Samhain Publishing

You know the list. Those five or ten people whom, if given the opportunity, you could “cheat” on your significant other with without blame. It’s a harmless list. I mean, who is really going to get a chance to sleep with Hugh Jackman except Mrs. Hugh Jackman (the lucky duck)? But still we make one, to fuel our fantasies and make anything seem possible.

I have a different kind of list. A list of men (and women, actually) about whom I can fantasize, who I can torture, and even redeem. They’re my placeholders.

When I read a story, I always have to have pictures of the characters in my head. These are based on the author’s description, of course, but words can only get you so far. As the character reveals him or herself to me throughout the text, I get a feeling for who that person really is. The crinkle around the eyes with a smile, the tilt of a head or an oft-used gesture. By the end of the story, I have a complete picture of what the character should look like. (This is one of the reasons I don’t like faces on book covers, because it tells me what I’m supposed to “see” and I’d rather come up with myself. But that’s a psychosis we’ll touch on another day.)
For whatever reason, as an author, I have to create that picture first. Before I write a page or story or that first line of dialogue, I need a picture of the characters in my head. I’m hardly unique in this. A lot of authors do it. These pictures are called “placeholders”, and before the invention of google, they came out of magazines. Sometimes even the author’s imagination. Me? I’m not that imaginative. I need photos.

When a character comes into my head, they generally wear the face of a favorite actor. Very rarely do the characters maintain the same mannerisms and gestures they start with, but I need that starting point to work from. Then I alter him or her to suit the character.

Not to color the pictures in your head, but let me share a few examples. Maggie from Let’s Dish is actually based on Robyn Lively from Chicago Hope fame, and Kevin is based on Scott Bakula. For the book I’m working on now, I needed a handsome yet arrogant protagonist, and found the perfect picture of Jason Priestley. The photo carries the perfect attitude, though I’ve never seen the actor play a character like the one I have in mind. Doesn’t matter. I just need a starting spot. Somewhere to jump off and create the nuances of my characters.

So how about you? Do you have a list? How about a list of placeholders?

Catherine Wade’s debut novel Let’s Dish is now available in trade paperback.

Maggie Donnely has problems no Food Network star ever had to deal with. Her coffee shop is running in the red, her EPT just turned pink, and keeping her business partners in line is making her blue in the face. A run-in with her old cooking school nemesis is the last thing she needs.

Kevin Best is a blast from the past with more than Maggie’s mouth-watering recipes on his mind. He knows he made one big mistake with her, but she’s got no idea just how far he’ll go to put her heart back on the menu.

When Maggie loses her shop to a fire, and her partners to a stupid mistake, she’s forced to turn to Kevin to help her win a contest that could save her bacon. Friendless, desperate—and with the proverbial bun in the oven—it’s a choice that could change the rest of her life. If she can learn to love again.

What’s the old saying about too many cooks? Maggie’s about to find out…the hard way.

To read more about Let’s Dish and Catherine’s other books, visit her website..

My brother recently called me on the phone to inform me he’d read my book. Now my brother doesn’t read romance. He reads science fiction and military books, but not “chick books” as he calls them. And yet, he read my books. Which says a lot about my brother, I think.

He gave me his list of likes and dislikes, and while honest, was also very complimentary. And then he said, “But I see a lot of you in your characters.”

My first reaction was, “Well duh!” But then I realized my brother is not a writer. Not a fiction writer, anyway. We have a special brand of crazy, with narratives running through our heads all the time. And yes, all those characters running around in my brain and on the pages of my novels all have a little bit of me in them.

To me, the only way to write honest characters is to bare your own flaws and inner demons. To truly understand their fears and frustrations, the writer has to take on a little bit of it, too. Which explains why a lot of writers drink a good bit.

For me, it’s almost like a kind of therapy. My characters have to work out their issues, so I have to, too. Now that’s not to say I’ve ever burned down a restaurant or am haunted by a dead husband. My characters have to deal with their own fictionalized disasters, but some of their insecurities – yeah, they’re mine, too. Not that I have an exclusive claim on them. I like to think my characters speak to all of us, that some small part of their neurosis matches the person who reads it. I know they match mine.

So if you read my books and get some insight into Maggie or Brin, you’re getting a little insight into me, too. Welcome to my brand of crazy.

Have you ever been haunted? Have you ever wanted to be? That’s the problem Brin Maxwell has, and is finding out that having her late husband back in her life isn’t all she thought it would be, especially just when she’s ready to move on and learn to love again.

BLURB:
Brin Maxwell once lived the ultimate rock-n-roll fantasy as the wife of the frontman for Hell’s Fury. It all ended in a flash—literally—with a lightning bolt that took Max’s life and left hers in suspended animation.

Two years later she’s ready to move on, but there’s a stumbling block: her sanity. Max’s ghost has decided to haunt her, and he’s got a bad habit of showing up at the most inconvenient moments. Like when she’s about to plant a long wet one on event planner David Lyle, the man she hopes will resurrect her love life.

David is real, solid, and makes her heart do the tango. He’s also curiously inept at his job—yet he has certain other talents that leave her wondering just what he’s hiding in his shadowy past.

Then there are the death threats. As they escalate from notes slipped under her door to full-scale, Kodak-moment terror, Brin realizes Max’s return is no coincidence. And that the only one she can turn to is David.

The man with the skills to save her life—unless he’s there to take it…

EXCERPT:
Brin marched all the way to David’s apartment. It had taken her over an hour to get there, but she didn’t feel the least bit tired. On the contrary, she felt that the time had done her good. Her thoughts were organized, she was confident and her head was clear.

She was in love with him. That much she knew. He was unlike anyone she’d ever met before, forthright and irreverent. She loved that. David wasn’t about appearances. David was about telling it like it was.

Yes, she loved him, but the little game he was playing was the last straw for the new Brin. She was going to put it to him plainly. Either he knocked it off and told her what he felt or he could get lost. She was prepared for either. Losing him wouldn’t be the worst thing that had ever happened to her. Still, she was hoping that she’d be spending the night in his bed. A good roll in the sack right now would sure release some pent-up tension.

She waited impatiently for Lilli to take care of business, scanning her surroundings for signs of a vicious killer. In the hour she’d walked, she’d also considered just how risky it was to be out alone. And she’d forgotten the damned cell phone again. Once she was with David, she knew she’d be safe, but standing at a fire hydrant with a huge but useless dog was probably not the best idea.

The doorman let her in with a nod, and Brin felt a little better when the elevator doors closed. She leaned her head back against the metal wall and took a deep breath. She was safe now.

David’s hallway was empty, but she could hear a party in full swing as she passed his neighbor’s door. Good. Then they couldn’t hear her if she got a little loud.
She was surprising herself. Never had she been so brazen, so obvious in her motive, even to herself. But this was the new Brin and the new Brin was a whole different ball of wax. To put her plan in motion, she undid two buttons on her top and adjusted her cleavage. I dare ya not to notice that.

When she rapped on the door, it slid open slightly. She wrinkled her brow. It hadn’t been latched. She meant only to crack the door an inch or two, but Lilli had other ideas. She barreled into the room at a lope, pulling Brin with her.

“David?” she called tentatively as she let Lilli go. “David, are you here?” All the lights were on, but David was nowhere to be found. “Hello?”

It seemed odd that a former policeman would leave his apartment unlocked—the door open and all the lights on. She heard a noise coming from upstairs, and went to investigate.

David’s bedroom was at the top of the stairs, and the king-sized bed called to her. She found the source of the noise as a TV news anchor chattered on about France’s role in something or other. Looking out over the railing onto the rest of the apartment, she could see the place was empty.

Brin snapped off the TV and went back downstairs. Perhaps he had just popped out for a few moments and would return. How sexy would it be if he came home to Brin, wearing nothing but a smile, stretched out on his couch? She glanced in the bathroom mirror and inspected her body. Okay, maybe just an afghan thrown across her strategically to hide a few lumps and bumps.

She was hatching the plan when she realized the red light in the darkroom was on. The door was slightly ajar, but perhaps David was in there, so engrossed in his work that he hadn’t noticed her wandering around his apartment. It was worth a shot.

Tapping on the door with her nails, Brin slid it open. “Sexy, you in here? I have plans for you, hot stuff.”

She froze in the doorway.

Hope you enjoy!

Cate

Okay, first off, let’s give it up for Leah Braemel. As she told you this morning, she and I became friends shortly after we both signed with Samhain, and I gotta tell you – she’s terrific, as a person and as a writer. I was really excited to see our names on the blog schedule together, and jumped at the idea of coordinating our blogs.

So today Leah and I are talking about writing S-E-X. Well, she talked about writing it. I’m going to talk about avoiding writing it. It’s not that I’m a prude or have anything against a good sex scene. Heck, I can get freaky with the best of them. I just tend not to do it on the page. And yes, I read her book locked safely in my bedroom, but that’s just because I have three little boys who love to read over my shoulder. They kibitz on games, too. Little snots.

I do enjoy the occasional dose of erotic romance. It’s just not the first place I head when I’m at the bookstore. Why? I like to leave it to my imagination. To fill in my own blanks. It’s really about preference. Some readers like a blow-by-blow, some like their romance a little more chaste. I definitely fall into the latter category.

I’ve been accused of “closing the bedroom door.” Not true! Because to close the door, you actually have to get somewhere near it. I love taking my characters to the brink – just when they’re all hot and bothered and ready to lose their minds with lust – and then yanking the rug out from under them. Either a phone rings, or someone walks into the room, or somebody just chickens out. Why would I do this to my characters? Because I love annoying them. Getting them to the point in the story where they are so sexually and emotionally frustrated they can’t see straight. That, my friends, is possibly my favorite way to build tension. I’m just sadistic that way.

Sometimes sex can muddle an issue. Then again, sometimes lack of sex muddles it even further. These are the situations I love to play with, though it’s hard to walk that tightrope. Too much coitus interruptus and you get reader interruptus – you actually frustrate the reader to the point you take them out of the story. There have to be other means to keep our couple apart. Reasons that, though they may want one another desperately, they can’t be together.

Because no matter the heat level, for me, it’s all about the story. I like books with twisting, turning plots and complex characters. Whether sexy or sweet, I crave tension waiting to be resolved and mysteries I can try to solve. And when writing, I definitely enjoy getting my characters into compromising positions and then stealing their lollipops.

Then again, you know when you close that back cover, my characters are totally heading toward that bedroom door.

Today I become an author.

Let’s Dish, my debut novel, releases today. This was the third professional novel I wrote, but the first one that made me sit up and say, “I will be published.” And now I am.

For this reason, Maggie and Kevin will always be sentimental favorites. And, at last, I get to share them with you.

Let’s Dish.

She’s got the heat. He’s got the kitchen. Together, they’ve got trouble cookin’.

Excerpt:

That afternoon, the doctor confirmed everything I already knew. I was pregnant. Oh, joy. In my pocket was a crumpled piece of paper. It was a simple prescription for prenatal vitamins, but to me it represented so much more. It was a commitment.

Or a sign I needed to be committed. I wasn’t quite sure which.

I headed to the supermarket with the least nosey pharmacist and proceeded to weave my way through aisles and aisles of jarring reminders. Baby food, baby bottles, diapers. Why couldn’t the pharmacy be near the chips and ice cream section?

Just as I was getting comfortable with the sinking feeling of impending doom, I turned a corner and came face-to-face with a familiar leather jacket. Face-to-back, actually, so he hadn’t spotted me. Kevin was hovering over the coffee section, five different cans in his cart. I froze in my tracks, wondering if I could somehow slip unnoticed back the way I’d come. My hesitation, however, turned out to be fatal.

He must have sensed me behind him, because his head swiveled around and he caught my eye. “Maggie. Hi.” There was surprise in his voice, but I noticed his shoulders droop a fraction of an inch. Wasn’t he glad to see me? I mean it wasn’t like I was going out of my way to be nice to him or anything, but he was the one who insisted on stalking me. A chance meeting should be a happy thing. For him.

“Uh, hi.” I was too busy trying to figure out how to extricate myself to think up a snappy retort.

He scrutinized me, perhaps surprised that I hadn’t bolted the second I saw him. It’s not that I didn’t want to, but I seemed glued to the spot. “You okay?” he asked.

“Why?” My hand made its way into my pocket, self-consciously fingering the prescription.

“You look a little pale. And when Lyla said you were out this afternoon—”

“You talked to Lyla? What did she say?”

Kevin stared at me. “Nothing. Just that you weren’t feeling well.”

“Yeah.” Paranoid much? I scolded myself. Lyla hadn’t outed me. She’d promised not to say anything, but she had an insane streak when it came to Kevin. Still, if this was the way I reacted to a simple question, I’d soon out myself.

“Nothing serious, I hope.”

Oh, if he only knew. “Don’t think this is your big break or anything. We’re not going anywhere. Flu or no flu, we’re still in business.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t.” He was putting on his innocent look again, his bright eyes calm and clear like a forest lake. I wasn’t buying it.

How dare he catch me trying to sneak to the pharmacy? “What are you doing tracking me down at the grocery store, anyway?” I asked. “Don’t you own a business? Or do you ever actually cook there?”

He grinned. “Hard to find time to cook, what with all the time I devote to tracking you down.” He made little quote marks in the air and tilted his head from side to side as he imitated my tone.

“Ha ha. Very funny.”

“But a wise woman once told me there are bakeries in grocery stores.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and bounced on the balls of his feet. He looked like a little kid waiting for a treat.

“This is the coffee aisle.”

“Uh oh. You’ve discovered my secret.” He leaned close and I felt his breath on my cheek. “Sometimes I drink coffee with Danishes.”

My eyes rolled back and I shook my head. “Whatever. I have to go.”

I took a step backward and turned to leave, only to hear from behind me, “Don’t you want to know why I called?”

Despite my better judgment, I turned to face Kevin again. “Not really.” What a liar.