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Archive for March 2008

The Writing Bug

Wednesday, March 26th, 2008
Cynthia Eden Icon

I’ll admit it, I caught the writing bug when I was young–about oh, say, seven years old. I always loved books. Loved hearing my mom read stories to me right before bedtime. But, for me, the stories didn’t stop when my mom closed the book and turned out the light. I’d stay up, imagining new twists and turns for Rose Red and creating a new ending for Hansel and Gretel (um, here’s a hint on that one…I rather liked the witch).

For me, it was only a matter of time until I started writing my own stories. When I was in elementary school and middle school, I kept a writing notebook, so that I could jot down my stories and ideas. Okay, time for another admission: Some days, when I was supposed to be paying attention in Earth Science, I’d be writing stories instead of taking notes–sue me. :grin:

It seemed to me that my whole life, I always knew that I wanted to write…and I know I’m not alone in this lovely writing desire. According to a survey I found a while back (I think it was from the Jenkins Group) over 80% of the population admits to wanting to write a novel.

Yep, lots of people have been bitten by the bug.

And why not? I happen think writing is pretty dang great.

But I am curious…how many others on this blog were bitten by the bug when you were very young? And how many have only recently felt the sting of the writing bite? (And for those of you who have no desire to write–that precious 20%–what passion haunts you?)

(By the way, only a little over a month until HOTTER AFTER MIDNIGHT releases–yay!!! Sorry–had to get that bit of excitement out.)

hotter-after-midnightsmall1.jpg

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Categories : Cynthia Eden

Don’t Tempt Me

Saturday, March 22nd, 2008
Sylvia Day Icon

Don't Tempt MeIt’s almost here! Yay! I am very excited. :grin:

So… I’m sharing an excerpt. Hope you enjoy!

Excerpt

Simon stood in the entryway of his home and pulled of his gloves one fingertip at a time, his movements deliberate and evenly paced. The action was meant to calm him, but it was taking too long. His breath heaved with his anger and his neck ached with tension.

Edward James had been visiting Lysette while she was “indisposed.” The man had stood in the window sans coat and waistcoat as if he were at home, his posture both defensive and possessive.

Simon had played this game before, coming to a head with a man over a desirable female. It was a diverting activity and Simon rarely had a true stake in the outcome. If he won the lady’s regard, the sex was wild and hot. If he lost it, he conceded with a smile and caught another.

This time, he was incensed. He would like to think it was only his pride that was bruised, but the truth was more disturbing than that. He had been happy those brief, passionate moments in the library. Not merely content or distracted but happy. To know that it had been nothing noteworthy to Lysette was a bitter realization to reach.

And then there was the feeling that he was losing his mind. He had disliked Lysette until last night. Now, suddenly, he felt murderous over the thought of her with another man.

Right now.

He growled and bounded up the stairs to his room, determined to change from his riding clothes to something more suitable for a night of bawdy delights. A hard fuck would get her out of his blood. Tomorrow he would be clear headed and ready to deal with her as he must.

“Mr. Quinn, you have a caller.”

Simon paused in the act of removing his cravat. He met his butler’s gaze in the mirror attached to the inside of his armoire door. “Who is it?”

“She would not give me her name, sir.”

Tensing at the news that his caller was female, he asked, “Would she happen to be blonde and beautiful?”

The butler’s mouth twitched. “Yes, sir.”

All of Simon’s simmering anger and frustration reheated to boiling. He yanked off the loosened linen and tossed it on the floor. She must have come haring directly after him in order to reach him so soon. Perhaps she realized how James’s show of propriety had ruined her plans for him, whatever they were.

For a moment, he debated sending her away without seeing her just to aggravate her in kind, but the thought of Eddington’s hold over him stayed his tongue. The sooner he knew what she was up to, the sooner he could be rid of her and away from the damnable lot of mischief makers.

“Where is his lordship?” he asked.

“Out for the evening, sir.”

With a long, rapid stride, Simon quit his chambers and descended to the lower floor. He was vaguely aware of his butler scrambling after him, but he paid the man no mind. He would not be needing tea or refreshments. If anything, he needed a stiff drink.

He paused on the threshold of the receiving parlor and found Lysette seated delicately on the edge of his yellow brocade settee. She was dressed in a bold burgundy gown, another color choice he would not have anticipated her to select but one he found potently alluring against her creamy skin. An elaborately decorated hat rested on the carved wooden side table and she twisted the strings of a matching reticule in her lap.

She was the picture of elegance and gentility…

…until she looked at him with the blue eyes that had lured him across a ballroom and into her arms.

Something akin to lightning raced across his skin. Burning. Tingling. Making him perspire. His heart rate picked up its pace and his chest lifted and fell unevenly.

As he entered, her expression of hesitation and wariness was swiftly replaced with heated feminine appreciation. Her gaze lowered to his bared throat and her tongue darted out to caress her lush lower lip.

Don't Tempt MeWhen her eyes met his again, the raw, carnal hunger he saw in the crystalline depths hardened every muscle in his body, tightening his frame with coiling lust. A quarter of an hour ago he had wanted to strangle her. Now, he wanted nothing more than to lift her skirts and ride her to a screaming climax.

Again and again.

He growled and snapped, “Bah! You are not worth the trouble.”

Pivoting, he left the room.

Releasing Tuesday, March 25! :grin:

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Categories : Sylvia Day
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Thank God for Readers

Friday, March 21st, 2008
Diane Whiteside Icon

In quiring minds want to know:  how do you want your authors?  If you were to meet us in the flesh, how would you want to do so?

The opportunities for an author are abundant – but what do you prefer?

Do you want to chat or just get your books signed?  Or a mix?  Intimacy with an author or two – or a big group situation where you can see lots of authors at once?

 Do you like us at booksignings?  Would you prefer us at an intimate weekend conference?  A cozy dinner party?  A rowdy conference where we can talk about Anything?

 Please tell!

Diane, eager for signposts through the jungle

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Categories : Diane Whiteside

Thank Goodness for Books

Thursday, March 20th, 2008
Kate Duffy Icon

And the first one of you to think or say, “Goodness had nothing to do with it.”, buys the drinks.

We had a great meeting yesterday with a national distributor. And
one of the marketing people turned to me after we had presented our titles and said, “What happens if you get sick of reading?”

SICK OF READING? The idea. That’s like saying, “I am sick of eating or sleeping or buying presents for myself.”

Certainly, there have been times where it has been difficult to read because I couldn’t concentrate, times of stress or fear or grief. But books always get me through. If I read a bad book, I always believe the next one up could be the best ever. So I am forced to conclude that this lovely person asking the question is not the same kind of reader I am. And that’s OK.

What should people who sell books understand about us uber readers?

1. Even if I don’t find a particular title I am looking for, I will not leave your establishment empty handed.

2. Books are a necessity for me. Right up there with housing and hot water.

3. I read lots of things, fiction, non-fiction, mystery, romance and I am always looking for something new.

4. I am really smart.

5. If I find an author who’s new to me and who I fall in love with (albeit from a great distance – lucky author), I want to read everything she or he has written. I need backlist, people.

What else do they need to know about us?

Kate

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Categories : Kate Duffy

No Corned Beef Here

Monday, March 17th, 2008
Jamie Denton Icon

Usually I’d be cooking up a minor storm today. Some corned beef and cabbage, fried potatoes and onions and maybe even a shot or two of Bailey’s in my coffee while performing the above. Unfortunately with the DH’s continuing cardiac issues, not to mention my seriously needing to reach “THE END” like right now, the usual SPD M.O. just ain’t gonna happen in the Denton household this year.

So, in honor of one of my favorite holidays, and cuz I can’t celebrate, I’m going to make this really, REALLY easy today. Tell me what y’all are doing to celebrate this glorious day, and I’ll throw your name into the green hat for a chance to win a $10 Barnes & Noble gift card.

Check back Tuesday morning to see if you’re the winner.

Oh yeah! And a Happy St. Paddy’s Day to you!

UPDATE: And the winner is….#7 Wendy! Congratulations Wendy. Drop me an email at jamie@jamiedenton.net with your mailing address and uh…I’ll send the DH to the post office. :oops:

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Categories : Jamie Denton

Nonna & Pops

Tuesday, March 11th, 2008
Lucy Monroe Icon

What’s in a name? Well, if you’re talking book titles…a lot. Some of us have that special something when it comes to titling our books and well, some of us don’t. I fall in the don’t category, but that doesn’t stop me from trying. Eventually, my editors are going to run out of nice ways to say, “That title sucks dirty sweat socks.”

Luckily for the reading world at large, I’m perfectly happy to have my editors do their titling magic on my books. However, I’ve had the privilege of coming up with some pretty important names, if not on my own – at least with lots of my influence. For instance, our children…though if you could have heard my grandmother after we named our son, you would have thought his name sucked dirty sweat socks. It doesn’t. It’s fabulous. It’s his. He likes it, which for a teenager is no small thing, you know?

But recently, I had to come up with another name – what my grandchildren would call me. I always sort of assumed it would be Grandma, but my mom is Grandma and I kind of like how my m-i-l gets called Banoi by my kids (Vietnamese for grandma on the dad’s side of the family). Since our oldest daughter is expecting her first child and our first grandchild this summer, the name thing became important.

I opted for the Italian word for Grandmother because I just love it. Nonna. My husband is taking on his deceased grandfather’s title (Pops), one of the most influential people during his growing years and a very special man who dh loved very much.

What’s in a name? For me…for dh…maybe a little bit of history, maybe more than a little emotion and definitely a sense of rightness. When it is right.

So, what did you call your grandparents and what do your kids (if you have any) call theirs?

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Categories : Lucy Monroe

Happily Ever After

Monday, March 10th, 2008
Karen Kelley Icon

Our son got married Saturday. This was romance at it’s best. What life is all about. The wedding was absolutely beautiful.

I’ve always thought of Billy as my baby, and was a little more protective of him because he has epilepsy, but what I saw Saturday was a man. And when I looked at Jodie, and saw the way she looked at him, I knew he was her hero.

Our new daughter is so cool, too. I don’t have to train her. She has credit cards and knows how to use them :lol: We love shopping together while the guys do the paintball thing or fish.

Okay, I’ll try to attach an image of them Billly and Jodie If it doesn’t work, then I’ll try putting one up on my website.

Life is wonderful!
Hugs,
Karen

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Categories : Karen Kelley

SUPERB AND SEXY

Friday, March 7th, 2008
Jill Shalvis Icon

Hi there! Long time no see, which is entirely my fault, as I’ve actually FORGOTTEN to blog on my assigned day two times in a row. Which tells you how full my brain is. Call it deadline dementia. I know I’d feel a whole lot more relaxed if my Girl Scout cookies had come in, but no. I have to live in Siberia where everything takes forever to get delivered . . . okay, I don’t really live in Siberia. If you read my daily blog, you know I live in the wild Sierras, near Lake Tahoe, where I have all sorts of I-Love-Lucy like adventures, especially with the epic winter we’ve been having.

What was I saying?

Oh, yes, that I’m SCATTERED. And hungry. But I digress. I’m here to talk about my Bravas. Some of you might have read:

Or maybe the sequel:

In any case, the third in the series, SUPERB AND SEXY, is coming out at the end of May.

And I just got a few ARCS (Advanced Reading Copies)! They don’t have the pretty cover on them, they’re basically just bound manuscripts but I figure there’s a few of you out there who would enjoy a copy. So read the excerpt below, and if it sounds like something that would float your boat, leave me a comment here and I’ll draw a few names.

Other than that, I would LOVE to know what you’re reading! Me first, I’m reading Strangers In Death. LOVE J.D. Robb. Now you.

Oh and before I leave, here’s the promised excerpt of SUPERB AND SEXY:

Maddie’s chest felt too tight. Damn it. She let out a long, calming breath, which of course didn’t work. It never worked. Neither did just sitting at the window staring down at Brody, but God, she was tired, and still recovering. Yeah, that’s what this asinine weakness in her knees was — recovery. Because it sure as hell wasn’t for him.

No way.

They didn’t even like each other . . .

And yet she leaned over so she could see out the window again, past the twin tall pines trying to claim her view, at the nearly six feet four inches of rough and tumble, sexy-as-hell male as he unfolded his long legs from the muscle car.

Her pulse took another unfortunate leap. The last time she’d seen him he’d been in his pilot’s uniform, and even though it was ridiculous and juvenile and wrong, it had turned her on. The thought of seeing him out of it? Even more so.


UPDATE:
Limecello, Sonya, and Jen! Your names were picked randomly by my Youngest, so that means you win. Email me with SUPERB AND SEXY in the subject line, and don’t forget to give me your snail mail addy!

Comments (50)
Categories : General, Jill Shalvis

The Road To Release

Wednesday, March 5th, 2008
HelenKay Dimon Icon

My newest book, RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW came out last week. [Go buy it.] The release of this one is special thrill for me. I wrote it while moving across the country, switching from being a full-time lawyer to being a full-time writer, and while I was so sick with a flu that would not leave my body that I could not lift my head off the pillow. Sounds fun, doesn’t it? [Feel bad for me and buy it.] And, here’s the painful part, I wrote it twice. The first time I wrote it, I got all the way to page 250-something and decided it wasn’t good enough. [It's fabulous now, so buy it.] I threw out all but the first 35 pages or so and started again. The re-write wasn’t as bad as it sounds. Really. [Despite that, you should feel obligated to buy it.] I couldn’t see where the book should go at first. Once I did, the writing went very fast. [Did I mention this is a Romantic Times 4 1/2 Star Top Pick!]

So, what is it about? I describe it like this: what happens when two people who lie for a living have to figure out how to tell the truth about what they feel for each other. RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW starts with a break-up. Not a little misunderstanding. This is an “it’s not you, it’s me” then dump-the-wine-over-his-head break-up. The very beginning looks like this:

“This isn’t working.”

There they were. To Gabrielle Pearson the phrase stood second only to “it’s not you, it’s me” as the most lame male excuse on the planet for cutting out of a date before the dessert menus hit the table.

Gabby glanced around the upscale restaurant looking for reinforcements. If anyone heard Reed Larkin’s big kiss off over the rumble of conversation and clanking of silverware, they were not letting on. No one held up a roll ready to lob it at Reed’s fat head. A shame, really, since his over-inflated ego made it the perfect target.

“Gabby? Did you hear me?” Reed asked with his suddenly not-so-kissable mouth turned down in concern.

“I’m not deaf. I was thinking.” Thinking that a woman never had a vial of strychnine when she needed one.

He frowned. “I was-”

“It’s interesting, don’t you agree?”

He switched to squinting. “You lost me.

“Obviously.”

She lowered her fork to the white tablecloth, but not before toying with the idea of stabbing Reed smack in the center of his perfectly angled chin. One hit of the sharp prongs and no woman would ever be lured in by his inviting sexy smile again.

“I’m talking about your timing, Reed. You waited until you were done with your meal to make this announcement. You skipped the appetizer course and choked back your undercooked steak without taking a breath.” Now she knew why.

Reed was a man on the run.

The big weasel.

Here she thought tonight, formal date number nine, might be the date. The one to capture all the heat pulsing between them with a bedroom ending. Hell, she’d be lucky to get cab fare out of him now.

Reed took a long swallow of water.

When he didn’t choke, Gabby cursed life’s unfairness. “I’m assuming I’m the part of the relationship that’s not working.”

“Look, it’s not you. It’s-”

Oh, no, no, no. “Don’t finish that sentence.”

If he continued down that road the half of the salmon filet she did manage to swallow would make a repeat performance all over his expensive navy suit. Tempting but not going to happen.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked as if he actually did not know.

“Just don’t.” She pointed a finger in the general direction of Reed’s heart to back up her threat.

Those ice blue eyes that were so attractive up until five minutes ago blinked several times. “Gabby, we should-”

“Stop talking before someone loses a body part.” Her gaze dropped to her fork. “Preferably you.”

Doesn’t sound too romantic, does it? But it is. Gabby and Reed just need to find their way back to each other…and they do.

You interested? Do you like stories that start with the parties being estranged? Comment here and you’ll be entered to win a $15.00 Amazon gift certificate. [Which you could use to buy, oh, let me suggest, RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW...] :smile:

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Categories : HelenKay Dimon

“Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn.”

Tuesday, March 4th, 2008

A great scene has a heartbeat or, at the very least, a pulse. I know what my favorite scene is in my recent book, Explosive. I’ll never forget writing it, the part where Blackburn storms back into Devon’s life in Paris, hell be damned. And in my upcoming novel, The Midnight Man, it’s the scene that even Kate Duffy had trouble getting over. Let’s just say Nicholas Ramsay is one bad boy.

What makes for a sizzling scene? Heightened emotion, for sure. Tension that won’t let you out of its grip. An overwhelming feeling that you’re in-the- moment, right along with the characters. What are some of your favorite scenes and why? How about Rhett Butler finally telling Scarlett he’s really not that into her anymore. Barbara Streisand and Robert Redford, haunted by the way they were, in front of the Plaza in NYC?

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Categories : Charlotte Mede