I've Been Ambushed!

So, the guys got together and decided they were going to interview me. I told them to do their worst. In hindsight, that may have been a really bad idea.

Lark: A lot of readers have asked about Hades and my mate’s brother, Miles. Do you have any plans to write their story?

Gabrielle: To be honest, I hadn’t really planned on it when I first wrote Howl and Harmony. I mean, they were already together, just some secondary characters to liven things up a bit and help your ass out of a sling. They also don’t fit into the realms of the Midnight Matings series. However, with that being said, I probably will write their story at some point. I’m just not sure when.

Craze: What about me? Don’t I deserve my story told?

Gabrielle: *sigh* Yes, darlin’, you deserve a story. And I promise I’ll get to it, along with Gage, Ares, Lorcan, and the rest of the coyote pack—and maybe a couple of more Fatefully Yours books. I have a lot going on right now, so you’re going to have to sit down, play nice, and color until I can get to you.

Braxton: I'm sure you're asked this a lot, but do you have any advice for aspiring authors?

Gabrielle: I don't know all the ins and outs of being published or writing a good story. It's a learning curve, and I'm still working on it, but there are a few things I've figured out in the past year.

Don't revolve your writing style around a certain publisher. I'm not saying don't follow the rules. Every publisher has rules. Write what is in your heart, what you feel, and let your characters show you the way. If one publisher doesn't like, there are countless others who will. So, write your story first, and then find it a home. Not the other way around. You'll be much happier in the end.

However, with that being said, if you have your heart set on a certain publishing house, read their submission guidelines, familiarize yourself with what sales at this house, and know what they're looking for.

Imitation may be the sincerest form of flattery, but it's not going to get you anywhere. We all have our favorite authors in our favorite genres. There is a reason they're favorites. We love their stories, their characters, their ability to draw us into this world of fantasy and hold us until the very end. So, yes, read these authors, study the way they construct their stories, and aim to be great.

But with that, find your own voice and style. Readers will appreciate it and so will you when the day is done.

Read, read, read!

Ask yourself these basic questions when writing. Who, what, where, when, why, and how? Who is the character (and not just his/her name)? What are they doing? Why are they doing it? Where is this happening? When did this happen? How did they get to this point?

If you don't have an answer to any one of these questions--find one.

Write what you like. It's tempting to write what's "hot", but if you're not into it, that comes across in your writing. Be passionate about the story you tell, and readers will be as well.

Rayne: What do you have in store for the rest of the Gods of Chaos series? How far ahead have you plotted?

Gabrielle: I don’t really plot my series. I kind of just have a whiteboard full of ideas. Sheriff Luke Rivera is up next, however, and so far I have a tentative 18 books planned. I figure after the Gods of Chaos are finished wreaking havoc, they should get what’s coming to them. *wink*

Asher: Are you going to write any more Midnight Matings books?

Gabrielle: I just don’t know. I don’t have any ideas for a book in that series right now. Maybe down the road.

Lawton: So, you started the Howl at the Moon series, but I also hear that you’ve started a few others as well. Can you tell us a little bit about them?

Gabrielle: A little, I suppose. I’ve really learned not to talk too much about series until at least the first book has been released. However, I can tell you that I just submitted the first three books in the new Sexually Awkward series. Custom Toys Made to Order releases on March 10^th, with Atticus and Prince Salem Constantine up first.

I have also started a new series titled A Hero Within. It’s a really fun series with some ancient warriors who are sure to make you drool. And then there’s the Guide to the Apocalypse series. This one is different from anything I’ve ever written. It’s still paranormal and filled with lots of sexy supes, but the rules have changed. Both series are more side projects right now with no real timeline of when I'd like to have the first books finished.

Sly: What are some of the strangest questions you’ve ever been asked? How did you respond?

Gabrielle: I don’t know if there have ever been any strange questions. Maybe about how to get books onto a Kindle. I’m not really tech support. I have been asked some rather rude questions, though, but I always try to respond politely.

Sly: What kind of questions? And how do you wish you could respond?

Gabrielle: Hmm, there are three that come to mind.

Q: I didn’t like “x” book. Why did you write that?

A: I’m sorry that you didn’t enjoy the story, but that is simply the way it came to me.

How I’d really like to respond: I wrote that book just for you. I’m glad you enjoyed it.

Q: I can’t tell who the alpha in this relationship is. I hate that! Why did you write that?

A: Sometimes the characters are stronger than I originally imaged them. They take on a life of their own, and whether they are both alphas or both “betas” I just have to let them be who they are. I’m sorry you were unhappy with the book.

How I’d really like to respond: I apologize for inserting any kind of equality into the relationship between my characters. Because, you know, equality is bad.

Q: Why is one of your characters always more dominant? I hate that! Why did you write that? (you see the contradiction here, right?)

A: I have a lot of smaller, fragile characters chattering away inside my head. These guys need heroes and champions, someone to slay their dragons while at the same time, giving them room to grow. I’m sorry you didn’t like the story.

How I’d really like to respond: Apparently, I just enjoy pissing people off. It’s a gift. You’re welcome.

Raven: So, you believe manners are important? Can you give us some examples of bad manners? Things that have happened to you in the past year?

Gabrielle: You guys are really trying to get me into trouble, but sure. Let’s see…

Asking me if there will be more Midnight Matings books after going out of your way to inform me that you have never read a single one of my books is just in poor taste. I’m not a secretary.

Posting on my Facebook wall about how much you love another author’s work and wished I wrote more like them is rude.

Winning a book I’m giving away and then informing me that you want a different one because you don’t like that series is not cool. Why enter the contest if you didn’t want the book?

Just because you type a smiley face or "lol" after saying something particularly negative or hateful does not make it okay. Frankly, it just makes you look like an asshole.  J

Oscar: So, what are you working on now, Ms Evans?

Gabrielle: Your story, sweetie. Just the way you told me to write it.

Oscar: What if people don’t like the next Moonlight Breed?

Gabrielle: Well, then they don’t. We’ll dust ourselves off and move on.

Xander: Is there anything else you’d like to say before we announce the prize?

Gabrielle: I’d like to thank everyone for coming out to celebrate with me this month! It’s been crazy, but I hope everyone had fun!

Also, I'll be chatting at TwoLips Yahoo Group tonight (January 31st) with Jana Downs from 8:00-10:00 pm EST. I'm offering up some never before seen excerpts, and we're giving away even more prizes, including a chance to win another Kindle Fire, ebooks, and print books. So come hang out with us later!!

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/TalkingTwoLips/

And finally, the next character interview, hosted the by one and only, Braxton Carmichael, will be posted on February 11th for the With Love Blog Hop. :)

Kendall: I get to say the prize, right?

Gabrielle: Yes, sir. You certainly do.

Kendall: One lucky winner will receive a $50 gift card for BookStrand.

Like that, Ms Evans?

Gabrielle: Yes, Kendall. Just like that.

Comment below to win $50 in Strandbucks (and don’t forget your contact info!)

Contest ends February 2^nd at midnight EST.

***All comments posted today will count as 2 bonus entries into the drawing for the Kindle Fire.  Contest ends February 2nd at midnight EST and the winner will be announced the following morning.***

Why can't you write something like Twilight and other questions....

Please welcome aspiring author, TN Tarrant!

wyotnt3@gmail.com

           

            First of all, I want to thank Gabrielle for giving me the opportunity to confuse you all, hopefully enough to make you curious about my creations, the Rimalians, and for her contributions to my book addiction....It's a good thing I don't have to answer to anyone about the absurd amount of money I spend on books.

            I'm very new to the writing scene, and as of this writing, unpublished, but that's okay.  I'm meeting some wonderful and wonderfully odd people.  Since I'm very much one of the oddballs, I can't but think that's a good thing.  Most of those I've talked to have been encouraging, and supportive, including Gabrielle, which leads into the questions I've gotten in the year or so that I've actually been writing with intent, so to speak.

            I have always written, and even gotten some stuff published, in high school, but you don't get paid for the high school paper, and one thing has been consistant:  Don't quit your day job.  Writing's great, but it doesn't pay the rent.  Well, that's good advice, although it's not very encouraging, is it?  And that advice always seems to be followed, at least for me, with, "Why write anyway?  You're not likely to get published...."  Thank you very much, for assuming, without having read anything I've written, that I have no chance.  I'm well aware that it takes not just good stories, but good luck to get published, that doesn't mean I or anyone else shouldn't bother trying.  Besides, not to put too fine a point on it, but what else can we do with ourselves?  If your characters are like mine, they yammer, whisper, scream, talk over each other and otherwise set up such a ruckus you have to write them down just to shut them up-unless you write something that hurts them, then they get pissy with you for that,even though they insisted you write the bad happenings (picture aggravated expression here.)

            The other week I had a conversation with some of the women in my family, two aunts, a grandmother, and young cousin.  I was proudly telling them that I had just received my first rejection notice (from Silver Publishing:),) and this lead to several comments.  One, that the notice was just a form letter, (it wasn't, but it wasn't worth arguing about it) two, that I'll get a lot of them, (probably, but that's okay), and my favorite, why can't I write something like Twilight? 

            First, I'm not Stephanie Meyer.  I don't want to be.  She has made a great deal of money writing a very nice, fairly enjoyable piece of fluff.  I've read all four books, and eventually I'll see all five movies, and more power to her for having captured the perfect moment to be a success.  But I'm not trying to write for the teen market.  Maybe she wasn't either and that's just what happened when she sat down one day.  I'm writing for an adult market, and I seriously doubt that anything I write would translate well into a movie.  I'm not knocking fluff writing, because that's exactly what I'm writing, and indeed, most of us do.  I'm not writing the next world-changing book, I'm writing stories I hope will give somebody an escape from reality.  Just a break for an hour or two.  If you read something I wrote and you have a good cry, and a good laugh, and you don't feel it was time wasted, then I did exactly what I tried to-wrote something that others enjoyed.

            Then it was, "You know what sells in my consignment store?  Westerns.  Why don't you write those?  Those you could make money writing."

            Okay, let's pick that apart.  Westerns do sell.  A lot.  Having worked as a book manager in an entertainment store at one point, I know exactly how well they sell.   It's a comfortable little market, but still nothing on the romance genre.  Then there's the fact that I have absolutely no interest in Westerns.  I asked, "How can I write something I have absolutely no interest in?"  I was told, "Just train yourself to do so.  You can train yourself to write them."  "Not very well," I replied.  "Sure you could, if you just trained yourself to."    Well, that's kind of a compliment, isn't it?  Auntie has faith that I can learn to do well something I have no interest in doing at all.  And she does have a point, to a point.  We've all learned to do things we don't want to, and we can do them very well.  I hate janitorial work, yet I'm extremely good at it.  I hate math, but I can add, subtract, multiply and divide, all by hand if need be.  But there is a huge difference between doing something that is a necessary task, and doing something that requires inspiration.  I don't need inspiration to clean a toilet, but I do to write a story.  I'm not inspired to write about horse rustlers and saloon girls.  Hot guys driving each other 'round the bend, on the other hand, oh yeah, I can get behind that.  Throw in tangled cultural and familial issues, along with the occasional kitty cat that likes to go for walksies, and I'm your girl.

            Which brings us to how well can you write something you're not inspired to write.  How do you do that?  It's not a report that can be researched, after all.  How do you bring to life characters that you can't feel?  How can you lead a reader into laughing their hind ends off or crying their hearts out, if you aren't doing so when you write it?  I spend an embarrassing amount of time trying to act like I'm not crying when I'm writing, or trying to edit what I've written, if there are other people around.  People tend to be more accepting of the fact that you read something hilarious, than that you read something that made you cry.  The cultural impetus behind that is probably enough to fill a few sets of encyclopedia, so I'll leave that alone.  I can't imagine trying to write characters that I can't see and hear in my head, and I can't imagine that any other author could either.

            "Why write about gays?"  Okay, it wasn't put that politely, but still, that's how it should have been phrased.  Maybe the better question would be, "Why write about straights?"  What's the difference?  For me, it's as simple as that's what is flowing.  I have a M/F that may never be finished, I've only been stuck on it for eleven years, and it just doesn't talk to me.  Maybe I lost that window of opportunity when those characters would talk to me, because of other things going on.  Maybe I'll wake up out of a sound sleep tomorrow and finish the dang thing because they suddenly decided they want their story finished.  Or maybe they don't care because I know what happens in that story.  I know what happens to them, to the villain of the piece, the aftermath.  Maybe they don't care, because we know where the story goes.  Yet the first M/M/M story I wrote, was 104k in less than a week and a half(before you get too mad, I was unemployed at the time, so I had a LOT of time on my hands, lol,) and I was absolutely clueless as to who, what, where, when or how.  Maybe my imaginary friends are only interested if we're all clueless.  One character simply refused to take the blame for somethinng while admitting blame for something worse, forcing me to figure out who the other villain was.   

            Gay romance seems to flow pretty easily for me, to a point.  My characters argue and pout sometimes, and refuse sometimes to let me do nice things for them.  My favorite example of that is the pair that were supposed to meet at a Christmas wedding, and it be a nice, joyful, insta-happily ever after.  Noooo, they wanted instead to meet in ICU, after one of them was nearly killed by his wife.  Other times they do silly things, such as make very bad jokes(that's my fault after all, I don't know any good ones...)  They do truly stupid things, and they do truly wonderful things, because that's the way we all are in reality.  I've done some truly stupid things, and some truly wonderful things.  Isn't that true for all of us?

            Why can't you change ____ about this character?  Because then it's a different story, and that's not what's yammering in my head.  I have several manuscripts that may never see light of day (unless I self-publish them somehow), simply because certain aspects of the story are taboo.  Can I change those aspects?  Sure, when I want to destroy a perfectly good story.  Might as well say, "Excuse me, would you mind cutting off a couple of fingers please?  I'm not comfortable with how they fit you."  Don't get me wrong, I understand the problems involved, yet the fact remains, to change the story to fix those problems, would destroy a good story, and give a lesser one in it's place, I refuse to do that.  So you may never meet some of my characters, except in passing, in other peoples stories.  That's sad, but those characters remain whole, instead of maimed.  I'd rather they collect dust than get maimed.  Why should our muses inspire us if we're just going to maim the gifts they give us, hmm?

            Which, of course, leads to: What inspires you?  No clue.  I've written three shorts directly because of open submission calls from Silver, and two of those were related to two manuscripts that may end up collecting dust, so they will collect dust too, yet I wrote them anyway.  Talking to another author led to inspiration for a character, yet the character is nothing like the person who inspired him.  Some that are only supposed to be background...coloring... turn into main characters themselves, such as a certain cat named Empress.  Many of my characters have traits that I see in the people around me, from sweetness and innocence, to judgemental ignorance, and everything in between.  Pride, fear, loneliness, hope, stubborness, tenacity, pettiness.  All the good, the bad, the pretty and the ugly, it's part of all of us.  I try not to make my characters too perfect,  but on the other hand, isn't a Happily Ever After story supposed to be perfect?  I've merrily been typing away on one story when suddenly another set of characters start talking over the ones I was working with, until I set aside the first and start writing them, instead.  What else can I do?  If I ignore them, I may lose a wonderful story, and the others aren't going anywhere, and sometimes it's better for the break.  Sometimes going off to do something else lets me see a problem with the first WIP, and even give me another direction to take it, so it works better.  I've created a wonderful culture, the Rimalians, with a long history, and lots of background to create stories with.

            What if you never get published?  Then I'll keep doing what I'm doing now.  I'll go to work at my Every Day Job, so I can pay the rent, because unless you're lucky enough to be fairly well established and published with enough of a following to make enough to pay the bills, writing isn't going to pay the rent.  Do I want to get there?  Oh yeah.  I'd love to be able to just write for a living.  But unless and until then, writing isn't paying the rent, so I'd better keep going to the EDJ.  I'll just keep writing what my imaginary friends want, to whatever noise they want, whether it's cartoons, music, or marathon repeats of T.V. shows.  There's no rhyme or reason to that either, the weepiest story I've written so far insisted on being written to Looney Tunes in the DVD player.  Another insisted on Monty Python episodes, and another wanted shake the walls thumping rock music.  One of my current WIPs insists on on repeats of MASH, and weepy music and it's one of the funniest I've written.  I don't argue about it, I just drive everybody else crazy.  I don't want to lose a fight with an imaginary person after all.  That's just embarrassing.              

Comment below for a chance to win $10 in Strandbucks!

Contest ends February 1st at midnight EST 

Week 4 Winners and Bonus Giveaway

Going to keep it simple this weeks. First, congratulations to last week's winners!

January 20th -- Keeton Taylor -- Chris

January 21st -- Stacey Espino -- Teena

January 22nd -- Stormy Glenn -- Briannah

January 23rd -- Embry Carlysle -- Jewel

January 24th -- Julie Lynn Hayes -- Susie

January 25th -- Michael Mandrake -- Jim

January 26th -- Devon Rhodes -- Connie

This week's assignment -- recommend a book. That's it. Just comment below and recommend a book that you've read recently that rocked your socks off. Any genre, any pairing, anything that made you say "WOW!"

Three commenters will win their choice of any two (2) ebooks from my backlist. Please remember your contact info.

Contest ends January 31st at midnight EST.  

Dreamscape

Dreamscape by Rose Anderson

Dreamscape is much more than a ghost story. This unlikely love story spans two eras and is also a murder mystery to solve. Peppered throughout are clues that take the reader on an Easter egg hunt for the truth. I hope you enjoy the following teaser.

Unable to deny his own translucence, Dr. Jason Bowen determines his lack of physical substance could only mean one thing—he’s a ghost. Murdered more than a century before, Jason haunts his house and ponders the treachery that took his life.

When Lanie O’Keefe arrives with plans to renovate her newly purchased Victorian mansion, Jason discovers, ghost or not, he’s still very much a man. Despite its derelict condition and haunted reputation, Lanie couldn’t be happier with her new home, but then she has no idea a spirit follows her every move throughout the day and shares her captivating warmth at night. Jason soon discovers he can travel through Lanie’s dreams and finds himself reliving the days before his murder with Lanie by his side.

It took one hundred and twenty years for love to find them, but there’s that insurmountable little matter of Jason being dead.

Excerpt:

He'd watched the pair as they walked around the grounds with pens and paper in hand presumably making notes for repairs. While assessing the pavers that lined his walkway, she looked up at his window curiously as if seeking something. Jason frowned. Did she see him standing there? How odd. He could only be seen when he wanted to. And he did not yet wish to be seen.

After the man had driven away in his automobile, the woman retrieved her bags from another smaller vehicle. He watched her coming up the walkway only to take another glance his way. She was smiling.

Hmm.

Below, the front door opened and closed, so he headed there, curious about the woman who at this very moment was moving into his house. He was grateful for two things, the first being he'd no longer be alone with only an occasional mouse for company. The second, this young woman bore no resemblance to his beautiful, black-hearted wife.

He thought about her from time to time, his duplicitous wife Cathy, her lover Richard Mason, and his sister Bertha, his murderers. He spent many a night listening to their congratulatory recounting of how they'd set him up, duping him into marrying a woman who from the onset had a lover in the wings. Like the Masons, Cathy too was born and raised in the south at the time of reconstruction and was reared on tales of the glory days. Their sole purpose from the onset in taking his life was so she would inherit all.

When they met she had been such a sweet and shy little beauty, the shyness he later learned to be false. When she comforted him over the untimely death of his father, he'd been surprised by how quickly he fell head over heels for her. Though she'd never voiced it while he was alive, he was well aware of her desire to live in the affluent manner in which her parents and grandparents had lived before the war took it all away. To that end, seeking to win her timid heart and encourage the comfort that would eventually lead his wife into his bed, he gave into Cathy's every whim. No more than two months had passed before he was compelled to offer her marriage. No more than four before he found himself dead with his spirit walking the halls.

He played the details of their courtship over and over in his mind, for what else did he have to occupy his thoughts? Cathy Ames had accepted his proposal eagerly, despite her less-than-enthusiastic response to his advances. These always met with a cool reserve he erroneously mistook for maidenly shyness. But Cathy didn't possess a shy bone in her body. No, far from it. He'd seen them together in bed, his wife and his murderer. Seen for himself the eager way she spread her legs, the way she clutched his body to hers and treated him to a carnal knowledge that obviously developed from years of knowing. Not only did it shock his senses to see his shy wife play whore and play it well, it sickened him. What a fool he'd been. Because of that he kept to the only room they never visited -- the cupola at the top of the house -- and decades passed there with little concern, because time ceased to have meaning for the dead. Yes, they continued on with their merry lives, raised their foul brood, and got away with murder.

But all that changed with the last of them. Margaret, the great-granddaughter of his wife, and her accomplice had never married, and like the living, aged over time. He never minded Margaret Mason. How could he when she was as lonely as he? He appeared to her from time to time when the loneliness got the best of both of them. When she grew old, and became the last of Richard Mason's miserable line, he eventually told her the truth of her great-grandparents' treachery. The night she died in her sleep she called him to her side and told him she arranged her estate to his benefit as best she could. It was the least she could do after the wrong her family had done him.

Standing invisible on the stairway, he looked over his new house guest. What a pretty creature with her tight curves, porcelain skin, and lustrous raven hair. More than one hundred years had passed since a beautiful woman walked these halls, for Richard Mason sired unfortunate-looking souls who passed on their regrettable looks to each generation, including poor Margaret. Blood will out. Evil definitely had a way of marking the man's legacy as surely as Cane himself had been marked.

Following her into the kitchen, he watched her rummage for pots. She filled them at the tap then heated the water on the stove. He leaned against the wall appraising her. In all the years of his life, and certainly all the years after, this had to be the most beautiful woman he'd laid eyes on. She wore tight clothing, far tighter than he recalled women's clothing to be when he saw them on Margaret's television device. In fact her blue trousers fit her like a glove. These declared her legs to be slender and shapely and her bottom delectably rounded. Her breasts sat high and firm, and he found himself imagining what she looked like unclothed. The thought surprised him. He certainly harbored no such notion when the Mason horde lived here.

Hmm. In this fair company, he found himself still very much a man, despite being a dead one.

What a comely thing. With her long dark lashes framing eyes the shade of blue that fell somewhere between cornflower petals and a robin's egg. Lightly arched brows, an adorable nose, and full lips a lovely shade of rose pink. When she opened a paper sack to retrieve a sandwich and apple, the sight made him hungry. No, not hungry exactly. Rather wistful. Food was such an enjoyable thing and one he sorely missed. Occasionally, in the process of eating, she licked her lips, and that simple act made his body stir. Hmm, he mused, how about that?

Dreamscape and other books by Rose Anderson can be found at Barnes&Noble, Amazon.com, and many online bookstores around the web, or directly from Rose’s publisher here: http://www.bookstrand.com/rose-anderson

Comment below to win a Love Waits in Unexpected Places t-shirt, 100% cotton. (Winner to specify L or XL.)

Contest ends January 30th at midnight EST.

It’s NOT Writer’s Block!

First I’d like to thank Gabrielle Evans for having me as her guest today. I appreciate the opportunity to share with her blog followers.

Yesterday something happened to me that hadn’t happened in months. I was putting my groceries in the car and I was tackled by an idea for a manuscript. I tossed the bags in the car—careful not to crush the eggs—and ran to the driver’s side, fishing my notepad from my purse. Furiously, I scribbled down the opening paragraph to the book and outlined some key ideas for the characters and plot. Once I’d finished recording these ideas, I burst into tears, but not for the same reason I’d burst into tears on man an occasion over the past two months. These were tears of joy. I was writing. More to the point, I was excited about writing again.

Since November I’ve been having the same debate with my family and friends. See, I usually write every day. Most days I couldn’t be pried from my computer by anything short of a medical emergency or strawberry cheesecake. “You’re just blocked,” everyone told me more times than I care to count. “I’m NOT!” I’d insist.

First of all, I don’t believe in writer’s block. Yes, there are times that I get stuck on a plot point or times that I’d rather best Super Mario Galaxy 2 than focus on the story I’m writing. And yes, there are days that writing feels like work. But as a professional writer, I have a whole bag of tricks to coax my muse back to the task of hand. This time, however, the problem wasn’t with inspiration or finding the words—it was something far more distressing. I totally lacked the energy to do anything about the ideas that popped into my head every day. Quite simply—I was depressed. It was all I could do to manage my daily duties at home and to my family. As far as world building and characterization—no freaking way could I muster the strength to tackle those tasks.

Depression in creative people seems to be a common ailment. Unlike Van Gogh or Sylvia Plath I live in a time when there are chemical, herbal and therapeutic options to manage these debilitating symptoms, but I felt it was a sign of weakness to have to rely on these kinds of options. But no matter how I tried to muscle through the sadness and fatigue, I couldn’t get over it.

Finally I went to the doctor who confirmed something I already knew—I suffer from low serotonin levels. No surprise. Most of my mom’s side of the family does. So I’ve taken steps to treat this condition and voila! The creative energy is back. I can’t express my relief.

I’ll admit I was embarrassed to admit to my family and friends much less my doctor that once in a while I had a hard time coping with day-to-day activities. Usually during these bouts of depression, writing would get me through. This time even that couldn’t help. Now, I can’t believe it took me so long to take that leap. And then I thought, I should share this little ordeal with everyone because I’m sure I’m not the only person for whom it took the loss of a cherished ability to deal with something I’ve struggled with for years. Depression is nothing to be ashamed of and often it’s not something that can be managed without outside help. Reach out. Trust me you’ll be glad you did.

Have you had a similar experience and want to share? Let us know how you keep the future looking bright :)

Cheers!

Cindy Jacks

http://cindyjacks.com/

Phantom Touch

Buy Link: http://www.jasminejade.com/m-683-cindy-jacks.aspx

Erika leads a quiet life—at least in the real world. But her alter-ego, Little Lottie, is a singer at a local club and engages in a wild online romance. For months she’s been communicating with a mysterious man, known only to her as the Phantom.

Her lover contacts her via texts, emails and instant messages. When he offers to fulfill her desires in real life, she can’t refuse. The only condition to meeting for their sizzling assignations—he wears a mask to hide his true identity. Despite his reluctance to reveal himself to Erika, he tears down her inhibitions and unleashes her suppressed passions, taking possession of her body and soul.

Erika may have finally found the one man who can sate her every longing…if only he would show her the man behind the mask.

Comment (and please remember contact info) for a chance to win an ebook copy of Phantom Touch!

Contest ends January 29th at midnight EST.

Opening Lines

Put your hands together for the lovely Ms Devon Rhodes!!

Thanks, Gabrielle, for having me on today! I can’t wait to give away a book and share a naughty excerpt (complete with man in…and partially out of…uniform). But first I wanted to take a look at opening lines…the pick-up line between an author and their reader. What can I say that will make you want to hop into bed with…my book? J

What Do You Say With the First Line of Your Book?

I did a great meme last year that really made me think about my writing. The gist of it was to list the first lines of your books and draw some conclusions.

I think most writers really try to draw the reader in with the first line, and in my case, many times the first line has come to me and I then go write a story around it. :) With most of mine, I seem to try to give you a sense of the character right off the bat and what they're doing/feeling. Here they are (in a couple instances I added the second line if the first was a thought or dialogue that didn't let you know who the speaker was):

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There must be an easier way. Valerian grimaced as he retracted his fangs, sealed the punctures with a flick of his tongue, and let his inebriated, middle-aged snack slide down the wall to rest in a heap at his feet. ~A Pint Light

“What?” Luke shouted incredulously, grabbing Mario by the upper arms with no little force. ~Rough Riders

“This is going to be so cool!” Cameron exclaimed, his jaw slack with shock, eyes sparkling with surprise and growing excitement as he regarded his best friend’s smug face. ~A Detour Home

“This one really has nice kerb appeal. Beautiful landscaping, and it looks like the owner really enjoys gardening. Let’s see here.” The garish, loud real estate agent consulted the sheet on her clipboard as she minced her way up the front walkway. ~Through The Red Door

“Ohhh.” Tori couldn’t stifle a moan as the almost-pain of exerting muscles that seldom got use kicked in. ~Sex On Summer Sabbatical

A cool waft of air on her shower-warm skin was the only warning Erica received before large hands cupped her bare shoulders. ~Falling For the Other Brother

Loving the crisp, autumn smell of a distant leaf pile burning, Vance inhaled deeply, relishing the cool air carrying the scents of fall. ~Pride and Joey

Rhea leaned her forehead against the inner hatch door after she secured it against the coming MetaWave storm. ~Wet Your Whistle

God, I hate Muzak. Maggie switched her cell phone to the other ear and pushed her fingers through her dark, irritatingly frizzed-out hair, automatically loosening yet another snag. ~Winter's Thaw

GEOFFREY Radcliffe stared intently into the mirror, grimacing at the reflection, then wincing as the grimace accentuated his laugh lines. ~Silver and Gold

"I don’t know how you talked me into this,” Rory grumbled as Benny made wide, innocent eyes at him from the passenger’s seat of the SUV. ~One Wild Wish

“I threw up.” The quavering voice brought Corbin jackknifing up out of a sound sleep, struggling to get his bearings. ~Making His List

JASON surfaced from sleep gradually as usual, barely slitting his eyes open to ascertain that it was still just after dawn in the lengthening days of spring. ~Neighbors By Day, Naughty By Night

IT was after midnight, and Chaz Warren groaned with frustration as he removed his hand from his cock and gave up his fruitless quest for orgasm… yet again. ~Remarkable Restraint

Jim stopped short at the threshold of his boss’s office, his heart seizing with dread at the sight before him. ~The Swap

“Heads up, it’s a bunt! He’s putting it down!” Teri screamed, cupping her hands around her mouth. ~Spring Training

This is probably the worst idea I've ever had.

"You know, I think this is the worst idea you've ever had." ~Stranger In Black



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So what do you think? I see a trend. I've heard you aren't supposed to open with monologue/dialogue, but I tend to do that, right? I think it gives a sense of immediacy and is intended to pull the reader in right away.

Here are some I’ve written since then:

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The view beyond the window, beyond the spindled railing around the wraparound porch, was right off a Currier and Ives print. ~Let It Snow

IT WAS the fourth day of having his bandmate, Rory, as his pretend “boyfriend,” and Benny had to admit it was going better than he’d hoped. ~One More Wish

Cary felt a trickle of sweat rolling down the centre of his back as he and his uniformed classmates baked on the unseasonably warm day. ~A Ring and A Promise

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Though I’m not sure it’s from the meme, I can see a bit of a change in style. Do you guys agree?

Any thoughts on what sort of start you prefer or what might put you off from the get-go? Authors out there, I'd love to see some of yours as well if you care to share!

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Speaking of sharing…I’d love to share a copy of my latest release with someone here! The His Hero Anthology released last week and contains my story, A Ring and A Promise. Here is the blurb and a NSFW excerpt:

A Ring and A Promise

Careers in military service are never easy on relationships—even less so when both lovers are in different branches…and both are men.

Naval Academy graduation now under their belts, Cary Barrientos knows the reality of the upcoming separation from his roommate of the past four years. Owen is more to him than just his best friend—he is the one person Cary can see spending his life with.

Owen Marsh knew that when he became Cary’s lover, the day would come when he would have to walk away. Now that day has come, and he’s having a hard time convincing himself that it’s just sex between them. Even with DADT repealed, there is no way a Marine and a Navy flier can be together. He’s just being realistic not expecting more.

When Cary switches their Academy rings, hoping Owen won’t notice, he makes a vow—he will do whatever he has to do, including believing enough for the both of them, to make their unlikely relationship stand the test of time. But when his Marine is called up for duty overseas, can a piece of jewellery and a promise be enough to get them through?

Adult Excerpt:

He slid his hands along the sleeves of Cary’s uniform jacket down to his the cuffs then grasped his hands while he continued the heartfelt kiss. God, he loved the way Cary looked in his dress uniform. He wore it well, as though he’d been born to wear it. It was bordering on a fetish for him, and had made it damned uncomfortable this past week when they’d worn their dress uniforms for so many Commissioning Week occasions. But right now their privacy was guaranteed, and Owen wanted to indulge in a bit of fun while Cary was still so sexily attired.

It was too bad that Cary was without his hat. They’d both had fun adhering to tradition before the ceremony and had tucked an envelope with some money and a letter of advice inside both of their caps for some lucky kid to claim. Maybe they’d hear from them someday.

Cary gave him an enquiring look before tossing the bag to the ground in the direction of the dresser. When he turned back, he grinned and lowered his gaze to the front of Owen’s khakis. Cary pursed his lips briefly before giving his lower lip a quick swipe of his tongue.

Hat or not, Cary was absolutely the sexiest man he’d ever seen.

Maybe he’d fuck Cary with his new officer’s cap on someday.

Groaning, both at the mental image and the sure knowledge that that day would be far in the future—if at all—he took Cary by the biceps and firmly placed him against the wall with one last hard kiss, then knelt before him.

“Owen…”

“Mmm…” He slid the belt latch and undid the buckle, pulling the end out of the clasp. Then he unhooked and unzipped the fly. He bracketed Cary’s hips with his hands and glanced up. Cary’s blue eyes were wide and a bit wild. Holding his gaze, Owen leant forward and mouthed his hard cock, faithfully outlined by the white cotton. Cary’s lids slid closed and Owen took that as the invitation it was.

Without lowering the trousers past Cary’s hips, he pulled the tighty whities down just enough to expose Cary’s erection. After a moment’s thought, he did a bit of manoeuvring and was able to lift Cary’s balls up over the wide elastic band before letting it gently retract against his skin once again.
He stood and backed far enough away to get a good look. From the waist up, his lover was still attired according to regulation—minus the cap. Pretty much regulation, anyway, considering he was wearing his now-defunct midshipman’s uniform instead of one for the officer he now was. Still…he was all nicely turned out on the top half.

But below the belt…

Owen caught his breath at the vision of decadence that was his handiwork. Cary’s hard and reddened cock and his balls sac were protruding lewdly from above his underwear. With his pants still mostly on, still wearing his polished white shoes, he looked debauched, as though he’d been caught unawares hard at work and enticed into forbidden play.

He met Cary’s eyes once more and could see the effort it was taking Cary to hold himself there, exposed to view without the reassurance of touch. Owen suddenly had no wont to prolong the foreplay any longer.

He hit his knees then took Cary’s cock deep.

A strangled cry was his reward, enticing him to use his tongue to wet the hard length then slide down. He repeated the action, gliding with firm pressure downwards and adding suction on the way back up to the head, gradually taking Cary most of the way down to the base.

With Cary’s balls hiked up as they were, Owen could feel the hot skin of his lover’s sac on his bottom lip at the furthest point. On the next pass downwards, he opened his mouth a bit and was able to stroke his tongue across the taut skin, feeling the closest orb shift with the pressure.

“Ah! Oh fuck, Owen.”

Tasting a bit of saltiness on the way up, Owen grinned around his mouthful and looked up from under his lashes. Cary was behaving himself and letting Owen take the lead. Time for a change of scenery, though. He pulled off with a smack of his lips.

“Please tell me you brought supplies.”

“In our kits,” Cary panted.

Owen rose to his feet and pulled Cary in for a slow, involved kiss that sent an emotional wave of warmth through him. In the room they shared at the Academy, Owen rarely felt comfortable enough to take his time with simple affectionate caresses. Mostly, their physical contact had been hurried and silent, the sole purpose being coming to completion without being caught.

“Why don’t you grab the stuff and get out of that uniform?” He gave in to impulse and cupped Cary’s cheek, pulling him back in for another kiss as Cary began to move away to follow his suggestion. He didn’t want to be apart from him for a moment…

The realisation hit him like a ton of bricks, and he abruptly dropped his hand and span around to hide what had to be a shell-shocked expression. Maybe it was the emotional culmination of their schooling at the ceremony today. Maybe it was the knowledge that their separation was looming. But when he looked at Cary, when he touched him, he was finding it hard—no, impossible—to keep from turning what should be companionable sex into lovemaking.

Love…?

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The His Hero antho is now available at Total-E-Bound! Six stories about men on men in uniform...military, fire fighters, police and paramedics... Go HERE for more excerpts and information.

And I’d love to give away a copy to one commenter! So let me know your thoughts on my one-liners or just say hi, and Gabrielle will enter you to win His Hero. J

Thanks for stopping by! You can find me at:

My Website: http://www.devonrhodes.com/
My Blog: http://devonrhodes.blogspot.com/
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/devon.rhodes
Twitter: http://twitter.com/devonrhodes

Comment below (and please remember your contact info) to win an ebook copy of the His Hero Anthology!

Contest ends January 28th at midnight EST.

Have You Ever Had a Crush?

Please welcome Ms Julie Lynn Hayes!!

Good morning Gabrielle, nice to see you again! Thanks for inviting me to visit on your blog.

I’d like to start by asking a question of everyone, food for thought.

Have you ever had a crush on someone?

Of course you have, everyone has, at one time or another. Maybe lots of crushes. They’re fun, exciting. Make our hearts race and our blood sing. They make us come alive and keep us young!

It usually starts in grade school. You see a cute boy or girl and zing! An arrow straight to the heart. Suddenly he’s all  you can think about, his image fills your mind even when he’s not around. Even if you don’t know his name. Or, if you do, and you’ve never spoken to him because you’re invisible to him. None of that matters. What matters is that he’s the object of your crush, and that makes him the most important guy in the world. The guy of your dreams.

Do you tell anyone? Sometimes yes, sometimes no. You certainly don’t tell the boy in question, but your best friend? Of course! That’s something you share (unless it’s her boyfriend or brother, that’s another matter entirely). Something you bond over, giggle over, plot, moon, and dream over.  Because she probably has one too, so it becomes shared fodder for girl talk.

You plan romantic dates with Mr. Secret Love, and dream of being married, even before you  know what being married is all about. And you know he’ll be the best husband in the world and love you more than anyone has ever been loved before. Visions of a cute little house with a picket fence, or your own personal version thereof, fill your dreams. And you doodle his name all over your notebooks, preceded by Mrs.

Crushes can also be painful, especially if pulled into the light of day by cold-hearted peers. Sometimes it’s a friend who means well but has a big mouth. Or a sibling who’s read your diary and knows all—and tells it. Or the boyfriend/girlfriend of the object of your fantasies, who objects to your worship of someone they consider theirs. Or it can be by the crush himself, who laughs at the idea of even being with you. Yes, crushes can be painful.

When I was in seventh grade, I crushed on my science teacher, and fantasized about him 24/7. I dreamed about marrying him, and I even told people that the huge ring I wore was an engagement ring I’d gotten from him, caught up in my own fantasy. Needless to say, that didn’t happen. In fact, as I later learned long after I’d grown up and moved on, the object of my crush was and is gay. Figures, right?

So, what sort of crush is safe to have? One that won’t get you beat down by everyone around you?

Movie and book crushes, of course, pop to mind. I’ve crushed on so many actors it isn’t funny. Usually a lot older than me, at least while I was growing up. When I was twelve, it was Burt Lancaster. And Barnabas Collins, from Dark Shadows. James Mason. Richard Burton.  Count Dracula. But then I discovered a different kind of crushing, one which isn’t often admitted to.

Have you ever crushed on someone from history? An actual personage, someone who’s now left the stage for the next life, someone whom you fantasize about what it would have been like to love?

Oh yes, been there, done that.

I think I didn’t even realize my early crushes for what they were, men like Henry VIII and Napoleon Bonaparte. I just knew I couldn’t get enough of them, in fact or fiction. It wasn’t until I had an erotic dream about Napoleon that I realized it was something more than simple admiration.

Now I’ll freely admit that I have a huge crush on Cardinal Richelieu, so it’s not unexpected that I’d incorporate him into my writing somehow, which I’ve done with Captivations. Captivations is set in New Orleans, and it concerns two brothers who own a night club by that name. But these aren’t ordinary brothers—they’re vampires, one time protégées of Cardinal Richelieu. Now it’s the present day, and when Jillian Nichols arrives, sent by the Church to be their new daykeeper, all Hell breaks loose. This is a WIP, which began as a monthly series at a publisher who went under, so now I’m finishing it on my own and hope to release it this year.

The acorn doesn’t fall from the tree, as I discovered when I learned that my twenty-one year old daughter had  (or maybe still has)a crush on Benjamin Franklin. I shouldn’t have been surprised—her taste in men has generally run to guys that are too old for me!

A historical crush is safe because there are no jealous boyfriends or girlfriends around to get in the way, although I would advise withholding the information from siblings and most peers, for good measure, at least until you’re an adult. I love history as well, so imagining myself going back in time, to meet and talk with my historical crush—well, that’s a fantasy worthy of a novel.

On February 2^nd, Secret Blessings: Forbidden Two releases from Romance First Publishing. The year is 2056, twenty years after the Armageddon everyone had expected. The world has changed. The United States is now the Alliance of States, having taken control of Canada. And the church is more closely entwined with the government. Jerico James is young, handsome, rich and spoiled, but he’s gone too far and gotten in trouble with the law one time too many. Rather than being put into prison, though, he’s being sent to Sanctum, one of the government help centers whose business is to get the people of the A of S back on their feet. Sanctum is run by Father Sergio de Basco, who knows a lot of influential people When he picks up Jerico to bring him to Sanctum, Jerico falls into instant lust. Will he succeed in bedding the  handsome priest? And will he further succeed in evading incarceration at Sanctum?

Thanks for having me here, Gabrielle, it’s been great!

My Links:

My blog:  http://julielynnhayes.blogspot.com

My facebook: http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=527332074

My Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3442231.Julie_Lynn_Hayes

My Publishers:

Romance First Publishing: http://romancefirst publishing.blogspot.com/

Silver Publishing: http://silverpublishing.info/index/typefilter/book_authors/book_authors_id/88

Dreamspinner Press: http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/index.php?cPath=55_222

Forbidden II: Secret Blessings

Buy: http://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-forbiddensecretblessings-673770-143.html

Jerico hadn’t expected his jailer to be someone as dark and sexy as Sergio, it’s just a shame he’s a priest. Will that put a damper on his desire to seduce the handsome man, maybe find a little fun in Sanctum? Perhaps before they arrive? Things happen on the road all the time, after all, delays occur. Maybe Sanctum won’t be as bad as he’d thought, not with the handsome priest to play with?

Maybe his coming to Sanctum will turn out to be something of a secret blessing in disguise? Assuming he ever arrives there.

Excerpt

“Do I get to know your name or do I just whistle for you when I want you?”Jerico smirked, his eyes running cheekily up and down the well-formed body of the other man. Normally, he wasn’t quite so blatant about making his interest in another male known, but there was just something about this good-looking man that was making him throw the rules of subtlety out the window. Not that he was inclined to follow anyone else’s rules, preferring to live by his own. Which was also why he was in the position that he now found himself in.

If Jerico thought he would rattle the newcomer’s cage with his blithe come-on, he was quickly disappointed, for the other man showed no response, either of disapproval or anticipation. In fact, Jerico thought he seemed amused, not quite the reaction he was going for.

“You can call me Sergio. Except on Sundays, of course. This yours?” Without waiting for an answer, he hefted one of Jerico’s suitcases, motioning for him to take the other, then turned and walked away.

Jerico stood there for a moment, gaping after him. And admiring the magnificent view encased in the cheap trousers. Man, this guy had an ass to die for. He would surely love to make a meal out of that. Even clothed, it was an awesome sight. What must it look like without such a hindrance? When he realized that he wasn’t being waited for, he grabbed the luggage and hurried after Sergio, catching up to him just as he reached the bus station exit.

“What do I call you on Sundays?” Jerico asked, intrigued in spite of himself.

Sergio turned and gave Jerico the full benefit of his beautiful smile. “Father Sergio.”

A lesser man would have been dismayed at the knowledge that this gorgeous man was a priest, as well as his jailer. A double taboo by anyone’s reckoning. But Jerico James was not any man. And he considered Sergio’s priesthood to be a challenge, rather than a problem. He wondered just how seriously the priest took his vows. Not of celibacy, of course, those were long since abandoned. The other ones. The ones that said thou shalt not commit sodomy. The vows with which the church had burdened their prelates, citing homosexuality as counterproductive and sinful.

Among Jerico and his circle of intimates these same vows were referred to as thou shalt not suck cock banns—a deliberate reference to the antiquated marriage announcements—and they paid homage to them every time they blew a priest in the sanctity of his church. It had become a badge of honor to bring a prelate to his knees for the glory of their cause.

Jerico followed Sergio from the building.  A battered white cargo van sat waiting for them at the curb. Emblazoned upon its side was the simple notation Sanctum in a modest dark blue script. Sergio pulled a key from his pants pocket and pressed a button, pulled the side door open and set the suitcase inside, motioning to Jerico to do the same. He went to close the door, but it hung up on the track, refusing to close.

“Here, let me help.” Before Sergio could respond, Jerico had stepped into the breach. He reached for the door handle, laying his hand atop the priest’s. He leaned in to use his own strength to jar the recalcitrant door into obedience. The two men were of similar height. Jerico found himself standing close enough to Sergio to be able to inhale him.  Whatever scent he was wearing, Jerico found it alluring, and his proximity to the handsome man was manifesting itself in his burgeoning erection.

Comment below for a chance to win an ebook copy of Sanctum: Forbidden 1 AND Secret Blessings: Forbidden 2! Please remember your contact info!

Contest ends January 26th at midnight EST.