past ye.”

“I thought  you were dead.”

He frowned. “Wait a few minutes,” he managed. “I’ll see what I can do.”

And then, as gracefully as a sailing vessel slipping under the waves, he sank all the way to his side and lost consciousness.

 

Once a Rake may be purchased through these online retailers: Amazon, B & N.

***

About Eileen

New York Times Bestselling, award-winning author Eileen Dreyer has published 40 novels and 10 short stories under her name and that of her evil twin, Kathleen Korbel in contemporary romance, paranormal romance, historical romance, romantic suspense, mystery and medical forensic suspense. A proud member of RWA’s Hall of FAME, she also has numerous awards from RT BookLovers and an Anthony nomination for mystery. She is now focusing on what she calls historic romantic adventure in her DRAKE’S RAKES series. A native of St. Louis, she still lives there with her family. She has animals but refuses to subject them to the limelight.

Connect with Eileen through social media at these locations:

Website:  http://eileendreyer.com, Facebook , Twitter.

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Revisions: Time to Make the Story Better

I used to hate doing revisions. I want to put that out there as I write merrily along today, making changes to my newest story, a detailed revision letter guiding me aIMG_2020s I work. How could someone be so cruel as to pick apart my perfect prose or derogate my dialogue? Didn’t my editor know it wasn’t nice to pick on my manuscript, my baby, when her eyes were already the perfect shade of green, her smile sweet and toothless.

But I’ve been doing this for a while now. It’s been 15 years since I first got “the call” from a publisher. During this time, I have watched – and whined to my critique group – as I was asked to give my babies haircuts and manicures and, when necessary, even a facelift.  And you know what I begrudgingly had to admit? The stories got better. Always.

To understand what a significant admission this is for me, you have to hear the story of one of my first major revision projects. Let’s just call it what it really was…an overhaul.  When I received the call from one of my earliest editors (waving at Diane, if you happen to be reading), and she told me she wanted to purchase my second inspirational romance, An Honest Life, I was thrilled. An Honest Life coverUntil I heard the caveat: “Oh, but Rusty can’t die.” Unfortunately for me, Rusty’s death set up the next book, and his accident took place on about Page 45.  To make the necessary corrections, I had to rewrite almost the whole book. Yes, I whined over those revisions, but even then, the story was better for it, and it remains one of my favorite books.

So now I am working on revisions for my new book, Falling for the Cop, my second Harlequin Superromance, which will be released in March 2017.  Since I’ve been away from the manuscript for a while, it’s easier to see the places where I missed opportunities to show character growth or to deepen the emotional connection between the hero and heroine. I also so appreciate comments from my editor, Karen Reid, and her help in making the book better. It’s great having someone as invested in my stories as I am and someone who can see the big picture in my story when I’m sometimes too close to see it. Where I resented revisions in the beginning, I love the challenge of making the book better, of pushing my characters just a little harder.

Sure, there are still moments when I want to become protective of my baby, but then I remind myself that my editor and I want the same thing: Dana and Karento tell the best story we can. And when the work gets tough and I need a laugh, I take a look at this photo and remind myself that my editor and I make a great team, and we’ve got this.

 

 

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Author Speed Dating: Danica Favorite

Author Speed Dating(1)

If there’s one thing I enjoy almost as much as writing books, it’s READING books. I love discovering new authors, too. So I thought my blog would be a perfect place to introduce my authors friends to potential new readers. Only to give it a twist, we’re doing this Speed-Dating style. Check out a new author here every Wednesday, and if the spark is there, you’ll have a match. The clock is ticking. Ready! Set! Go!

 

 

This week’s guest: Danica Favorite

Danica_pic

 

InspyHistorical2

 

15 Questions

1. Which Scooby Doo character best describes you in high school?

Velma.

2. How many rejections did you receive before you sold your first book?

Too many to count.

3. Bon Jovi or Tim McGraw?

I’d say Bon Jovi, but I’m afraid you might kick my butt. 😉

4. In which genres and sub-genres have you been published, and what does your narrow or sweeping focus say about you?

Historical, Contemporary, Non Fiction. It says I have a lot of stuff in my brain to get out!

5. When you give into a craving for fast food, what’s your drive-thru destination, and what would be found in your bag?

For fries, it’s McDonald’s. Burgers used to be Wendy’s until they changed buns, and now they’re gross, so now there’s nothing burger-wise I can’t live without. And nothing beats a cherry limeade or cherry Dr. Pepper from Sonic.

6. Which is your preference to write: love scenes or murder scenes?

Murder.

7. Jane Austen or Stephen King?

Austen.

8. What is your best advice to a writer who has just received a rejection?

Keep at it. But first, have a cupcake and some champagne. Most people don’t even have the guts to submit.

9. Are you more dangerous in a bookstore or a shoe store?

Bookstore.

10. Which heroine from one of your books is most like you?

Mary from The Lawman’s Redemption.

11. The Bachelor or Sons of Anarchy?

Please kill me. Seriously. No. Just No.

12. What is the first thing you do when you finish a book?

Sleep.

13. Name one thing you wish you could change about yourself.

The size of my bank account (bigger, of course!).

14. Is your perfect vacation involve high-altitude and the word “jump” or umbrella drinks at poolside?

Umbrella drinks at poolside.

15. Sure, it’s like picking a favorite child, but which one or two of your titles do you secretly love just a little more?

For the Sake of the Children (releases in January 2017). It gutted me to write.

***

Danicabook

The Nanny’s Little Matchmakers

By Danica Favorite

 

A Wife for Their Papa 

Polly MacDonald intends to tame Mitch Taylor’s five mischievous children, even though every other nanny has fled. She needs this job—and Mitch’s brood sorely needs affection. Perhaps their widowed papa does, too. But when the children begin scheming to make her their new mother, Polly must resist. She’s seen too many bad marriages to want one of her own.

Mitch has come to Leadville, Colorado, to escape a scandal, not find a wife. After the disaster of his first marriage, he’s sure he isn’t husband material. Though Polly’s tender care is working wonders with his children, Mitch knows he should keep his feelings to himself. But can two wary hearts deny the dearest wish of five eager matchmakers?

The Nanny’s Little Matchmakers may be purchased at many retail locations as well as through these online retailers: Amazon, B & N, Harlequin.

 

***

 

About Danica

A self-professed crazy chicken lady, Danica Favorite loves the adventure of living a creative life. She and her family recently moved in to their dream home in the mountains above Denver, Colorado.  Danica loves to explore the depths of human nature and follow people on the journey to happily ever after. Though the journey is often bumpy, those bumps are what refine imperfect characters as they live the life God created them for. Oops, that just spoiled the ending of all of Danica’s stories. Then again, getting there is all the fun.

You can connect with Danica at the following places:

Website: http://www.danicafavorite.com, Twitter, Instagram, Facebook.

 

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Here’s to Day Jobs!

“I quit my day job!” Over the years, I’ve heard that comment a few times from authors. Very few. And those words would be greeted with applause and fawning. Quitting the day job, after all,  is in writer speak or actor speak or any creative-entrepreneur-in-competitive-field speak proof that you have overcome great odds and have made it to the show. The big league. (Had to sneak some pro baseball jargon into the mix.) It’s fulfillment of the dream that one day you will be able to fully support your family with just your (insert tough creative field here) career. That you’ll finally be able to buy that mansion or private jet. Or that great house on the river where your husband will catch-and-release fish every morning and you’ll sip coffee on the porch swing while you write. Oh, that’s just my dream. For most of us in creative fields, though, little things like mortgages, college tuition, car payments and the pipe dream of retiring without having to live in that car make the day job a necessity.

But I would like to make the case today that day jobs are meant to be celebrated. They are second jobs that add to our lives and make careers-of-the-heart possible. Sometimes a day job can even become a second career that nestles itself in your heart as well.

Author Isabelle Drake, who just happens to be here with me as I write, agrees. “A day job gives you a chance to be out Day Jobsin the world and not just inside your head,” she said. Drake, who works a college professor of English and writing in her other life, added that for many creative types,  a day job provides an opportunity to contribute to society in another way. Some examples include education or nursing.

After twenty years of raising my family, much of that time also working from home as a freelance journalist and fiction author, I returned to the regular workforce part-time two years ago. Last year, I made the plunge into full-time work at an elementary school as a paraprofessional, assisting in a program for autistic students.

And I love it! This has been some of the hardest and most rewarding work I have ever done. It’s great watching these great kids develop, providing support for them when they need it and celebrating each of their milestones. These students teach me every day about courage, determination and the heart’s ever-expanding capacity to love.

But does my day job benefit me as a writer? You know, besides the regular paycheck.  Absolutely! Just because I’m not at the keyboard all day doesn’t mean I’m not writing. New ideas are percolating in my head all day long, some good enough to jot down during my lunch hour. Having this job pulls me out of the house and away from coffee shops where I usually write, exposing me to a whole new group of compassionate professionals, who go to work every day hoping to make a difference in children’s lives.  These educators and other support personnel have taught me so many things that I not only put to use right away with students but some that I might also use in a story someday. Melissa Erickson, a physical therapist friend from work, even met me for coffee after school to help build the injured hero for my new book, FALLING FOR THE COP, a March 2017 release from Harlequin Superromance.

The day job has also helped me to become more organized. Believe it or not, I’m not the most organized person in the world. (I know my mom is chuckling as she reads this.) When I was working from home, I was surprised by how little writing I actually accomplished each day.  I know there were household chores to do, but I suspect there was also some goofing off going on there. Since my time is more limited now, I had to reevaluate how I was spending it. I also had to choose my priorities. Did I still have stories inside me? Were my stories important enough to me that I would make sacrifices to continue the career I love? Because the answer to both questions is a Big Yes, I built a schedule that my husband and I could live with. Only Google Calendar and I really know just how busy I am. I made other changes like writing in the early morning instead of at night and turning off the TV sometimes. (Still not enough, but I’m working on it.)

Melissa and me
End-of-the-summer writing time at the coffee shop with fellow romance author, Isabelle Drake.

Day jobs have different benefits, and, besides the opportunity to have more funny school photos, mine has one of the best: summers off. That has allowed me to focus on my writing for several weeks and to re-fill my educator well so I will be ready to give the kids my best when school starts. Back-to-school for me is the day after Labor Day, (tomorrow once this note hits the blogosphere), so I met one last time with writer pal, Isabelle, who has already started her classes. We’ll both be writing all year when we’re not in our classrooms.

Yes, day jobs are worth celebrating. I won’t be quitting mine for years to come and not just because it takes the edge off for our family with two kids in college. I love the work at school as well as the person I can be inside the classroom. So at author events, I might be “author Dana Nussio,” but in halls at school, just call me “Mrs. N.”

 

 

 

 

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save