Samhain Publishing

Those proverbial April showers are right around the corner, although in my neck of the woods (northeastern U.S.), the flowers they usually bring have popped out of the ground a couple months early, thanks to an awfully mild winter. Still, as I sit here writing this blog post, the clouds are gathering outside, and rain is predicted for the next few days.

But though we sometimes moan and groan about gray skies and gloomy days, I think there’s something kind of magical about rain. A light spring mist can refresh us. A warm summer downpour can be terribly romantic, if you’re caught in it with the right person. And even the frightening booms of a midnight thunderstorm can make you pull your honey closer under the covers.

Actually, when I think about it, I guess that’s why I have some kind of rain scene in almost every one of my books. Sometimes it’s the perfect setting for that first kiss between hero and heroine. Sometimes it’s a sobering reminder that Mother Nature takes no prisoners, and rain can threaten my characters’ lives. Whatever the case, I’ve found that the rain can change a storyline, a character, or both with just a few strokes of the keyboard.

What do you think? Do you love the rain? Hate it? Find yourself captivated by the way it can ratchet up the heat of an outdoor kiss? Next month I’ll be holding a contest in honor of those April showers….visit my blog or my Facebook Page to find out more!

“Don’t quit your day job.”

It’s a familiar mantra, one that’s delivered with a wry grin or a touch of snark, or maybe just good nature, depending on who’s saying it. Of course, for many who dream, quitting their day job to pursue a true love (say, you know, writing full-time comfortably and without worry thanks to multiple 6-figure advances and regular appearances on the New York Times best-seller list) would be the ultimate achievement.

But I don’t think I would quit my day job, even if that miracle were to occur. You see, I teach high school English. I know, I know – the reaction I often get is a cross between You must be insane and How on earth do you deal with teenagers every day? Well, like any job it has its ups and downs. But all in all, I love my kids. And this year I have great reason to: I have more than ever before who love to read!

Yes, that’s right: they enjoy reading – as long as they get to choose the books they’re curling up with (and interestingly enough, more and more of them have ebook readers. For their summer reading assignment, more than half of them downloaded the books rather than took them out of their local library or went to a bookstore to purchase them). One of my assignments throughout the year is for students to read a book of their choice each month. Then we have a “book club” sort of discussion at the end of the month, complete with refreshments and strong opinions. They talk about what they liked (and didn’t like) about each of their books, and inevitably they develop class favorites that are passed around each month.

This year, for the first time ever, I had a student read one of my books, Summer’s Song. I usually tell my students I’m an author, though they don’t always investigate my pen name or read my books. Some do, some don’t. That’s fine. But I’ve never had a student review one of my books during our monthly discussion – and I’ll tell you, I think it was more nerve-wracking than any review I’ve gotten from another source!

I’m sure you guessed that I wouldn’t be writing about the experience if the student hadn’t enjoyed it. She did – she liked the characters, the plot, the different points of view, and especially the hero (“It gave me hope that there are men as wonderful as Damian Knight out there in the real world”). But the comment that gave me the most pause was when she said, “And you know, it was really inspirational.”

Inspirational? I mean, I know romances have happy endings, and that’s why so many of us love them, but I’ll admit I don’t focus on inspiration as one of the foremost qualities in my books. So I asked her what she meant, and she said, “I loved the message that it’s important not to live in the past, that you have to keep looking to the future. I think everyone can benefit from an inspirational thought like that.”

And when I think about it, it’s true. That is what Summer and Damian ultimately come to realize, because the demons in their pasts are so strong that only by dealing with them, and then turning their backs on them, can they enjoy the life that’s waiting for them – together. Thanks to my student, I’m reminded that when we read, we can make wonderful discoveries for ourselves about the characters and the storyline whether or not the author intended us to. I love that we can bring to a book our own preconceptions and experiences, so that even if we all read the same story, we can come away with different messages.

And yes, that’s why I wouldn’t quit my day job. I love teaching my students – I love writing “inspirational” stories – and I get to do both every day. How lucky am I?!

“Race you to the water!” Rachael shouted and pulled off her bikini top.

“Oh, God.” Summer watched Rachael dart away and buried her face in her hands. Eight, eighteen, or twenty-eight, her best friend didn’t seem to have a problem taking off her clothes. Maybe that came from growing up on the water.

Dinner was over. Beer bottles lay scattered around the lawn. They’d barbequed over the open fire and toasted marshmallows as the sun and moon traded places in the sky…

So begins one of my favorite scenes in my latest contemporary romance, Summer’s Song, and it’s based on one of my favorite summer memories from young adulthood. Every summer during our college years, a group of close friends would get together at my best friend’s lake house and spend a day swimming, sunbathing, water skiing, and yes, sometimes skinny dipping. The day would turn into night, with grilled food and frothy drinks, music blaring from the stereo, and a bonfire that stayed lit until the sun came up.

There is something so luscious about the long, lovely days of summer, right? Now that they’re almost ahead of us, after a long winter I crave them more than ever. I haven’t been back to my friend’s lake house in a while, after we all married and had kids and moved away to follow careers or spouses around the country. But each year there are new ways to welcome the season, new signs I embrace just as much as those carefree, single days on the lake.

The first time the local ice cream stand opens, for one. And the smell of fresh-cut grass around the neighborhood. Fourth of July BBQs and fireworks displays. Opening our pool and assembling my sunblock, bug repellent, and towel. Choosing my summer “must reads” and “must sees.” Oh, and the best of all, since I’m a school teacher: the first day of summer vacation, when I wake up to no alarm clock, no pile of papers waiting to be graded, and no students needing my attention for three long months.

Ah, summer’s song – no matter how she sings to you, it’s a beautiful tune indeed. How do you know summer’s finally here? What melody sings in your heart?

Yesterday my husband said to me, “I hate shopping for Christmas.” I thought he was probably just tired of fighting the crowds, or searching in the basement for more wrapping paper, or checking the refrigerator to make sure we have enough to feed everyone who’s coming over today.

But then he told me what he really meant: he doesn’t like the idea of making or receiving Christmas lists. Well, I come from a list kind of family. My mom made (and still makes) lists for just about everything: grocery shopping, daily to-dos, birthday cards to send, and yes, Christmas gifts. Her theory is that lists make everything easier. They lay out exactly what, who, how many, and so on you need to take care of. And at this time of year, they take away the angst of wondering what someone really wants or needs.

My husband’s problem with this is that Christmas lists defeat the whole purpose of giving gifts. “I don’t want to be told what to buy,” he explained. “I think if you’re giving someone a gift, you should know that person well enough to choose something they would like. It shouldn’t be about what you want or need. It should be about what I think you would like to have.”

And that really struck me as a very honest thought about the whole tradition of gift-giving: we should give in the spirit of making someone else happy, whether it’s a material item, or time, or love, or something else. We should spend some time thinking of what would make someone else truly happy – and the miracle of that is that when we decide what the perfect gift is, it’s come from our heart and our understanding of that person, not from a catalog page they turned down and handed to us.

I hope you have a wonderful day, however you are spending it and whether you are celebrating the holiday or not. And my wish for us all is that we remember, in the days and weeks to come, after the tinsel and ornaments are packed away and we are back to making and following lists, that the best gifts do in fact come from the heart, from truly knowing someone else and understanding what they would love to receive – even if they never thought of it in the first place.

Merry Christmas!

Ah, summer! As a teacher, I enjoy these days of relaxation, without papers to grade or lessons to plan. Of course, my time somehow gets sucked away by other things, like updating my Facebook page or rearranging the plants in the sunroom. Oh, and writing. Yes, writing. I love the summers for that reason more than any other. The free time I have each day reminds me how wonderful it is to write for long periods of time – you know, instead of ten or fifteen minutes here and there during American Idol commercials or while the washing machine is filling.

I envy those people who write full-time, I do. And I aspire to be one of them. As much as I love teaching, I’d love to be able to make a living by writing. I dream about it. I plan for it. And I’ve decided that if I were to be a full-time writer, these are the things I’d love the most:

1. Not having to wake up to an alarm clock. Okay, I probably still would, or books would never get written. But I’d love to be able to sleep past 5:30 am year-round, I really would.

2. Not having to do my hair or makeup or pick out clothes to wear for work. Honestly, it’s rather time-consuming, the whole making-myself-presentable-for-society effort. How lovely to pull on the same pajamas I wore while watching TV the night before and trot across the hall to my office. Another benefit: no commute!

3. Not having to be responsible for other people. Well, besides my characters, I mean. But they tend to listen to what I tell them. Usually. And if they don’t, I can just delete them or have a bus run them over or something. It’s not that easy in real life.

4. Being able to take a nap if and when I want to. I know, I know – this probably won’t happen. Things like paying the bills and answering the door when the UPS guy delivers my books and going to the grocery store would probably make the nap a rarity. But still. I could! I could do it! I could walk back across the hall and sink into that lovely bed and just snooze for a few minutes. Kind of tough to do that at school, at least without getting caught with drool marks on my desk.

5. It wouldn’t take me a year to write a book. Yes, I know some authors who get up at 4 am, write like mad, and then work a full-time job. And parent. And coach. And cook a full dinner. And… But I am not one of them. I multi-task pretty well, but I’m an English teacher. I grade about 1500 papers each school year. That means my own writing takes a long, lonely back seat to my full-time job. Which brings me back to why I love summers and the freedom of no paperwork.

Oh, the potential joys of writing full-time! I know, I know – I’m sure there are downsides too. But that’s a subject for another blog. Now I’m off to check the pool temperature and muse about the chapter (or two) I intend to write today.

I guess it’s not a coincidence that my latest book is titled Summer’s Song, is it???

Once upon a time, when I was still in college, I met a boy. Well, he went to a different college than I did – we met at a summer party by a bonfire, and that was that. I know what you’re thinking, but no, we never dated. Instead, we began this very odd and interesting friendship based completely on letters. Interestingly enough, we’ve shared our lives with each other for the last twenty years almost entirely on paper.

We’ve never lived in the same city, let alone the same state. We’ve led very different lives, filled with other relationships and other people. Yet after all this time, we’re still writing letters to each other. Strange? Yes. He’s been married and divorced. I’ve been married for almost nine years. We’ve gotten together for a couple of meals in the last two decades, but other than that, our relationship is strictly long-distance and strictly Platonic.

He pursued a career in the insurance industry, and I ended up in education. In many respects, we have absolutely nothing in common. We don’t listen to the same kind of music or enjoy the same kinds of leisure activities. We read different authors. We follow different sports teams. I love to travel. He loves his hometown. And yet there has always been a connection between us – maybe simply because we both love to read and write.

A couple of years ago, we abandoned the letter-writing and instead emailed and chatted on Facebook. Sure, it was nice to talk in real time. Nice to have almost-instant responses. Know what? It wasn’t the same. Something was missing – maybe the excitement of opening a mailbox and seeing a hand-addressed letter. Or maybe holding pages in your hand and reading words in the script of someone you’ve known for a long time.

Whatever the reason, a few months ago we decided to return to writing letters. Yes, it’s old fashioned. Yes, it means we only get to hear about the other person’s life every few weeks or so. Sometimes even months pass without a letter being exchanged – life gets in the way, you know. But there is something powerful about the wonderful reality of letters. Holding a letter – or a book! – in your hand, turning the pages and savoring black ink on white paper…there’s something magical about that experience.

And so I dedicated my latest release, Summer’s Song, to my long-distance friend. In fact, the hero is named and modeled after him, because after all this time, he deserves to be immortalized in print. This one’s for you, Damon. Happy writing.

When I first sat down to write this blog post a few days ago, I had no idea what I wanted to say. Did I want to be quirky and funny? Perhaps serious and inspirational? Or just excited about my upcoming release, which will hit the ebook shelves in less than a month?

With no clear focus, I took myself and my laptop to my local bookstore and started to brainstorm. I made a few starts, but I lost my train of thought over and over again, every time someone new walked in the door or sat down beside me or browsed the shelves close by. One older man was holding a book signing, with his wife by his side, flagging down every person who dared to walk by. Two gorgeous blondes sat down with lapfuls of magazines and proceeded to read them while chatting in German back and forth. A woman on break from an upscale department store sipped coffee a few tables away while staring into space, the saddest look on her face. A teen flipped through pages of a magazine that had Twilight actors and actresses plastered across the front cover. In the background, a young Hispanic guy behind the café counter welcomed customers in a thick, charming accent.

And you know what? I saw stories everywhere. People always ask authors where they get their ideas. I’m beginning to think there isn’t anywhere I DON’T see potential ideas. There is such possibility in analyzing people’s body language, listening to the way they speak, studying the way they interact.

LOL…I don’t want to make you self-conscious! But you never know who’s watching you when you’re relaxing in a coffee shop or racing through a mall – perhaps a famous author who will make you a character in his or her next book. So the next time you’re in a public place, look around. Make up a story in your head about the couple behind you in line at the grocery store, or the senior citizen in the back row of the movie theater, or the teenager wheeling a stroller along a crowded sidewalk. Are you a people-watcher by nature? Maybe you do this already, or maybe not. But give it a try! It might just give you a glimpse inside the busy brain of a fiction writer…

It’s here! It’s here! I’m so excited that it’s release day for One Night in Napa! This is my third “twenty-four hour romance,” and if you haven’t read my other two, I hope you’ll pick this one up for a treat. This romance unfolds over a single day and night: 24 chapters in 24 hours. News reporter Grant Walker and mysterious missing stranger Kira March find themselves trapped inside the March mansion overnight…where Grant stumbles upon a secret so big, it could boost his entire career – but it’s the same secret that Kira is bent on protecting at all costs. Who’s going to win – and what happens when a power outage and attraction bigger than they both bargained for get in the way?

Here’s an excerpt to whet your appetite. This one actually happens late in the story, which means the secret is just around the corner…

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Kira whispered.
“Okay. It’s okay.”
She laid one hand on his arm, fingers splayed. “You don’t know me. You don’t know anything about who I am.”
“So tell me.”
Unshed tears glittered in her eyes. “I can’t. You’ll never believe it. And if you do, you’ll never want anything to do with me.”
“I doubt that.” He wound her fingers through his. “I don’t think anything you tell me right now is going to send me running for the hills.”
She smiled, but the look held pain. “Ah, you have no idea.” They stood there a moment longer in silence. Then she sank onto his lap and pressed her cheek against his.
That was all Grant needed.
With one hand, he turned her face to his. Her eyes widened, and when he kissed her this time, he waited for her breath to catch in the back of her throat before he closed his own eyes and gave himself up to her.
***
Kira fought against the desire. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t let Grant believe she was someone else, someone untainted. Yet she couldn’t stop herself either, because she wanted him more than she could remember wanting any man. Her lips opened to his tongue, searching and aching and asking a question she could answer in only one way. Turning in the chair, she straddled him, and when he moaned, she wound her fingers through his hair and pulled him closer. For a moment she wondered if the emotions of the day had thrown her into such turmoil that she’d been lifted out of her body, and if the person who sat here slippery with want was someone she’d abandoned long ago.
Or someone she’d never allowed herself to know at all.
“Kira.” He whispered the name into the hollow of her throat, and she felt him shift beneath her.
She groaned and shared his agony. Too far gone, she thought. Whatever I’ve done now, I can’t go back and change it. If tomorrow Grant found out the truth, she only prayed he’d forgive her for hiding it. She bent her head and nipped his bottom lip. He moaned, and his lips moved against her pendant.
He looked up at her, eyes dark. He plucked the sterling silver charm from where it lay nestled close to her heart. “What is this?”
A warning sounded in her head, and she ran her mouth along the ridge of his ear to distract him. “What’s what?”
He ran gentle fingers over the curved piece of metal. “This. Does it mean something?”
Does it mean something? She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or scream.
His fingers moved from the necklace to her chin. “Tell me.”
She sighed. “It means know thyself,” she whispered. She caught his hand and held it in hers. “It’s an old Greek symbol.” And don’t ask me any more of the story…

Want to know more? Head on over to www.mybookstoreandmore.com right now and get your copy of One Night in Napa!

“Write what you know” is one of the oldest pieces of advice. And for new authors, at least, it’s often easier to create plotlines that are based at least loosely on things/people/events we have right at our fingertips. Of course, many successful authors create characters and worlds based on nothing they have actually “known” or experienced. Think about Star Wars or Dracula, or even Harry Potter. This is where precise research or terrific imagination comes into play. However, I’ve never been one of those authors. I have discovered that my novels, contemporary love stories, almost always draw either consciously or subconsciously on moments I have lived, people I have met, places I have been.

This is not to say that everything – or anything! – I write is autobiographical. Far from it. But I have always been fascinated by the ways in which people interact – the ways they live, love, fight, grow, fall apart, heal, perish, and love again – and I explore those issues by looking at the world around me. There is a little bit of me in every heroine, a little bit of the men I have loved in every hero, a little bit of my buddies in every best friend.

My upcoming novel, One Night in Napa, is my third “One Night” story. All follow the common element of a romance that evolves over a single day and night: twenty-four hours in twenty-four chapters. One Night in Napa, though, feels unique to me because it always seemed the furthest from my own experiences. I am nothing like the heroine; I don’t really know anyone like the hero; and I’ve visited Napa Valley exactly once in my life. So it was fun to escape and create a world that wasn’t anything I “knew” but simply one I imagined.

I thought.

One Night in Napa is the story of a hero and heroine who seem to be completely different, two people who are both trying to protect their own family name while also grappling with the ways their fathers shaped them. Eventually, they discover that the common bond of family complications is greater than any difference between them.

My father passed away while I was in the middle of editing One Night in Napa. Somehow, thanks to the support of my editor and all my virtual and real-life friends, I got through those first few black weeks. Eventually, the sun came out again, I got up each morning and I soldiered on. And when the time came, I dedicated the book to my father, because every time I think about its underlying theme, I am struck by how much he influenced it. Is One Night in Napa autobiographical? Not at all. I didn’t leave home for ten years vowing never to speak to him again. I didn’t tell him I hated him or cut off all my hair in spite. And he didn’t…well, you’ll have to read the book to find out the biggest secret of all, that cleaves the relationship between father and daughter for so long.

No, my relationship with my father wasn’t nearly as explosive as the ones I created in my newest novel. But it was definitely powerful, in ways I never realized until he wasn’t around anymore. Does One Night in Napa explore the sometimes-confusing ways in which parents and children love, fight, and sacrifice for each other? Yes. Is it a tribute to the ways in which our fathers influence us, from birth to adulthood? Oh yes.

Guess I’m still writing what I know after all.

“I couldn’t put it down…”

“I had to stay up all night to finish it even though my eyes were burning and I had to work early the next morning…”

“This story is exciting, funny, scary, poignant, and heart touching…”

I loved writing One Night in Memphis! I love Ethan, the damaged but ready-to-love again hero, and Dakota, the crazy heroine who’s on the run from her even crazier ex-boyfriend. This book is a 24-hour romance, which means there’s a whole lotta action packed into a single day and night on world-famous Beale Street. That’s right, 24 chapters = 24 hours of nonstop action and love and…don’t you want to know more?

You can buy it now in print…and if you do, please drop me a line to let me know how you like it! Not that I wish sleepless nights on my readers or anything, but hey, if the story of Ethan and Dakota keeps you up past your normal bedtime, then maybe I’ve done my job

*****

In the moment before Dakota knew what was coming, Ethan bent down and kissed her. His hands moved to her face. His mouth landed squarely on hers, hot and hungry; his tongue parted her lips before she realized what was happening.

Oh wow, this wasn’t supposed to happen…was her first thought. Oh God, I want him to kiss me like this all night was her second. She leaned into him, into the solidness of him against her, and was amazed at the feeling of rightness that swept over her. A whimper escaped from the back of her throat. She let her fingers pull at his waist, drawing him closer. There was attraction, she thought, and then there was inevitability. There was the hot jolt of desire that pulled you toward someone because you liked their eyes or their smile or the way they filled out a pair of jeans. There was the want that warmed beds late at night because company was better than being alone.

And then there was something beyond the physical, beyond the way two bodies fit together. There was chemistry that created itself from bits of conversation, from skin brushing skin by accident, from the air surging between two people who were simply supposed to be together. There was a strange working of the universe that led you to someone you’d never even envisioned and then suddenly couldn’t imagine being without.