GUEST: Jenny Gilliam

I'm very happy to have Jenny Gilliam back as my guest again. Her new book sounds just wonderful, and I think you're in for a treat with this terrific excerpt she's offered, so enjoy....

BLURB:

Roxy Palmer is a walking, breathing cliché. And darned tired of it. Working as the assistant librarian in her small, Southern home town, Roxy also anonymously pens the local love column, Ask Paula Rockwell—Thorton, Georgia's answer to Dear Abby.

But when the door leading to Roxy's lifetime dream is slammed in her face by one of the good ol' boys, Roxy brings out the big guns--and turns the genteel town upside down with her racier, feminist, home-wrecking new format.

Paula Rockwell is making Sheriff Noah Kennedy's life crazy. He's got angry husbands lined around the block, demanding the cancellation of the column, fights breaking out and women catching their boyfriends' trucks on fire. If he ever gets his hands on that woman…

But he's got his hands full of Roxy at the moment, and if he ever discovers the truth about Roxy, all hell will break loose.

EXCERPT:

In the course of one weekend, women had become the bane of Noah’s existence.

He was beyond pissed; he was downright fuming. Between Roxy and Mary Lou’s little excursion to Atlanta and his conversation with Joe this morning, he wanted to rip something, anything apart. With his goddamn bare hands. And teeth.

To compound matters, he had just gotten out of a meeting with Merle Granger, who wanted to know if Noah could do anything about The Gazette and the Paula Rockwell column. Never mind Bobbie Townsend had the First Amendment backing her civil liberties.

He had a nasty headache and a raging case of lust that a twelve-pack of beer and two hundred miles hadn’t been able to put a dent in. He couldn’t yell at Mary Lou, because one look at her face this morning had sent him back the way he’d come.

Well, he would damn well deal with one of them. Noah stormed through the glass doors of the library. His manners abandoned him, a testament to his state of mind, as he failed to remove his Stetson. He scanned the circulation desk for the librarian who was causing mutiny in his body and…heart—no, mind.

“Can I help you, Sheriff?” Alice Monroe asked.

“I’m looking for Roxy.”

“She’s re-shelving books in non-fiction.”

He didn’t have a clue where non-fiction was, but damned if he’d ask. In his current mood, he might unload on the head librarian and get himself banned, Sheriff or no.

It took him under a minute to find her. She stood at the end of the 800’s, a book in her hand, her eyes on the top shelf.

She wore one of those God-awful jumpers, and she had done something to her hair. It floated down her back in sable and crimson waves, and the sides were clipped back by some metal contraption. He felt a wave of unwelcome lust punch him square in the groin. He tried to focus on the shapeless dress she wore, but now he knew what she hid under it.

Soft, pink skin, gorgeous curves and one amazingly perfect ass.

His groin tightened again, irritating him further. He wasn’t supposed to have these feelings for Roxy. Damn it, he wanted things back the way they were. As if she had put some sort of spell on him, bewitching him with her sexy body, he charged forward, ready to give her hell. She’d caused this. If she hadn’t…What? Taken a shower in her own house? Hell, he was more pissed off at himself. For his reaction to her, and her lack of reaction to him. He’d never been in this place before. Women always chased him. All he’d ever had to do was sit back and wait to be caught.

It was unsettling to be the pursuer this time.

Roxy looked up as he approached, her lush mouth forming a little “O” of surprise. He swore she flushed just a little before looking back down at the cart of books she was shelving.

Satisfied he affected her on some level, he stalked toward her.

“I need to talk to you.”

“Really?” she asked. “Well, it’s a good thing you caught me then. I’m awful hard to track down.”

Noah narrowed his eyes. Was she making fun of him? He closed the distance between them, looking hard into her wide green eyes. “You’re damned lucky I’m the law ‘round here, Roxanne.”

In a purely female move, she tilted her head back and fluttered her eyelashes. “Why, Sheriff, I had no idea.”

With frustration and lust dueling inside him, he grabbed her arm and pulled her body flush against him. Her soft, heavy breasts pushed against his chest, and he went from semi to full salute instantly. “I ought to haul your ass into lockup to teach you a lesson.”

All teasing fled. The shallow breaths she dragged into her lungs, and the flush that worked up her pretty neck were all Roxy. Unable to control himself, he pushed her against the metal bookshelf, widening his thighs to cradle hers.

“Noah,” she whispered.

She’d have to be dead from the waist down not feel how she affected him. While the rational part of his brain screamed This is Roxy!, the wild beast straining to break free looked down into her face, into eyes gone emerald with lust, and smiled.

This is Roxy.

Want more? Buy THE TRUTH ABOUT ROXY at http://www.thewildrosepress.com/

BIO: Jenny began writing at the age of twelve, when she realized the voices talking in her head were characters, not a result of pre-teen induced psychosis. She’s been writing on and off for almost twenty years, but actively pursuing publication for the last three. She lives in Oregon with her husband and two children. She is the author of four novels. Jenny loves to hear from her readers.

You can visit her at http://www.jennygilliam.com/

A Special Bond...

© Vincenzo Chiofalo

A Special Bond

You are the shadow waiting on the edge of my awareness. A sweet angel who watches, part of me always, like the air that I breathe.

We share a special bond, you and I, one that is stronger than any friendship or simple love. We are tied together by the past and the promise of tomorrow, and though we are not together, we are never really apart.

To the heart that loves like this, a week can be an eternity and a lifetime will never be long enough… Those who love from their souls understand this in a way others can never see, but it is an eternal truth. A bond that can never be broken.

© 2008 Denysé Bridger

GUEST: Douglas Carlton Abrams

WINNER of a copy of Douglas Carlton Abrams' beautiful book is LAURIE D. Thanks to everyone who visited!!

When I was asked to host author Douglas Carlton Abrams on his "virtual book tour" I'd honestly never heard of this book. When I visited the stunning website he's created for it, I was enchanted, and have since spent a lot of time exploring all the wonderful things that are there to be experienced. It's worth a visit, so DO go and discover the magic of this special book, and the equally special author! Just click on the book cover, and you'll soon discover another world. We will also be giving away a copy of this amazing book in a few days, too, so please leave a comment for us, and check back!! You may be the one lucky enough to win a copy of this beautiful book!! Now, my guest: Douglas Carlton Abrams

Was Don Juan truly nothing more than a rapist and a villain? You would certainly think so, judging by how he has been portrayed over the centuries.

From his inception, Don Juan has been depicted as a libidinous scoundrel, capable of rape, misogyny, and even murder. When Tirso de Molina first created the character of Don Juan in the early seventeenth century, he did so as a warning against the dangers of rampant male sexuality and the galanteadores, who were seducing the women of the time. Later, in Mozart and Da Ponte’s opera Don Giovanni, Don Juan rapes a woman and kills her father almost before the curtain even rises.

But would Don Juan have been capable of feeling and doing much more? Male desire can be villainous and overpowering, but it is also multi-dimensional, ranging anywhere from heroic passion to caring tenderness. Any man long rumored to be the world’s greatest lover would certainly have understood these subtler aspects of desire, as well as the unspoken needs of the women he loved.

It is this side of Don Juan’s story that motivated me to write The Lost Diary of Don Juan. I wanted to explore the true nature of love and passion by creating a more complex Don Juan than the one we usually meet. His previous incarnations in plays, novels, and films have only allowed us to see the man from a distance, and we have judged him accordingly. Reading about his life in the form of an historical diary set in Golden Age Sevilla lets us go further into the body, mind, and heart of the man himself. What we find there is far more than an indifferent playboy, but rather a man for whom romance was elevated into an art form, a Casanova with a calling.

This is a Don Juan worthy of far more than mere lust and villainy, a man capable of forming deep and complex relationships with women. This 16th century Don Juan is worth recovering for the 21st century, if only to provide balance in a culture that all too often forgets the true complexity and mystery of desire.

Website: http://www.lostdiaryofdonjuan.com/

New Release!

Available TODAY!

Blood Wine and Pale Roses
From: The Wild Rose Press
Erotic Vampire Romance

SALE PRICE, too!!

Eden Colbourne has spent most of her life pursuing dreams that never quite came true. Running from yet another failed relationship, she seeks solace in the familiar surroundings of England's countryside, and her art. Drawn to the remnants of the abbey, she spends her days sketching the face of a man she believes is a ghost haunting both the abbey and her heart. The reality is even more disturbing...

When Sean Rourke finally reveals himself to her, Eden discovers the ghost is a creature of myth and dark dreams. Turned into a vampire by the man for whom his wife betrayed him, Sean is tormented and lonely, and more afraid of Eden's power to make him love than she is of his nocturnal curse. It isn't until the ancient vampire who made him returns to claim Eden that Sean is forced to decide once and for all if he can let go of the shade of his wife, and permit love to heal what remains of his humanity...

Guest Blogger: DONNA HATCH

Today, my special guest is Regency author Donna Hatch. The book sounds fabulous, doesn't it? Welcome Donna, and thank you for being her today...

Do you long to dance with Mr. Darcy or flirt with Mr. Ferrar? Do you fantasize of regency bad boys like rakes, highwaymen, and pirates? Do you swoon at the sight of a man on horseback or engaging in a duel?

Welcome to the magical and mysterious Regency world where men were civilized and cultured, educated in dance, art and literature, and yet engaged in manly pursuits like hunting, fencing and the steeplechase. Imagine yourself in the glittering world of dukes and duchesses, libertines and lovers. Wear beautiful gowns, waltz with a viscount, outwit a killer, and fall in love.

Announcing a debut novel by award-winning author Donna Hatch - The Stranger She Married, a sweet, yet sensual regency romance with adventure, intrigue, a love triangle, and a terrible secret.

Torn between a disfigured war hero with the heart of a poet, and a handsome libertine who may not be all he seems, impoverished Alicia must marry by the end of the month. Despite a murder threat looming over her, learning to love the stranger she married may pose the greatest danger of all … to her heart.

Order on line at http://www.thewildrosepress.com/. Look for me on the new release list, or on the English Tea Rose Line.

Guest Blog: J.L. MILES

Today it is my pleasure to have Jackie (J.L.) Miles as my special guest. The book she's talking about, Cold Rock River, is an amazing read, believe me! And, we'll be giving away a copy of this book, hardcover, on WEDNESDAY, October 8th, so do check back for your chance to win, okay? Now, over to Jackie....

BEST-SELLER BLUES


I started my writing career when our children left home and my husband insisted they weren’t coming back unless they needed money. Previously, I wanted to be a movie star, but when the mirror confirmed that my theatrical-clock had not only stopped ticking, it was at the cemetery, I thought writing might be a better choice. While at the dentist waiting on a root canal—never make career decisions while waiting on a man with a knitting needle who intends to stab you in the mouth with it—I picked up a tattered paperback entitled The Writer's Little Instruction Book.

Spooky! I was merely contemplating the idea of becoming a N.Y. Times bestselling author and the perfect manual appeared. Surely God, his angels, and all the saints were trying to tell me something, right? I didn’t consider that maybe the devil and his deceivers were having a good laugh. The book listed 365 (give or take) secrets for writing and getting published. Perfect! It was an omen. In 365 days I’d be on the bestsellers list. I simply needed to master one little ol’ secret a day. The first one I came across was the key to a successful story. It was threefold: 1. Get your protagonist up a tree. 2. Put a tiger under the tree. 3. Get your protagonist out of the tree.

Elementary! I was on my way and about to discover secret #2, when the receptionist called my name. It was time for my root canal. Piece of cake—I was on a mission to greatness. Not even that flashing knitting needle held high in Dr.I-Forget-his-name’s hand would stop me now. Four injections (the first three didn’t take), and two hours later I drove home not the least bit interested in the N. Y. Times, its bestsellers list, or who was on it.

Tomorrow, I’d begin the great American novel, the minute my feet hit the floor, the instant my brain met the coffee. However—don’t you hate that word?—I forgot about one character defect I’ve struggled with most of my life: I’m a world class procrastinator. If they ever give out Pulitzer’s on the subject, I’ll be a major contender. Not to say I don’t get things done. I do. But I tend to do them one minute before time’s up.

Procrastination is not a good attribute for an author. All the best books on writing (there are slews of good ones; here are my favorites: Anne Lamott, Elizabeth Berg, Julie Cameron, Stephen King—and Walter Mosely's brand new contribution), state clearly that writers are to place themselves before the computer (or notepad, or typewriter) at precisely the same time each day for precisely the same amount of pre-determined hours each day (weekends and holiday included), in order to not only hone one’s craft, but to complete the manuscript at hand. Ahhh. . .that might be a problem.

The moment I get out of bed, I tend to explore the world around me and assess the damages, making a list as I go. Stupid little things like, I forgot to do the laundry, again and there’s no clean underwear, the milk’s sour, there’s nothing to eat but cat food, the garbage hasn’t been dragged to the curb in a month, and the refrigerator filter hasn’t been changed since we invaded Iraq. The list grows as I walk from room to room. Are those fur balls under the dining room table really having grandchildren? Can’t be, last week they were barely parents. I climb under to investigate. I meander from room to room, procrastination taking over the morning. I get out the phone book. Surely there’s an organization that can assist me. There has to be. I’m on the verge of being a bestselling author! I need recovery.

The yellow page lists Alcoholics Anonymous, Overeaters Anonymous, Cheaters Anonymous, Kleptomaniacs Anonymous and Sex Addicts Anonymous. There are groups for Obsessive Compulsion Disorder, Attention Deficit Disorder, and Bi-Polar Disorder, but absolutely no procrastinators support group. There must be an organization meeting somewhere. Actually a helpline would be my choice. A number I could call the moment I find no underwear I’m willing to wear or encounter a chore I’m tempted to do—featuring a commanding voice like my mothers that will instruct me to immediately march over to my computer and bolt myself to the chair for a minimum of three hours, and call her in the morning.

I look through the entire collection of yellow pages I’ve amassed, as well as the local newspaper’s classified ads and find nothing to assist me. Obviously, I’m one of a mere handful of major procrastinators in existence. There are simply not enough of us to require a network of supporters. Yikes! I’m on my own. I search the room for answers and spot my computer. It’s waiting, perfectly able to do my bidding. And I only have 364 more secrets to master. Glory be—I’m ready to discover them!

I dash to the computer, sit down triumphantly, and put my hands on the keys. At last! I’m ready to write the great American novel. However—the phone rings. It’s my mother. She’s waiting on me. “Did you forget you need to take me to the dentist?” Ahhh. . .yeh, I did, but I don’t tell her. “I’m on my way!” I say instead. I get up from my computer and grab my car keys.

Tomorrow, I’d begin the great American novel, the minute my feet hit the floor, the instant my brain met the coffee.


J. L. (Jackie Lee) Miles is the author of Cold Rock River, the critically acclaimed Roseflower Creek, and the soon to be released Dwayne Series. Divorcing Dwayne debuts April 2008. Dear Dwayne & Dating Dwayne to follow.

Write to Jackie at jackie@jlmiles.com
Visit the website at http://www.jlmiles.com/

**WINNER** of the copy of COLD ROCK RIVER is Lainey Bancroft.

The heart that makes us whole....

Sometimes, the heart that makes us complete is very far away.... So many people have seen the beauty of our words, the adoration that I can't contain, and the warmth and passion that seems to be part of every contact we make.... This lovely image was created by a special friend, a lady who sees magic when she looks at these two people and believes in the romance.... Thanks, Catt. For this, and so much more....

AS FATE DECREES - new review

I was very excited to find this posted! The reviews for this book have been consistently so good that it amazes and humbles me....

FOUR stars: Really good historical story, September 3, 2008
By Paul Lappen (Manchester, CT USA) - See all my reviews

In Ancient Greece, a woman named Amarantha finds herself as the next item up for sale in the Athens slave market. She is bought by a mysterious stranger who refuses to identify himself. He trains her as a warrior, and makes it clear to Amarantha that disobedience is a really bad idea. After her skills have been perfected, the stranger reveals himself as Ares, the god of war, and son of Zeus. She has been trained to be Champion of the gods of Olympus, to vanquish evil forever, until the gods say otherwise.

Sent into the world as a kind of traveling warrior, Amarantha runs into Iphicles, now King of Corinth. The two were very good friends, almost lovers, when they were younger. She stays for a while as one of his advisors, to the whispers of nearly everyone that their relationship is not exactly platonic.

While in another city also ruled by Iphicles that has been badly damaged by bandits, Ares tells Amarantha that Iphicles must return to Corinth, now. She can't tell Iphicles how she knows this, but when he finally listens to her and returns to Corinth, with Amarantha as part of the procession, the city has been decimated. There are many deaths, including Iphicles' queen.

Switching suddenly to present day Athens, Amarantha finds herself in the body of archaeologist Alexandra Christophi. This is not the first time that Ares has sent her elsewhere in time. This time, the enemy is a shadowy terrorist organization that has been bombing religious sites all over the world, including Macchu Picchu, the Vatican and all the religious sites in Athens. The object is to destroy all other gods and bring about the coming of The One True God. The gods of Olympus understand that their fate hangs in the balance. In the final battle, Amarantha/Alexandra is severely injured. Will the gods grant her the peace she seeks?

Here is a first-rate piece of writing. It's very readable, the characters are well done, and it is an interesting look inside Greek mythology. This gets two thumbs up.

Guest Blogger: SAVANNAH CHASE

Okay, first I'd like to welcome sexy, sassy author Savannah Chase as my wonderful guest today. Savannah is a talented writer, and just generally a very special and cherished friend. She writes a wicked tale, and I know you're going to enjoy meeting her and sampling her terrific work....

First off I want to thank Denyse for giving me this chance to be a guest on her amazing blog.Thank you from the bottom of my heart for the opportunity.

Being an author one question that comes up the most is Why did you become a writer?

For me it has been something that I knew I was meant to do. I have always loved to write. Even as a kid I remember writing short stories and bringing the tales that were stuck in my head to life. I was always a quiet person and this was my own way of expression. This was my form of getting to say what I sometimes wasn't able to say out loud.. I had always loved to write. If it wasn't songs, it was in my diary, or short scary tales of haunted houses. All I know is I love to write.I love to be able to bring worlds to life. To take readers away if only for a the duration of my book. When I see the world I see inspiration and a playground for my stories. I'm one of those writers that constantly has ideas forming in her head. The plotting never shuts off. Even at night time as I go to bed I find myself jotting down notes and ideas. That's one of the reasons I installed a lamp onto my headboard.....

So if you want to know why I do what I do, it's because I love it. It's who I am.

Blurb

Her fantasy man is up for auction. Will Nico dare to bid?

Nico’s history of romantic disasters has taught her when she gambles on men, she fated to lose. That doesn’t stop her from secretly lusting after Jeff, the handsome construction worker she sees everyday on her way to work.

When the New York’s Sexiest Bachelor auction begins and Jeff comes up on the block, she’s seriously tempted to place a bid. The wager can’t be taken lightly — it might be for a good cause, but she’s making a bid for love……

Excerpt

Nico was intrigued by the things people revealed when they only had three minutes to talk and make a first impression. So far, most of them were not good ones.

After all she had seen so far, she was more than ready to bolt, and fast. The only thing left was to figure out how.

Just as her last three minute nightmare was coming to an end, she glanced around the room. Surprisingly she saw something that made the evening even worse than it already was.

There on the other side of the room, sitting at a table, was Jeff. The man who rocked her world. The man she wanted with every fiber of her being.

He was seated with a drop dead gorgeous brunette who had the tightest little number on she had ever seen. The woman’s extra large sized breasts were pushed up and out for every guy to see. There was no way to miss them.

Nico tried to finish off the last few moments of her meeting with her current so-called date, but her attention kept shifting back to Jeff. It didn’t help that the woman he sat with was throwing herself at him. The flirtation couldn’t have been any more obvious, especially considering her leg was rubbing his up and down before it disappeared above his knees. One of Jeff’s hands was also under the table.

She could only imagine what he was doing. Actually she didn’t have to, she knew exactly what he was doing and she wished she wasn’t here to witness it.

Buy NOW

Links

Official Site
http://www.savannahchase.com/
Official Yahoo Loop
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/savannahchase/
Official MySpace
www.myspace.com/savannah_chase
Official Newsletter
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/SavannahChaseNaughtyNews/

Guest Blogger: LISA JACKSON

Today it is my distinct pleasure to have author Lisa Jackson as my guest. Lisa's forte is romantic suspense, and if you haven't had a chance to look into her wonderful books, now's your opportunity to discover this wonderful and talented writer....

People always ask me why I chose to write the kind of books I did, specifically Romantic Suspense Novels. It was a natural evolution for me, I think. I grew up cutting my teeth on mystery, read Nancy Drew as a kid and as I got older got into Gothic novels with mystery. Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte and Rebecca by Daphne DuMaurier come to mind.

So when my sister, Nancy Bush, and I started writing romance novels, we were asked to "cut down on the mystery and suspense" which was difficult. Fortunately, I began writing "bigger" novels in the early 1990's and I was allowed to write whatever kind of book I wanted. Ha! I added suspense and, as it turned out, the more I added, the more popular were my books. What a thrill!! Now, my books are a balance of romance and suspense, but I gotta admit, suspense is usually the driving force.

I play up the suspense angle on my web site http://www.lisajackson.com/, as well as in my book trailers and information about each book. (Check out the latest trailer for LEFT TO DIE and you'll see what I mean.)

I guess I was lucky enough to see my work come full circle as now my editor is saying, "put in more mystery and suspense!"

Guest Blogger: JENNIFER COLE

My special guest today is my wonderful and talented friend Jennifer Cole. Jen's books are great, she's a terrific author, and I think you're in for a treat if you like steamy romance.... Enjoy....

Stranded in Paradise
Publisher: Liquid Silver Books
Genre: Contemporary

While en route to the most important meeting of his legal career, Dax Winslow’s car breaks down in the small town of Milton Ville. Dax has never believed in love at first sight, but when he finds himself face to face with the owner of Kenny’s Service Station, the effect the stunning mechanic has on him, knocks his otherwise structured psyche off balance. Kendall Zurich is a laidback auto mechanic in a very small town. With the arrival of the sexy, dashing counselor, Kenny finds her quiet existence turned completely upside down. Together, they find themselves caught up in a whirlwind of exquisite seduction. Their attraction is unstoppable and the pleasure they find in one another, undeniable. Sparks fly as their passion explodes. Dax and Kenny realize that as fulfilling as they once thought their lives were, the one component that would complete them was missing; each other. When Dax discovers a secret Kenny has been keeping from him, he battles an emotional struggle. Can he forgive her little white lie? Or is her deception big enough to shatter their future together in paradise?

Publisher's Note: This title contains explicit sex and graphic language.

Excerpt:

Daxton M. Winslow III drove his rental car along the deserted county road. He hadn’t passed another vehicle in close to an hour and had seen only a handful of old farmhouses. The fields lining either side of the dirt road contained acres upon acres of thriving crops or pastures of livestock.

He was thankful to have arrived a day early to familiarize himself with the area before his meeting with the law firm’s newest potential client. Dax tapped the GPS unit mounted atop the dash and cursed under his breath. Since leaving the airport he’d been driving four hours, and had yet to come upon his destination. The firm had been more than holding their own in corporate law, but the reputation attached to the Waterston Corporation would put MacIntyre, McQuaid and Winslow at the top of the legal food chain.

To say Dax was royally pissed the senior partners had assigned this specific trip to him would be an understatement. Law wasn’t Dax’s passion...it was his father’s. Three years earlier and fresh out of law school he was appointed junior partner in his father’s firm. Dax figured he would have made junior partner on his own impeccable record--three years of practice without a single loss in court--but law wasn’t what he wanted to do for the rest of his life.

Architectural design had always been his first love, a passion he had kept hidden from his father. Over the past two-and-a-half years, Dax had successfully sold his designs for several small office buildings throughout the state.

As pissed as he was about the assignment, during this trip Dax planned to kill two birds with one stone. The day after his father informed him he would be leaving by the week’s end, Dax received a call from a conglomerate of doctors in search of a new medical facility. Having a design in mind sure to be just what they were looking for, according to the specifications they had emailed him, he arranged an appointment, following his meeting with Clayton Waterston.

Catching himself smiling in satisfaction, Dax couldn’t have been happier because during this trip, he was also getting a reprieve from the egotistical, self-centered Molly McQuaid. A couple of months earlier his father had suggested, to be more accurate demanded, Dax see his partner’s daughter socially. Not wanting to disappoint his father and in an effort to keep the peace in his parent’s home, Dax had agreed to a couple of dates with her.

Immediately Molly had latched on to Dax, proclaiming them engaged. The only things Molly had going for her were her heart-stopping beauty and her father’s money. A whiny, needy, selfish pain-in-the-ass, the only relationship Molly enjoyed being in was the one with her mirror. For weeks Dax had been giving Molly the brush-off, but the spoiled brat refused to take ‘no’ for an answer. Twice he changed his cell phone number, fed up with her calling all hours of the day and night. As of late, she’d taken to showing up at the office to see him.

Glancing at the dash-mounted GPS monitor for the hundredth time, Dax cursed under his breath. He should have been at the hotel long ago. It was clear he’d taken a wrong turn somewhere, but where? He had been following the f**king GPS to the letter. Sort of.

On the shoulder of the dirt road, a sign came into view: Milton Ville 5 Miles. And just below that: Population 250.

“Finally,” he muttered, reaching over to crank up the volume of the stereo.

Sharp pinging sounds came from the engine. A glance at the dashboard identified the engine light glowing at him. When the car suddenly lurched he glanced in the rearview mirror in time to see a cloud of thick black smoke. Another lurch, followed by chugging and choking noises, had Dax clutching the steering wheel. The CD player then spit his AC/DC CD toward the back window, shattering the thin plastic disc into pieces.

“Oh this is just fucking great,” Dax said through gritted teeth, pounding the steering wheel with the palms of his hands.

A mile outside of town the car started to lose speed. Black smoke continued to spew from the rear and the loud pinging had turned into a harsh constant knocking.

As he pleaded with the car to fix itself, Dax took a moment to survey his surroundings. Bungalows and cottage style homes lined either side of the main street. Various shades of faded pastel paint colored the houses; one was robin’s egg blue, another buttercup yellow, several were mint green, a couple were soft lavender; and just about every property was surrounded by a waist-high white picket fence. In one yard Dax watched three children playing ball with a puppy.

Branches from tall trees hung over the street, the leaves offering cool shade from the hot sun above.

Dax spied the Milton Ville General Store on the far corner of what appeared to be the only intersection in town, and in his opinion, the structure was in dire need of renovation. He speculated the merchandise in the store itself had to be the only thing preventing the building from collapsing to the ground. On a bench out front a man sat, his legs outstretched and ankles crossed, his fingers interlaced atop his big belly and a straw hat was pulled over his face. Dax wondered if the man was asleep.

“Oh just beautiful,” he growled as the engine finally died, the car rolling to a stop some twenty feet from the entrance to a service station.

When a man and a little boy appeared around the corner on the opposite side of the street from the store, each with a fishing rod resting on their shoulder, Dax dropped his forehead against the steering wheel.

“I’ve landed in f**king Mayberry,” he groaned.


Click HERE to purchase!

Jen
Jennifer Cole
Fantasy is my reality!
http://www.freewebs.com/jennifericole
http://www.freewebs.com/clubdiabloblanco

Guest Blogger: MARY BURTON

Today we have another amazing and special author with us, the very talented, multi-published Mary Burton. Visit her website, and check out all the terrific titles she's already had released, and the next one I'm Watching You, which looks fabulous, too!! Mary's talking about the dreaded "Writer's Block" today and if you've experienced it, you know it's a writer's worst nightmare... So, over to Mary now....

Writer's Block

All writers fear Writer's Block. But there are going to be times when the words just won’t flow. Those days can be maddening and frustrating but I’ve come to accept them as part of writing. When I do find myself bogging down, there are a few tricks I’ll now try to get the words flowing again.

Change a key element in a scene. Change the point of view, move the setting or change the time of day. One modification creates a ripple effect that can really get your mind working.

Get away from the computer. I’ve known other writers that take a walk, do pottery or retreat to their gardens. If I’m really stuck, I head to the kitchen to bake. I don’t tackle anything huge, maybe a batch of cookies or a dozen cupcakes. Its amazing how doing something that stimulates the right side of the brain can open my mind and get the pages flowing again.

Reviewing research. Often the answer is in the research. Reviewing textbooks or interview notes often jogs my brain and before I know it I’m writing again.

Take a nap or meditate. Sounds silly but just a few minutes of shut eye or extreme silence can get my brain into a creative mode and unblock what’s holding me back.

Skip the tough part. Some days, with a deadline looming, I’ve got to get the pages in the computer no matter what. In these cases, I skip the part that’s giving me trouble and move on. Often writing ahead will answer story questions that had me stumped earlier.

The trick about writer’s block is not to get too worked up about it. It’s a fact of most writers’ lives. Try some of my suggestions and see if it gets your brain moving.

Mary Burton
Website

Book Trailer

Excerpt

Something special....

This is from my wonderful friend César Mesa's debut CD - it's fabulous!! Enjoy....

Guest: COLLEEN LOVE

Today it is my distinct pleasure to have my wonderful and talented friend Colleen Love as my guest. Colleen's agreed to share a preview of her next release, Eden at Twilight. I've read this one, it's breath-taking and beautiful, so mark it on your "must have" list and keep watching for the release announcement!

Coming soon from The Wild Rose Press!

EDEN AT TWILIGHT is the story of Lily, a woman who wants love, and Leaf, the man who risks it all to love her.

Lily Moore is an ordinary accountant who works long hard hours, leaving room for little else. After strange occurrences begin haunting her, she’s convinced by a motherly friend to take a vacation in Scotland . While there, she meets the man of her dreams, a handsome stranger with shifting hazel eyes.

Leaf falls for Lily the moment he sees her, love at first sight. Never has a woman taken his heart so quickly. When trouble stirs and threatens her, he stands by her side, traveling through time and dimension to reclaim her from a deadly Drow leader. Lily has no choice but to trust him and hope his strength will pull them through. But is his strength alone enough?

Excerpt:

Lily was glad when the plane ride was over. A feeling of awe surrounded her as the shuttle pulled into the drive of the cottage. It was as if she was entering into the picture on her post card. After paying the driver and stepping from the car, she stood looking around in an enthralled stupor. The scents, sounds, everything was just as her imagination had promised it would be. Shading her eyes against the late afternoon sunshine, she just couldn’t help standing motionless, looking at her dream come true. She finally moved to pick up her luggage without taking her eyes from the grand Cottage before her. It was as if she were afraid it would disappear before she could get inside, if she took her eyes from it. Reaching down, she fumbled for the handle of her suitcase, her fingers meeting the warmth of a large hand. Her attention suddenly snapped from the scenery unfolding before her and back to reality. A reality snagged straight from her dreams. Standing in front of her was a kilt-clad man waiting with her luggage in hand. Her eyes wandered upward and she unconsciously pressed her hand over her heart when her gaze locked into his sharp, hazel green eyes. Yellow flecks, hypnotically kept hers transfixed for a brief moment before she could tear them away. She blinked and her heart stood still, time seemed to have stopped.

“I’m Leaf,” he held out his free hand to her. “I’m the caretaker here at the Country Cottage.”

Lily took his hand in hers and felt it wrapped in calloused warmth, “I’m Lily,” she breathed. Unwarranted chills chased over her skin from his touch. The thick burr of a Scotsman lilted in his voice and a warm smile curled the edges of his lips, making deep dimples at the corners. A rough dark scrub of stubble blended into wild sand colored, wavy hair that stopped just past his shoulders. Releasing her hand, he turned to pick up her bags. The flex of muscle pulled his plain white tee shirt taut, and she felt her breath catch when his kilt rode up the back of thick, stout thighs and white socks peeked out from the tops of his tall work boots. He turned and waited for her with baggage in hand. Picking up her smaller bags, she followed quietly, praying he hadn’t noticed her ogling him as she blinked her eyes and physically tried to will her heart to slow.

Visit Colleen's lovely website here: www.freewebs.com/colleenlove

Official Blog: www.colleenslovenotes.blogspot.com

Guest Blogger: MAGGIE JAGGER

Today I am welcoming author Maggie Jagger, who is going to talk about critiquing, and the craft of writing... Her book sounds wonderful, and her discussion is very interesting! Enjoy it! Over to Maggie now....

Why do I encourage critiquing? Because it’s how I learned the craft of writing.

When I wrote my medieval, I had no idea what emoting for the scene meant. When I reread it years later I asked myself--Why did the hero have to shout all the time, when he knew the heroine had sensitive ears? Because he was emoting for the scene, is the answer obvious to me now.

There isn’t a newbie mistake I haven’t made. Hero and heroine met on page 64, after 30 or 40 pages of backstory, with enough head hopping to give the reader a bad case of vertigo. I didn’t understand info dumps, viewpoint, overuse of adverbs and adjectives, stage directions--the list goes on and on.

A How to book never tells you what is wrong with your ms.

Most people can see some advantage to being critiqued--it might be useful. Many writers don’t see what advantage there is in critiquing others. But by critiquing others, you learn to see what is wrong with your own writing. It is amazing how easy it is to see errors other writers make, and then see it on your own pages.

Critiquing in a group can be useful. 5 opinions make you realize how subjective it is. Every editor, agent, and contest judge will have their own opinion. When you critique, don’t rewrite anyone’s words, instead explain how it might be done differently.

The key to critiquing is never to expect anyone to make changes you suggest--and you must suggest nicely, after all, it will be your turn next. There are lots of books with styles I don’t admire, and others that make me green with envy--and they are all published.

Study your competition--all those published authors whose books soar up the bestseller lists. How do they introduce characters, start and end scenes and chapters, describe setting. Look at dialogue and action tags. Look at how the pros do it and take notes. All those authors on the bestseller lists are bought by the same editors you want to impress.

If you want to really see how they construct their magic, take some colored highlighters and designate color for dialogue, emotion, introspection, backstory, setting, etc.. Think of them as layers. Then highlight a few pages of your ms. Are you missing any layers? At first, I was always missing setting and often emotion. I learned to add telling details for the setting and to find fun ways of showing the characters’ emotions.

My first published book--note I did not say the first book I wrote--is Every Midnight, historical romance set in the Regency. Lizzie and Dace make a pact when they marry--she will go to him every midnight if he is faithful to her, but there are other rules as well, like her obligation to pretend she loves him. Here is an excerpt from the wedding night. The Beast has promised not to touch her, if she will spend the night with him--the only night she will be safe from him. She has accidentally hit his wounded shoulder when she entered his bedroom. He fell to the floor in pain and hit his nose, which accounts for the blood He is now safely in bed, but Lizzie is having trouble joining him.

excerpt 3 from EVERY MIDNIGHT

Lizzie knew she'd made a pact with the devil when she agreed to meet the Beast every midnight and allow him to debauch her. Sensuality: SPICY -- Click HERE for a first chapter excerpt.

Lizzie held out a dose of laudanum for the Beast. She stood as far away from his bed as she could and willed her hand not to tremble and spill any from the glass.

James and Molly had gone to their beds, leaving her alone with him. Their whispered assurances of her safety had not worked as much to ease her mind as the Beast’s acknowledgement, delivered with lurid groans, that she was innocent of a plot to drive him insane with pain. All the while he promised dire retribution if she dared so much as touch him with the tip of her finger.

“Is it poison, dearest Lizzie?” The bolster under the pillows kept the Beast sitting almost upright. His nightshirt, a pristine white--was borrowed from James. The viscount’s manservant had been left behind in London with most of his clothes.

The Beast had washed fastidiously, cleansing himself of all traces of blood. His nose looked no worse than before, but his expression was one of a man goaded beyond endurance. “Drink some of it, my own dear wife, to prove it is not poison.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Felmont.” Her hand shook, spilling a few drops onto the carpet.

He stared at her. Lizzie took an involuntary step backward.

“Remember Lizzie, my love, you are to show me affection at all times or our pact is null and void. Perhaps you wish to break it and free me from your ridiculous rules and regulations?”

“The pact requires me to show you affection only during the day. Is that ferocious look meant to show your affection for me, dear Felmont?” She had answered him back. She was alone with the Beast in his bedchamber and she was managing to remain dignified.

“I apologize for having a Felmont face, Lizzie, unfortunately I can do nothing to change it.” A wicked smile hovered on his lips. “You can’t call me Felmont in my bedroom, dear heart. Come closer.”

He was sin personified.

Words tumbled from her mouth. “I don’t know what else to call you.”

“Give me the laudanum, loveliest bride of mine, before you spill it.” He took it from her and sniffed it. “Get into bed and I’ll tell you what you may call me.”

Lizzie shook her head. Impossible. She simply could not do it.

“Then, drink some of this--I am taking no chances on surviving the night, my love.” He held out the glass. “Take it, Lizzie, drink some.”

The huge bed seemed shrunken by his presence. He looked even taller lying down. Death would be easier, and a grave more inviting than his bed.

“Hellfire, Lizzie! Don’t look at me like that.”

“D ... d ... don’t swear at m ... me.” There, he had reduced her to stuttering again! She hated him.

He sank back against the pillows. “Lizzie, let us try again. I apologize for not speaking gently to you, though I beg to point out, if you could be a trifle more sympathetic for the terrible pain I am suffering, you’d soon realize you have nothing to fear from me.”

“Hitting you with the door was an accident, husband. I am sorry for it.” It was best to speak with dignity at all times. Arguing with the Beast would gain her nothing but his anger roused.

“You are safer with me this night, my love, than you have ever been in your entire life. Not only am I incapable, I worry that even if I were well, I might be unable to ... to ... interest myself in proceeding to know you better. Now, with those comforting words, share this laudanum with me and let us both get a good night’s sleep. Please, dearest wife, just in case you have decided to do away with me, taste it.”

“Give it to me, I’ll drink a sip. You are making a great fuss over nothing.” At his warning glance, she hastily added, “Dace, it is laudanum not poison.”

He let her take the glass from his hand.

“Don’t call me Dace, it’s what my friends call me. Until you can honestly claim to want my friendship you must call me such sweet nothings as come to mind. Perhaps, dearest Devil, darling Demon, sweet Satan? How clever of you to have my portrait painted on the dome welcoming the family into hell. Dear Lizzie, did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

Lizzie sipped the laudanum rather than answer. He put a finger at the bottom of the glass to tip half the mixture into her mouth, so she coughed and choked and, at last, managed to swallow the brew.

Beast! She had meant the dose to relieve his pain and make him sleep. He was twice her size. Half the doze was enough to knock her out for the night and most of the morrow.

“Get in, dearest Lizzie.” He took the glass back and downed the remaining contents in one gulp. “Remove the bolster for me, you can put it between us to divide the bed. And don’t dare move from your side. This is the one night I get to share my bed with you, dear heart, what a pity I shall spend it in a drugged sleep.”

The Beast muttered a curse when she slid the bolster out from under the pillows. He lay back and clutched his shoulder protectively when she placed the long cylindrical cushion carefully down the center of the bed.

Lizzie got into bed with the Beast.

The laudanum was not long in taking effect. Her eyelids grew heavy, long before sleep claimed her. Her limbs grew weak and the sound of her breathing filled her ears. She could hear but not speak, feel but not react. She floated over and over until she lay in the Beast’s embrace.

“Are you asleep, my love?” he whispered in her ear. “Let me hold you to keep you warm. Forgive me. Hush. There is nothing to fear.”

Here are some books on the craft of writing.

Self-editing for the Fiction Writer by Rennie Browne and Dave King
Characters & Viewpoint by Orson Scott Card
The first five pages, Noah Lukeman


Happy writing and reading!

Maggie

Website: http://www.maggiejagger.com/
© Maggie Jagger