Samhain Publishing

I was trying to decide what to blog about today when my husband pointed out this article on the science of romance.

Neuroscientists are now saying romantic love comes from the brain. That it can be explained through brain images, hormones, and genetics.
The Science of Romance: Brains Have A Love Circuit

I suppose if this is true the next thing will be someone coming up with a little pill for those who have had their hearts broken. There seems to be a pill for everything else. I don’t like the thought of doctors prescribing pills to either make someone fall in love or keep them there. That sounds more like a horror story to me, not romance, and way too much like the Stepford Wives.

This article might explain why some people rush from romantic relationship to romantic relationship, wanting that rush of feeling that comes from falling in love, like an addiction to a drug. Or why a woman might keep falling in love with men who are all wrong for her.

As a romance novelist, I want to believe my hero and heroine fall for each other because they are right for each other and are meant to be together. I like happy endings and I like knowing my characters are happy as they ride off into the sunset together.

In fact, the more I read articles like this one, the more I want to curl up with a good romance novel where true love exists and anything is possible. There’s a medieval romance in my to be read pile that is calling to me. A battle scarred knight/warrior and a lady who needs rescuing…….

Debra is a romance novelist and travel consultant who lives with her family in Bartlett, Tennessee, just outside Memphis.

With the release of her debut novel from Samhain Publishing, A Desperate Journey, her American Title II finalist manuscript, Debra has achieved a lifelong dream—to share her stories with readers around the world.

Whether penning tales of the Wild West, packing her bags for another trip, or dancing as a gypsy fortune teller with her bellydance troupe, Debra is always traveling somewhere.

To learn more about Debra Parmley, please visit www.debraparmley.com. Send an email to Debra at debra@debraparmley.com

Visit her blog www.makebelievemondays.blogspot.com for author interviews every Monday.

Today is Black Friday and many people will be up early shopping this morning. I’m not one of them. I’m here typing this blog and then I’ll have breakfast and head back to Memphis from Kentucky where I’ve been visiting relatives this Thanksgiving.

For many it’s going to be a lean holiday season. We are are feeling the pinch this holiday season when it comes to gift giving. It could be easy to become frustrated and discouraged when times are tight.

But there’s one thing we always have the same amount of, and that is our time. Every day we wake up to the same amount of time in our day. And it is a very precious thing which does not lose its value.

There are many ways to make a gift even more meaningful when you add the gift of your time to it. You could give a child a book and then read the book. Or give a game and then play the game together. Or sit on the floor with them playing with the new toy.

My favorite short story of all time is O. Henry’s Gift of the Magi. My grandfather gave me that book out of his collection the year my sister was born. Many years later I inherited the rest of his collection and I treasure them all. But that book is still one of my most prized possessions. I reread it every Christmas and think of him.

When we give gifts it is a way of saying I care about you and I am thinking of you. But we don’t need gifts purchased in a store to say that. There are gifts of time, such as washing a man’s car, cleaning a woman’s house, baking something sweet and delicious, babysitting, or anything else you think might be a service you could do for the recipient. Handmade gifts can be a thoughtful way of saying I care as well.

Giving the gift of your time by spending time together creates memories as well. Memories which last far into the future, past toys which break and electronic items which quickly become outdated.

To be the recipient of the gift of someones time is to hear them say, I love you. I care about you. I am making time for you because you are important to me. This message carried within any gift is the true gift. The greatest gift of all.

Debra Parmley

http://www.debraparmley.com

Romance writers and readers are always talking about alpha males. Some women are drawn to alphas and some women are drawn to betas. I tend to be drawn to alphas and that’s the kind of hero I like to read about. But I find it frustrating when all alpha males are lumped into one category, because there is more than one kind of alpha male.

The alpha male is always the one who will draw my attention in any crowd. But there are good alphas and bad alphas. I think women need to be careful because bad alpha’s can be very dangerous. An alpha bully will draw my attention, in a be careful and stay away from him sort of way. There’s a big difference between an alpha bully and a secure alpha male who exudes confidence.

Alpha males are dominant and protective. They are the men who will take charge. I like a man who takes charge, because it makes me feel more feminine. Perhaps it’s biology, that longing to be cared for by the strongest leader. Someone you can look up to, respect, and admire. Someone who will fight for me. The alpha male will do what it takes to get the job done, and usually he does it well.

But here’s the thing. I don’t want just any alpha male to be in charge. He’s got to be an alpha I can trust.

Can an alpha be brutal? Of course. Alpha’s can also be arrogant and self-centered. Some are bullies, using brute strength to exert their dominance. These kinds of alpha males can be dangerous.

Alpha males will always capture my attention. Whether I cast him as the hero or the villain depends upon what sort of alpha he is.

An alpha hero has strength of character. He is loyal and brave. He is a leader, even when he doesn’t want to be. He is the leader because he is the best man available and deep down he likes to call the shots, to be in charge. He is trustworthy and he listens. He can laugh at himself and he can admit when he’s made a mistake. He is assertive rather than aggressive, because he is intelligent enough to know that working with people, making suggestions and giving guidance is better than brute force. An alpha hero is supportive and secure enough in himself to allow someone else, perhaps his heroine to take the helm, to be in charge at times. In fact he wants her to be strong, he wants her to be his partner.

An alpha hero is never brutal unless he has to be. He will do whatever it takes to protect the women and children. He is honorable and will do the right thing, even at a cost to himself. And when he does that for the heroine, that is true love.

Are you drawn to alpha males, like I am? Or are you drawn to beta males? What do you think makes a good alpha hero? What do you think makes a bad one?

I’m writing this blog from sunny Las Vegas, where I plan to hit the pool, always on the lookout for alpha males.

Have you been enjoying the Olympics as much as I have? It is exciting to watch athletes set new records, raising the bar higher and higher. Michael Phelps is an amazing athlete to watch as he breaks record after record.

I have been impressed by the obvious teamwork and mentoring that goes on at this level. These are athletes that not only strive for themselves, but help others to reach their goals.

Many times I have witnessed this in the author community as well. And I have been fortunate enough to experience it.

Wherever we are in our writing career, there is always another goal to be reached. There is usually someone ahead of us, and someone behind us. Think of mentoring as a relay, with one passing encouragement and mentoring on to the next and the next. So often we authors think of ourselves as striving alone. And in a sense we are, as we set goals for ourselves and strive to beat our last record. But we are not alone. We are part of the community of authors for whom writing is not just a talent, but a craft to be mastered. A craft which will never truly be mastered for there is always a new record to be broken.

I’m taking a moment today to think of those authors who have helped me along my path to publication. To thank them privately and publicly for all they have done for me.

I have reached one goal with the publication of my first book last month. And now, having reached that podium, it is time to set a new goal, break a new personal record.

And there is another sort of relay which takes place with the publication of a book. Everyone at the publishing house who helps to bring the manuscript closer and closer to the finish line is a part of that team. I wish to take a moment to thank everyone on the Samhain team who has helped my first book, A Desperate Journey, reach that finish line.

I am pleased to be a part of such a professional team which strives for excellence. Thank you for helping to make my dream a reality.

Debra Parmley
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
ISBN: 1-60504-074-6
A Desperate Journey

Sometimes a journey of the heart is the most dangerous journey of all.

Sally Wheeler learned the hard way that men aren’t always what they seem. Now she will stop at nothing to track down the bigamist husband who stole her child and abandoned her on their failing Kansas farm. Even if it means traveling with a handsome maverick who could change her mind about men.

Free after spending seven years in prison for a crime he didn’t commit, Rob Truman aims to balance the scales of justice on the man who sent him there—Luke Wheeler. His quest doesn’t include falling for the one woman who will lead him to his quarry, but Sally’s courage in the face of her fear touches his soul.

Through dangerous days and nights on the trail, neither Sally nor Rob can ignore their growing feelings for each other. Yet both are haunted by the poor judgment that, in the past, led them down the wrong road. Love—and trust—are luxuries neither of them can afford.

But as the bullets start flying, love may be all that saves them—and Sally’s son.

Warning:This title contains ornery mules and ornery men. Get ready to see how the West was really won – one relationship at a time!

EXCERPT:

Rob went inside to look for the ferry driver and came back out. “He’s too drunk to take anyone across tonight. He’s passed out. There are extra beds. We can settle with him in the morning.”

Sally settled Carolyn into the bunk nearest the fire. On the other side of the fireplace, the ferryman sat, tipped back in his chair, his jaw hanging open as he kept up a steady snore. The jug in his hand rested on his thigh, while his hat threatened to fall off his bobbing head.

“It’s stinky here, Mama,” Carolyn said.

“Yes, sunshine, I know.” Sally’s nose twitched. “Roll onto your side facing the other way and it won’t be so bad.” She smoothed Carolyn’s hair. “Go on to sleep.”
Soon her daughter was sleeping soundly. Moss and Rob had settled the animals for the night and stoked the fire, and Sally slid into bed beside Carolyn. Rob and Moss took the bunk against the wall, Moss still muttering under his breath about his wagon and being charged for a full team he didn’t even have.

“Hell, old man. I’d pay you just to shut up,” Rob said. “First sunlight I aim to be up and crossing that river.”

The room fell silent and Sally curled onto her side away from the men with a smile as she hugged Carolyn close.

The next morning, Sally had just fixed the coffee and was starting the bacon when the ferryman woke.

“Well, damn my eyes if it ain’t an angel come to save me,” the man roared as he stood with a lurch.

Sally jumped and took a step back.

“Ain’t you the purtiest thing,” he said with a leer.

She smiled nervously, not wanting to anger him.

Rob chose that moment to enter the store. “Morning. It’s about time you were awake. Name’s Rob.”

“Fletcher, but you can call me Fletch.”

“We need to buy passage across the river.”

The ferryman’s gaze drifted back toward Sally. “Cain’t take you across.” He shook his head. “Not for another two weeks.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Water’s running too high.” Fletch stepped behind Sally. “That bacon sure does smell good.” He peered over her shoulder. “You smell mighty good too.”

“That’s it.” Rob’s voice hardened.

Sally heard the cock of a gun and turned.

Rob stood with his gun pressed to Fletcher’s head.

“I think you’ll be taking us across. You’ll be taking us across today.” He jerked his head. “Sally, get your things.”

“Ye heard the man,” Moss argued. “That water is too fast, too high.”

“We’re going now.” His tone brooked no argument.

“Ain’t we goin’ ter eat first?” Moss persisted.

“Lost my appetite.” Rob’s jaw clenched and he nudged Fletch with his gun. “Now move.”

Sally watched Rob force the ferryman out the door and her hands shook as she gathered their things. “Carolyn, you stay away from those men and do as I tell you.”

“Yes, Mama.”

Even her bubbly daughter was subdued by the force Rob had brought into the store. And just when she’d begun to relax around him.

But he was no better than Luke. He was just another man who would use force to get what he wanted. And men like that were dangerous.

Sally reached for Carolyn’s hand while they silently watched the men load the ferry. Rob stood atop the bank with his hand on his gun as Moss began to coax the mules up the dock and onto the ferry.

“You better pay me double like you said,” Fletcher shouted to Rob.

The coolness and steel in Rob’s reply made Sally shiver. “You’ll get your money when we’re on the other side.”

“Stupid cowboys,” Fletch muttered with a frown. “Water’s too high.”

Rob’s expression did not change, yet Sally knew he’d heard the man.

“Get them mules on up in front, just them two,” Fletcher directed Moss, as he squinted against the sun. “Get ’em up on that hitching post.”

Moss hitched the first two with a grumble.

“Now them other two in the middle.” Fletcher frowned. “And keep them calm. I don’t want no animals giving me trouble.”

“Don’t ye worry none about my mules.” Moss hitched the other two. “I know my business good as you know yourn.”

Rob led his horse up the ramp next. As Moss took the reigns from him he said, “I hope like hell you know what you’re doing.”

Rob merely grunted.

Finally Fletcher called to Sally, “Come on, little lady, you get on over here by me.” He held out his hand to her.

Though Rob’s eyes narrowed, he said nothing, just continued to stand with his hand on his gun as he watched them.

Sally lifted Carolyn up to Moss and reached for Fletcher’s hand. Though he was behaving like a gentleman now, his bloodshot eyes took her in. “That’s it,” he said as he helped her onto the ferry, his sour-whiskey breath making her wish she could hold her nose. His hand was raspy, rough and strong.

She waited till he turned away to push off from the bank to wipe her hand on her dress.

The ferryman grabbed a pole and gave a shove off the bank.

Moss squinted at him when he turned back around. “I ’spose ye expect me to hep ye.”

“One of you has to. I let my men off for two weeks till this river is ready to cross, and they’ll be at the nearest saloon till I send for them.”

They both glanced at Rob who stood by his horse, his right hand never far from his gun. He’d just displayed how fast he was with it.

“It’s gonna be hell to get this ferry back across the river by myself.” Fletcher grabbed the rope and began walking hand over hand down the length of the ferry.

Though the ride was smooth at first, Sally eyed the rushing waters into the middle of the river and wondered what would happen when they reached it. From the glances of the men, they were wondering the same thing. This did not reassure her.

Carolyn stood with Sally in the middle where it was most stable. She bounced up and down with excitement.

Sally gripped Carolyn’s shoulders. “Stand still.”

“Ma’am, you got to control your child,” Fletcher said as he continued working the ropes.

Sally looked down at the cold, dark, swiftly flowing water, remembering with a shiver of panic that neither she nor Carolyn could swim.

“Carolyn, sit down.”

Her daughter obeyed and Sally looked for something to hold onto. The ferry didn’t feel so sturdy as it began to creak and shift with the water becoming steadily rougher. Sally’s knees shook as her thoughts ran with the dark and dangerous river. The creaking grew louder as the mules shuffled and shifted their hooves.

The whites of their eyes rolled in fear when the boards of the ferry began to moan and groan. They didn’t like this raft any more than she did. She briefly touched the brooch at her neck and reached out to balance herself against a mule.

“I told you this river was too fast,” Fletch growled at Rob as the creaking and groaning grew louder and the river shook the ferry.

They were three quarters of the way across and the ropes were straining as Fletcher and Moss strained to pull them across.

Crack!

The rear guide post holding the guide ropes snapped in two.

“Son of a bitch!” Fletcher dropped to the floor of the ferry, holding on, just as the ferry flipped around, lurching and twisting as if it were playing crack the whip.

Carolyn and Sally screamed.

“Damn it! Sally, hold on!” Rob shouted.

The mules brayed and his horse whinnied. The horse and mules struggled against their ropes and the strain snapped the hitching post in half. One mule jumped off into the water, making the ferry tip even more.

“Dang nab it, Critter!” Moss turned and shouted.

His favorite mule was swimming toward shore with all the gear on its back while a second mule followed. At the same time, a third fell onto its hindquarters braying and Moss caught hold of it, fighting to get it under control. The fourth kicked back and Rob’s horse, which had been dancing in fear, fell into the water along with the fourth mule. The commotion tipped the ferry, flinging them all into the water, except for Fletcher who clung to the one remaining pole, cursing all the while.

“Mama!” Carolyn screamed as she was flung from Sally’s arms.

“Carolyn!” Sally shouted. Raw panic seized her as the current carried Sally downstream in the opposite direction.