Writing Where You've Never Been

My publisher, The Wild Rose Press, is holding its annual writers’ retreat at a Dude Ranch in Banderas, Texas, this October. Our friends laugh when we tell them we're going. I mean, Calvin and me on a ranch? Too funny if you knew us. Is there a hydrolic lift to put me in the saddle?

This will be my first time in Texas, first time on a ranch and first time on a horse. Yet my debut book is set on a ranch in Texas. Ah, the value of good research. How many writers of stories set in Alaska, Scotland, Mozambique or lands of fairies and shapeshifters have physically been there? Some, but not all.

As I was writing my story, I researched the weather in the Texas hill country, geology, plants, wildlife and history. I searched through newspapers online for the hill country. What I also found invaluable were real estate sites. This gave me a view of homes typical to the area as well as local scenery and vegetation. I’d find addresses and look them up on www.vpike.com. This gave me real-time insights and a feel for little nuances of this part of Texas.

If you were going to write a story set in Lynchburg, Virginia, where we live you’d have to know this is known as the Hill City. Our town is set on seven hills. There are places downtown where streets were never built. Steps, yes. An elevator, yes. But no street connect parts of Church and Court Streets.

Wide steps from Church Street to the Lynchburg Museum, once the Court House.

So, imagine my surprise when a reviewer for Storm’s Interlude said I’d described Texas so well, she now wanted to go there. I laughed and remarked to myself, “Well, so do I.” And in October, when we attend TWRP writers’ retreat, I will.

          Rachel finished the yogurt and threw away the container. That’s when she noticed the back door was open. Stepping into the mudroom, she saw Storm through the screen door. He was leaning against a post, obviously staring off into the wide Texas horizon and sipping coffee.

His one hand was shoved into the pocket of his jeans; jeans that looked buttery soft with age. His dark, straight hair hung over the collar of his faded red t-shirt. Broad shoulders stretched the material. She yearned to reach out and rub her hand over his strong back.

What was it about him that attracted her? After all, she’d met many handsome men in her life. Phillip, for one. Matt, the guy she’d dated in college was another. She smiled; Dr. Isaacs at Kings Daughters Hospital, back home, was drop-dead gorgeous, but then he was openly gay.

Still, what was it about Storm? He was arrogant and opinionated. Bossy. Yet, he could be incredibly caring and gentle. Evidently, he was prone to giving little gifts. He was devoted to his sister. His love for his nephew was very touching. She imagined he’d make a great father.

What was she going to do about her attraction to him? What was behind the attraction?  Could his magnetic pull on her simply come from his ability to kiss her into sensual overload? If they were to kiss again, would his effect be just as potent? God help her, but she’d love to find out.

“You might as well come out and join me.” His deep voice caressed her senses and beckoned. How did he know she was watching him? She wiped her hands over her shorts in a nervous gesture. Did he know how long she’d been standing there, staring, dreaming…yearning?

Embarrassed, Rachel stepped out onto the porch and stood next to the man who had moved into her mind—lock, stock and saddle. “Good morning.”

He saluted her with his mug. “Mornin’.”

His eyes were so intent on her that, for an instant, her mind went blank. Her attraction to this man had to be channeled into friendship—merely friendship. “Thank you for burning me that CD. I can’t wait to play it.”

“You’re welcome.” A faint blush crept up his neck.

She took pleasure in his discomfort. If she felt uneasy around him, she was glad he was obviously suffering from the same feeling. “How long have you been up?”

“An hour, give or take. Did you have your yogurt?” He drained his coffee and set the mug on the porch railing.

“Yes.”

“Good. I don’t want any low-sugar episodes like yesterday morning.” He jerked his head toward the horizon. “This is the best place to watch the sun come up. Our best views of sunsets are on the patio, but here, right here is the spot you get a great view of the sunrise. Nothin’ like a hill country sunrise.”

The curve of the golden sun peeped above the mountains in the distance. Shimmers of apricots and reds undulated like dancing rays celebrating the birth of a new day. Birds began singing as if to welcome the sun. “Oh, you’re right. It’s beautiful. I guess you do this every morning? Drink your coffee and watch the sun come up.” She looked up at him.

He never spared her a glance. “Yup.”

His freshly-shaved face was relaxed. The smell of his soap and aftershave filled her nostrils. She wanted to bury her nose in his neck and inhale his masculine scent for hours.

She smiled again. “You always so talkative in the morning?”

“Yup.”

BUY LINK: http://amzn.to/wWibTe

Confusion can be a Good Thing

As we age, some of us become more confused. Medical experts say this is a natural part of the aging process and NOT early signs of Alzheimer's. Mercy, I hope they're right.

I've long held that confusion is the sign of a busy mind. Our neurons and synapses are working overtime on problems, ideas, tasks and dreams. I know mine is. Since I've started writing full time, it's as if the story lines and characters won't let me alone. I read a small article in the paper and I think wouldn't that make a great story. I hear a snippet of a newscast and my mind is twisting the news into a "what-if" situation. I'm nearing the point where I wish there was an off switch.

In the past 19 months, I've written 3 books and 2 novellas. One book, Storm's Interlude, is out. Another, Mona Lisa's Room, is under contract and in the galley stage. The third, Rain is a Love Song, is being emailed by my agent this week to an editor who's been asking for it (No, I'm not that great of a writer editors are clamoring for my work, Rain is merely book two of a series). As for the novellas, I'm waiting on a release date for Those Violet Eyes. The second, Tumbleweed Letters, is with an editor. Let the nail-biting begin.

So is it any wonder when I wrote the synopsis for Tumbleweed Letters that I used the wrong heroine's name? That's normal, right? RIGHT??? Imagine my embarrassment when my agent emailed asking why I sent her a synopsis about Evie when the character in the manuscript was Sophie. Ah......

At that point I decided I needed a few weeks away from writing. My brain needs to rest and recycle.

Ben woke me in the middle of the night, which might be all well and good, but my husband's name is Calvin. Ben is a World War II soldier. "Doll," he whispered in my ear, his breath fluttering those dastardly white hairs growing at my temple. "When are you going to write about my Pearl? You see, Pearl and me have something special going on." I glared at him, replying that I had some serious sleep going on before he woke me. He extended his hands in that universal helpless gesture, shrugged and smiled, his deep dimples drawing my attention. Darn, he just had to have dimples. I told him he'd have to wait a couple weeks. And he laughed, deep, rich, sexy--and I sighed. I think he knows I'm a sucker for dimples and deep laughter. Darn him, anyhow.

Can't a confused mind catch a break?

Storm's Interlude available at The Wild Rose Press and Amazon.

Wow, I absolutely loved Storm's Interlude! If I ever thought to write a romance book, I'd only hope that this would be my style of writing. Storm's Interlude has sweet romance, heartfelt feelings, a whole lot of sexual tension, and its own share of on-edge suspense. -- Night Owl Reviews

Release date to be announced by The Wild Rose Press --

Evie Caldwell hates her life. Five years ago, she gave up college and her dream of teaching to care for her ailing mother. Now, she’s trapped taking care of her worthless brother and the family ranch. Waiting tables to earn her way out of Texas, the last thing she wants is a muscleman with a macho Marine attitude complicating her life. But, oh, how that man makes her insides melt.

Wounded vet Win Fairchild returns to Texas to heal, find a piece of his soul, and open a ranch for amputee children. Finding someone to love is not on his agenda. But when he starts work at the Lonesome Steer Honky Tonk, a spitfire with violet eyes and a major attitude instantly captures his heart.

Evie just wants to escape, but now that Win knows what he wants, can he convince Evie to stay in Texas—and his bed?

I HAD TO PLAY DUMB...

Jazie Miles Davis getting ready to send a tweet.

We have a beloved tabby cat called Jazzie. This three-year old feline is my shadow and my nap buddy. He also helps me write, snuggled on the chair, his head resting against my leg, his soft snores creating a soothing rhythm.

Still, I have to keep an eye on him. More than once while I was in the kitchen pouring a cup of coffee or sneaking a cookie or four, he's gotten on Twitter and begged for treats.

You see, the cat has the same genetic abnormality that my youngest son had in his teen years. A bottomless stomach. Who knew?

Calvin has Jazzie on a diet. When he runs, his stomach sways from side to side. The cat's, not Calvin's. Our furry fella has five requirements in life: food and lots of it; fresh water; a clean liter box; our bed made right away in the morning so he can take a mid-morning nap on smoothed bed linens; and his own Twitter account. Calvin grumbles that the cat has more followers than he. Hey, what can I say?

At Calvin's insistence, I've stopped buying Jazzie treats. Well, except for the emergency bag I have hidden in the drawer. You know, for special times like this week. I can't stand to celebrate alone. When I got the email that Storm's Interlude was voted Book of the Week at LASR, Jazzie got three treats. And when I got the email that my short story Those Violet Eyes was accepted into the Honky Tonk Hearts Series at The Wild Rose Press, he got four treats. Six treats hit the floor when I got notification TWRP wanted to publish my romantic suspense, Mona Lisa's Room.

So when Calvin stopped in his tracks this evening, tilted his head to the side and asked, "Does the cat look fatter to you?" Well, I had to play dumb. I mean, what choice did I have?