So…about connected stories. Love em? Or not so much? I know a lot of readers (myself included) love a series. And by that, I mean a number of books that are connected together by the characters within. I’ve done a bunch of them. In most cases, the connection between the books has been a family one (such as the four stories I wrote about the Morgan brothers. And the four more I wrote about the Chisholm brothers.) But I’ve also connected a series of books with secondary characters, such as my four fairy godmother books for Bantam.

I am diving in to a new series for Kensington, this time not familial or secondarily connected, but a series based on a group of guys who work for a firm called Trinity, Inc. They are my Black Sheep bad boys and I can’t wait for you to meet them. Although, I must say, for the time being, I am very much enjoying having their exclusive attentions on moi. (Hey, there have to be some perks to being the author.)

But as I dive, I ponder. And this brings up a question. I know there are readers who eagerly devour the next book in a connected series (hello, Stephanie Plum) the instant it hits the stands. And then there are those readers who eagerly buy the book when it hits the stands, but tuck it away until the series is complete so they can read it all at once. (Which wouldn’t work for an endless series, such as the Plum books, or, say, Nora’s In Death series, but does happen with her trilogies.)

So…which one are you?

I’m a devourer. I want it, and I want it now. (Greedy little wench that I am.) Plus, I have absolutely no will power. Which the empty Edy’s chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream container in my kitchen trash will attest to. If it has been eons from one book to the next (hello Harry Potter, hello anything by George R R Martin) then I do, at times, feel compelled to re-read the previous release to get my head back in the game, but most often, I can pick up the needed reminders as I dive into the current release.

What about you? Do you devour? Or wait to savor the body of work as a whole?

(Oh yeah…for those who like a good visual to help sustain them while they wait…head on over to my home page where you can not only get a gander at the very amazing cover for the last Chisholm brother, Dylan, who graces the front of my next release, THE GREAT SCOT, but can also get a peek at the first Black Sheep cover as well. And bonus! There’s some back cover copy to tease you with, too!)

(And those first three Chisholm brothers? All of them have their stories told in one handy volume. BAD BOYS IN KILTS. On shelves everywhere now. )

So, I’m a sports fan. Okay, let me rephrase that. I’m a total jock chick. And November is the Trifecta for me. First I get football (NFL and college.) NBA Basketball is back. AND it’s time for the year-end Masters Tennis tournament for all the marbles. Really, other than March Madness, it doesn’t get better than this for a sports chick.

But that got me to thinking…for a long time, publishers told us author types that sports heroes simply didn’t sell. They guessed women just didn’t dig jocks. I never got this. Are you kidding? What’s not to love? In fact, my very first book was about a football player (because I hadn’t heard “the jock rule” back then and my publisher took pity on the poor newbie…but, since then, the jock rule has stuck, any sports related character of mine has been a former, not current, athlete.

Then along came Susan Elizabeth Phillips and her football guys, and Deirdre Martin with her hockey hunks, and now there’s a whole string of NASCAR heroes…suddenly, athletes aren’t taboo any longer. Yay!

Lucky me, I can finally merge two of my loves together into one. What could be better?

So…tell me, who is your favorite jock hero? And what kind of sports hunk would you love to see get his own story?

So…how sexy is too sexy? And what isn’t sexy enough? These are the burning questions of the universe I ponder. (Clearly, I need to get a life, but that is a topic for another blog…)

Here’s the thing: I have two very different covers for my next two releases. Both are with the same publisher, both books have the same tone, more or less. There is a wee bit of suspense in the second, but the heat factor is the same. One cover is cute, bordering on sweet. The other cover is…well, two words. Hubba and hubba. My feeling is that the second cover more clearly represents the content of the books and that the first might not draw the readers who would enjoy my work. And, in fact, might attact some who will be surprised to find a wee bit o’ steam between the covers.

However, I’ve gotten some different reactions to them. First, I should say that both covers are very tastefully done, featuring fully clothed heroes, so nothing overtly brazen or naughty. Very PG. It’s how these guys are clothed, posed, and well…you get my drift. So, while most readers liked both covers, many agreed with me that the second one was more in line with what they thought represented the work. But there were some who really enjoyed a cover with a sweeter, not so in-your-face look.

Hence my quandary…when is sexy too sexy? And when isn’t it sexy enough? Would you rather have a cover that makes your pulse take a little leap, or would you prefer to keep all the pulse-leaping between the covers?

I don’t know if you’ve seen it, but this season there is a new Friday night dramedy on television called Men in Trees. A cute show set in the wilds of Alaska, where men are men, and women are scarce. The story centers around a New York City self help author, relationship coach, Marin Frist, who finds out while visiting Elmo, Alaska for a speaking and signing engagement, that her fiancé back home is cheating on her with another woman. Not so great for book sales for the relationship guru, but worse for the woman behind the books, who is left questioning everything she ever knew. About men, and more importantly, about herself. So she stays in Elmo to figure things out, with the help of a cast of very quirky and endearing characters. One of whom is the hunky local wildlife management guy who I’d tune in for all by himself. (Dr. McDreamy, eat your heart out.)

We’re romance readers here, so I don’t have to explain the automatic appeal of this kind of show. We Get It. In fact, we’ve been getting it for a very long time now. We’re sharp like that. What I find really interesting, not to mention heartening and oftentimes amusing, is the reaction of the rest of the viewing public. I happen to scroll through bulletin board posts over on a website called Television Without Pity. A very smart, pithy, witty group who also amuse and entertain me on a regular basis. So I tuned in to see what they had to say about Men in Trees. I was fairly certain the snark factor would be high, as they would view this as sappy, romantic fare, much the way that people who Don’t Get It are wont to do.

Imagine my surprise when, one by one, they trotted by and posted that while, of course they wouldn’t tell their sophisticated friends that they even so much as tuned it, and of course it was only because they literally had nothing else to do that they’d even watched it at all, but they had watched. And…you know, they kinda, sorta, liked it. Probably just a momentary lapse in judgment they were all pretty certain, just a blip on their personal radar and any second now they would reject such fluffy fare and return en masse to “real” shows like CSI, Law and Order, acceptable interpersonal relationship shows, like Lost. Watching Men in Trees was an, an aberration, of course. What else could it be? Certainly they weren’t going to willingly watch some cute, quirky little romance show and, you know, like it.

But they did. In droves, even. And then other stoppers-by began watching to see what the buzz was about, and then they, you know, stopped by and mentioned that, if there was nothing else to possibly do on a Friday night, they might, kinda sorta, watch it again, because, you know, it was okay. For fluff. But it made them feel good, and gee, that was kind of a nice feeling.

At this point I’m grinning like a loon. Because I am loving this reaction, unenlightened as it is, but you have to forgive them, because they Don’t Get It like we do. But they’re slowly becoming enlightened. Whether they want to be or not. They are slowly having to face the fact that, well, they like romance. It’s FUN. And fun is, you know, okay. Acceptable even. As it turns out, bullets don’t have to be flying, people don’t have to be risking their lives in brain surgery, and cops don’t have to be chasing bad guys for this to be acceptable, nay, even remarkable television viewing fare. That, in fact, they can watch Men in Trees just because they want to. Because – gasp! – it makes them feel good. And maybe, just maybe, that’s important enough all by itself to make a show worthy of good reviews, ongoing positive commentary, and sighs of contentment.

And yet the qualifiers continue. “Only because I happened to be home did I watch it, but what a cute show!” “I’d never normally watch fluff like this, but I SO enjoyed it!”

But, I forgive them. It’s hard for, you know, the unenlightened to admit, outloud, in front of others, that it’s okay to like, maybe even love, romance just for what it is. And that it’s just as valid a form of entertainment as anything else.

And you know what? I don’t even care if they never get to that point, as long as they keep watching. First, because it will keep my favorite new show on television, but more than that, it makes me feel good to know that what I do for a living is still pretty much universally appreciated, even if they have to hide behind qualifiers to admit it to themselves, or to others. I can live with that, as long as they keep coming.

It did make me wonder what we’d have to do to get our books in the same hands of alllll those people who just happened to be home on Friday and just happened to watch the show. Because they can stumble across their own ignorance privately, in their own home, without anybody having to ever know, and feed their new addiction privately. When it comes to reading romance, however, sure they can order books on Amazon and keep their fluffy little secret a secret, but they’d have to know the power of a good romance novel in the first place to even think to pick one up.

And I wonder if they realize they can feel just as good as they do every Friday while watching Men in Trees, why anytime they want! Seven nights a week and even at lunchtime if so desired. And I want to find a way to shout that from the rooftops. Hey! You silly people who are loving romance and just don’t know it – there are hundreds upon thousands of titles at your fingertips right this very second that can give you that very same feel-good feeling that you’re now craving, watching this show and loving it.

But I don’t shout anything. They won’t listen anyway. Not yet, anyway. They’re still New At This. So I sit back and read their posts, and all their qualifiers making it okay for them to like romance, and am content knowing that if you build it, and they do come, they will love it. It’s encouraging to know that, at heart, we all love a good romance. At least they are learning that romance is good, it’s fun, and feeling all happy and warm and fuzzy is a pretty cool thing that we should all do for ourselves more often.

And, for now anyway, that’s good enough for me.

Oh yeah, it’s on Friday nights at 9EST, on ABC.

What is your guilty pleasure?

They are the puppets, we are the puppetmasters. That’s the way it’s supposed to be. Characters do what the author says. After all, we created ‘em, right? We decide everything from what color hair they’re going to have, to building their entire personality; if they’re kind or clutzy, passionate or pained.

So explain to me how it is that, at some point in every book, they take on a mind of their own? Honestly. No faith that I’ll steer them right. Oh no, they want to decide when to resolve this plot point, or worse, ignore it all together. They want to decide when they can’t stand it another second without ripping each other’s clothes off. Truly annoying and it messes with all my carefully laid plans. Not that this seems to matter to them. I mean, why bother even creating a story idea, a plot line, a resolution? They’re just going to stomp all over it and do whatever they want anyway.

This isn’t anything new to me. It happened in the very first book I wrote for Bantam’s Loveswept line some fourteen years ago. Forty some odd stories later, you think I’d learn not to have expectations of good behavior from my very own characters. You think I’d be more prepared for their sudden flights of fancy. You think I’d trust them more.

And there lies the key. The power struggle between the creator and the created. I dream them up and have certain expectations of how they’re going to handle all the obstacles I’m going to throw at them in the next four hundred some odd pages. Then they come along and have all kinds of new ideas on what should be done, and when. Sometimes they ignore the roadblocks all together, only to detour straight into a whole pile of new ones I never even saw coming. Sort of like children in that way.

My oldest child went off to college this fall. He has to make his own plans now, tackle his own obstacles, figure out how to navigate the detours and the unexpected road blocks. I could only hope that, during his years under my loving care and guidance, I’d given him the tools to handle all those things. I had to trust he’d be okay on his own, this child I’d created, nurtured. Sometimes a bit scary, but ultimately pretty exciting.

And it occurred to me that perhaps I have to have the same trust in the characters I create. I gave them life, built them into solid, well-rounded individuals, unlike any others I’ve created before, and so when they want to have an active say in what’s going to happen to them, maybe I just need to shut up and listen to them. They stumble sometimes, like my son has been known to do, but, also like him, in the end, they do figure it out. And sometimes we’re all the stronger for the stumbling.

Of course, if the two I’m currently wrangling don’t take their hands off each other sometime in the next scene or two, we’ll never find out who torched that damn cabin.

Then again, maybe I should just lighten up and let them have their way with each other. Again. (And again.) Maybe I just need to trust, once and for all, that they’ll figure it all out in the end. Like they always do.

And sure, I complain about these two, but I’m really going to miss them when they ride off into the sunset together. Exhausted, smiling happily, but blessedly together.

What characters have you recently read who surprised you, pulled you in, and made you not want to say good-bye to them at the end of the story?

So…yes, the rumors are true. I watch reality tv. And like it. I also watch sports. A lot of sports. I like them, too. And it occurred to me that there are many parallels between the two. Both are games. Both are played by contestants willing to put themselves through grueling paces to reap their rewards. (Hey, you try eating live multipedes while simultaneously scratching at the thousand tiny bug bites dotting your body. Personally, I’d rather get hit by a defensive linesman while diving into the end zone.) Both often place an emphasis on teamwork, and both show the benefits of and the occasional detriment to relying on said teammates. Both feature voluminous bouts of swearing, teammates berating teammates, drama queens, showboats, and outstanding gamesmanship. So, when you think about it, (and, sadly, it’s apparent I have) reality television is actually kind of a sport. Yeah, that’s it. It’s sports. Except with creative editing. And a lot more skin.

I feel so much better now.

This is the time of year when several of my favorite sports debut. NFL football, college football, Survivor, and Amazing Race. The big “buzz” this year isn’t really how Cowboys Coach Bill Parcells is going to handle showboat Terrell Owens in Dallas. No, the real buzz is that Coach Mark Burnett from Team Survivor has drafted his team along cultural lines. Yes, this season, Survivor is initially dividing teams by race. There will be a Caucasian team, African American team, Latino team, and Asian team. Coach Burnett deflected the racist talk by saying that in his particular sport, he’s often been slammed for not exactly being an equal opportunity employer. And that this season, he’s decided to change all that. In fact, he goes to far as to say that given that Survivor is all about people being thrown together in trying circumstances, forced to create their own new subculture in order to survive, that this is the most diverse season ever. Given that the teams will be grouped by their very ethnicity is what prevents it from being racist. They will have to play with, align with, strategize with, and ultimately vote out…each other.

I happen to agree with the coach. And I, admittedly, find it a rather fascinating premise.

Of course, eventually, individual teams will be merged to form bigger conferences. At this point, things will get really interesting. Based on previous seasons, most often the members of original teams tend to stick together after being merged. What will happen when the bond of their individual cultural backgrounds are added to the mix? Anything? Nothing? Of course each team will still feature the various elements we’re used to seeing in any team. The dominant players, the coattail riders, the drama queens, showboats, the unprepared, or downright garrulous players. And given that they’ve been pitted against each other up to the merge point, it will be interesting to see how they come together as a group once joined together.

So yeah, not all that racist really. Just human.

To add to the interest, I watch the show with my enabler, aka my 16 year old son, who was my reality show pusher, getting me hooked on the stuff a few years back. We have a standing Thursday night date. Order in Chinese, watch Survivor. Discuss. In previous seasons teams have, on occasion, been drafted according to age and gender. Being substantially older than my pusher, and of the opposite gender, not to mention his mother, we tend to view our sport from a somewhat different perspective. It’s been the foundation of some of the most interesting and insightful life discussions we’ve had to date.

Oddly, I can’t say that’s ever been the case in our years of watching football. But then, he doesn’t understand that the sport begins and ends with Pittsburgh. I try to be kind. I am, after all, his mother and therefore the one responsible for nurturing and guiding him. (But really, Spence, Seattle? Really?)

So yes, I am a reality television sports junkie. And I don’t want a 12 Step Program to end my particular addiction. Just pass the sesame chicken and turn up the sound a little, will ya? It’s almost kick off time.