Sex and the Serial Killer

I love writing the tension, suspense, and passion in my romantic suspense books. Wrap those elements together, throw in a little fear, and give the hero and heroine a villain or a serial killer to catch. Woot, sit back and watch the fireworks. These troubled, sexy alpha males and independent minded women ease the tension in a number of ways. Full throttle danger and heart-stopping action can produce mind blowing sex. These characters love as voraciously as they defend the innocent.

This isn’t the only genre around you can find these elements, but it’s where I belong. It’s where I love to research the inner workings of the deviant mind, such as the monsters who kill without caring who gets hurt.

Even more, I loved researching the FBI and the Atlanta Police department for THE LAST EXECUTION. Learning how our law enforcement actively pursues, captures, and prosecutes criminals was interesting. I actually spoke with an FBI agent who graciously answered all my questions.

If I’ve brought all the above to the table then I’ve done a good job. If I’ve kept someone up a few hours extra, made them cheer for the hero and heroine, or touched them with the resolution and happy ending, then I’ve done a good job. After all is said and done, that’s my goal!

The Last Execution blurb:

To survive, she must put the past behind her. To love, she must learn to trust.

Homicide detective Leigh McBride’s first assignment with the FBI brings her face-to-face with a past she’s tried hard to forget. And when her temporary partner, a cynical ex-marine, lights a fire in her she thought long-extinguished, her darkest secret is threatened.

Scarred both physically and emotionally, Special Agent J.T. Nobel is a man of few words. He prefers to keep people at a distance–until he meets Leigh. He’s attracted to her strength and drawn in by her secrecy. But in their line of work, secrets can be deadly.

When the killer they are hunting aims his vigilante justice at Leigh’s past assailant, the fine line between right and wrong blurs. To heal the past–and find their future together–Leigh and J.T. must learn that only through trust and forgiveness can love grow.

The Last Execution excerpt:

Ethan turned his head sideways as he studied J.T.’s face. Wide eyed, the boy pointed at the scar with his index finger. J.T. wasn’t surprised. The kid was probably curious.

“How’d you get that?”

“A piece of shrapnel—” He paused and considered Ethan’s age. “I was in the war. A bomb went off and a piece of metal smacked me in the face.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Not anymore.” J.T. marveled at the innocence in Ethan’s eyes.

“Can I touch it?”

“I guess so.” J.T. breathed in and waited. Ethan hesitated, leaning closer.

“I’m not supposed to talk about your scar.”

“Who said?”

“Mama.”

“It’s okay. I won’t tell.”

J.T. turned his head to the side. No one had outright asked to touch the constant reminder of a day when his best friend caught the worst of an IUD. Hell, people shied away from his right side. Except Leigh, she looked him square in the face. He lay still while Ethan poked a finger into the scar a couple of times. After a few seconds of investigation, the kid cupped the scar with his small hand and patted lightly. The oddest thing happened to J.T.’s heart. It swelled inside his chest and then clenched.

“Mama said you were a brave soldier.”

Alien emotions swirled through J.T. and an unexplained urge to hug Ethan put a weird lump in J.T.’s throat. Unable to cope or understand, his mind raced for an idea, anything to end the moment

Find Jerrie!

http://www.jerriealexander.com – website

http://www.jerriealexander.com/category/blog/

http://www.twitter.com/jerriealexander

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Jerrie-Alexander /121521571355959?ref=hl

http://www.goodreads.com/jerriealexander

http://pinterest.com/jerriealexander/

About Jerrie

A student of creative writing in her youth, Jerrie set aside her passion when life presented her with a John Wayne husband, and two wonderful children. A career in logistics offered her the opportunity to travel to many beautiful locations in America, and she revisits them in her romantic suspense novels.

But the characters went with her, talked to her, and insisted she share their dark, sexy stories with others. She writes alpha males and kick-ass women who weave their way through death and fear to emerge stronger because of, and on occasion in spite of, their love for each other. She likes to torture people, make them suffer, and if they’re strong enough, they live happily ever after.

The author of THE GREEN-EYED DOLL, and THE LAST EXECUTION, Jerrie and her husband live in Texas. She loves sunshine, children’s laughter, sugar (human and granulated), and researching for her heroes and heroines.

Have you ever gone somewhere you’ve never been before but as soon as you arrived you felt like you’d finally found home –like you really belonged? I’m not talking about that heebie-jeebie déjà vu stuff. I’m talking about a soul-warming connection with a bit of land that’s as comforting as a cuddle by the fire.

Well if you have, then you know exactly how I felt when I stood amid the ruins of Urquhart Castle looking out at the mysterious blue waves of Loch Ness. I was home. I’d never felt such a sense of peace.

As far back as I can remember, I’ve always been drawn to anything to do with castles, magic and Scotland. Whenever my parents wanted me out of their hair, all they had to do was shut me up in my room with the local library’s latest books on any of those three subjects.

After much reading, introspection, and then the unexplainable welcoming I felt when I finally made it to Scotland, I’ve come to the conclusion that at some point in a past life, Scotland was my homeland.

Maybe that’s why my stories seem to find their way to that lovely part of the world. My latest release, A HIGHLANDER IN HER PAST is a return visit to Scotland, the MacKay magic and all the chaos that ensues.

Here’s the blurb:

Sometimes even soul mates need a push in the right direction, especially when that direction crosses centuries.

How bad could one little spell be?

Trish Sullivan, archeologist and favorite aunt to the MacKay children never thought she’d regret those words until Ramsay, eldest MacKay lad hurls them back to the 1400′s with a botched transportation spell. Now she and Ramsay must find a way back before accidently altering the past and unknowingly changing the future. That is, if Trish can survive the first trip across time without losing her life…or her heart.

What harm could come from a little soul-binding?

Proving his Highland honor alive and well, Maxwell Sullivan agrees to bind his soul to Trish’s in order to save her life. But Highland honor isn’t much help when Maxwell loses his heart to the sassy woman headed back to the future.

Excerpt:

Trish pinched the bridge of her nose, rubbing the inside corners of her eyes. Nothing Maxwell said made sense. Bits and pieces of strange thoughts filtered through her mind. Were they memories or just bad dreams? “For my sake, could you please just start at the beginning and give me a quick rundown?”

Maxwell settled his head against the high back of the wooden slatted chair and stared unblinking at the ceiling. “The beginning. Well let’s see. I suppose the beginning would be the part where ye suddenly appeared above the tables in the library of magics, in the midst of a howling wind with a young boy clenched in your arms. Ramsay survived the trip through time quite well but you were near fatally injured. Young Keagan figured out that only those who are fully blessed and active in their magic are able to survive navigating the web of time and bring their souls along with them. Ye see, young Ramsay’s a magical MacKay but you, my dear, are not.” Maxwell paused, inhaled a deep breath and then continued. “So, the only way to save yer life was to intertwine yer soul and meld your latent magic to another soul’s dormant gifts. Keagan said we must anchor ye to a soul in this time.” Maxwell thumped his hand to the center of his chest. “That would be me.”

Trish stared at the grinning man, her head pounding with the information he’d just spewed in a single breath. “You have got to be kidding.”

“If ye think I’d go to the trouble of weaving a fantastical tale such as that just to get in a woman’s bed”—Maxwell paused, then his eyes narrowed—“then ye’d best think again because Maxwell Sullivan has ne’er been that desperate for a woman to warm his sheets.”

Trish closed her eyes, massaging her temples as she sorted through everything the man had just said. She remembered now. Burying her face in her hands, she groaned out loud. “I can’t believe I’m sitting here naked in the year 1424.”

“Aye. Well.” Maxwell chuckled a warm deep laugh. “Yer doing it quite well.”

Amazon Buy Link

By the way, I’d like to thank the uber-talented Linda LaRoque for inviting me to the Author’s by Moonlight blog. It’s been an honor and a pleasure!

Also, wee Nessie said to tell everyone hello!

Maeve’s Bio:

No one has the power to shatter your dreams –unless you give it to them. That’s Maeve Greyson’s mantra whenever her carefully laid out plans decide to take a detour. When she’s home from the day job at the steel mill, Maeve writes fantasy and paranormal romances flavored with a Celtic twist. Tucked away in a five acre wood just this side of Kentucky Lake, Maeve listens to the wind singing in the trees and hears characters telling their stories. Her work is proofed by her sharp-eyed dog, Jasper and her promotional manager is her long-suffering husband of over thirty years who learned a long time ago not to throw away any sticky notes filled with bits of conversation.

Find Maeve at these places on the web:

Website: http://www.maevegreyson.com/
Blog: http://maevegreyson.blogspot.com/
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/maeve.greyson
Twitter: http://twitter.com/#!/maevegreyson

Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/Maeve-Greyson/e/B004PE9T9U/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1

When I was a little girl, we didn’t have a lot of family around. My dad was in the military and spent most of his career stationed at Offutt Air Force Base, just outside of Omaha, Nebraska. Dad’s family lived in New York, my mom’s in Virginia. I can count on one hand how many times my grandparents visited. Each time, it was a big event, and I was scared to death. I was extremely shy, terrified of strangers, even the ones related to me. Eventually, I would warm up enough to talk and laugh (and show off a little bit), but soon they would leave, and I would go back to my scaredy-cat ways. I even had a hard time talking to my grandmother on the phone, but I never shied away from writing her letters.

With a pencil and notebook paper, I could be brave. I could be funny, and charming, and sophisticated. I could tell crazy stories, share my wildest dreams, and ignore my fears. I could erase my mistakes. Granny always wrote me back, page after page of beautiful cursive handwriting, each word an expression of love, encouraging me to write again.

Though life has made it difficult for us to continue exchanging letters, I still write for my grandmother. Every character I create, every story I dream up, every book I publish, I dedicate to her.

Excerpt of Millie’s Rose:

“Your memories are everything, kochanie,” Stacy said. “And those pictures are treasures.”

“Treasures?” Dan laughed bitterly. “They’re not treasures. Those pictures are time stopping. They’re reminders of everything that will never happen. I can’t look at them and say, ‘Oh, wow, look how happy we were that one day,’ because you know what? We were so damn happy every day that I can’t get her out of my head! I don’t need to look at pictures of her, Stace. I need to forget she ever existed!”

“You don’t need to forget her, dupek,” Stacy insisted. “You need to grieve.”

“What the hell do you think I’ve been doing?”

“You’ve been hiding.”

“Bullshit!”

“You’ve shut down all of your emotions and refuse to talk about her with anyone! Even me! Don’t you think I would love to talk about Millie with you? I can’t because anytime there’s even a hint of Millie in the conversation, you shut down.” Stacy took a step toward him, but he moved away. “We’ve both been dealing with her death alone, Dan, but you’re alone by choice. I’m alone because you refuse to let me in.”

She took another step toward him and he started pacing again.

“I’m sorry, Stacy, but I can’t,” Dan said. He knew she was alone. He knew she needed him, but he was in too much pain to do anything about it.

“Yes, you can,” she said.

“No,” Dan insisted.

Stacy grabbed his arms, forcing him to stop pacing and stand still.

“Do you know what I do every night before I go to sleep?” she asked. “I look at this picture you took of her and me decorating all those cakes for that library fundraiser. Do you remember that? We have those ridiculous aprons on, frosting and flour and sprinkles all over the damn place. She has a streak of pink along her cheek and her hair tied up in that crazy purple bandana. Do you remember?”

“No,” he lied, but he did remember. He remembered everything.

“Every time I look at that picture, I remember exactly how I felt, at exactly that second. I felt loved by Millie. I miss her too, Dan. Probably more that you’ll ever realize. Just like you, I will never have another Millie in my life. She was one in a million. If I lost any of those little moments, it would be like losing a little bit of myself.”

“Maybe that’s the difference between you and me, Stacy,” Dan said. “I’ve already lost myself. I’m nothing without her.”

He turned his back and walked away, leaving her standing alone. This time, she didn’t try to follow.

Donna Sturgeon lives and writes in rural Nebraska. Her first novel, MILLIE’S ROSE, was released in May 2011, followed by OLIVIA in March 2012. For information on upcoming releases and events, follow on Facebook, or at donnasturgeon.wordpress.com

Three baby boomer relive their trip to Woodstock in ’69.  One final road trip. One last chance to say Goodbye Emily.

Most readers of Goodbye Emily enjoy reading a Woodstock love story, but when I began the novel, my focus wasn’t on the musical event. I wanted to write a story with a main character in his early sixties portraying baby boomers the way I see us— funny, idealistic as we were in the sixties, sexually active and optimistic about the future. And baby boomers can still fall in love.

I’ve been thrilled with the response to the novel. Author Jen Estes said, “Goodbye Emily is amusing, heartwarming and inviting. Through Sparky’s healing journey, we discover that while we can’t escape heartbreak, we can’t let that keep us from pursuing love. I laughed, I cried…I thoroughly enjoyed Goodbye Emily.”

Author Lynne Morgan Spreen said, “I chuckled along, and in places I cried, and I finished the book with sad/happy tears running down my face – happy to have enjoyed the memories and sad for the days gone by.”

More reviews are available at www.goodbyeemily.com

Here’s a brief scene early in the book when the main character wakes up in the ER and is diagnosed with broken heart syndrome.

Most of my life, I was the luckiest man alive. I loved my wife to the moon and back, and she loved me even more. I adored my daughter and remained close to my best friends, Josh and Buck. I relished the role of respected professor at Milton College. For more than thirty years, I taught students things they didn’t know, and I learned from them. Life was perfect, until Emily’s cancer. Then it all fell apart.

I had nothing left except Cloe, Lady and booze to take away the pain and help me sleep. Life had spun out of control, and as painful as it was to admit, I had no idea how to get it back.

The patient in the next bed continued his phlegm-clearing even in his sleep. The hospital wasn’t doing him much good.

I climbed from the bed and winced from my aches and pains and a tug against my chest hairs by the heart monitor sensors. The wheels on the monitor squeaked as I moved it closer to the patient in the next bed. I peeked through the curtains to make sure the man was still asleep. I ripped off my sensors and stuck them to his chest.

His eyes blinked open. “Who are you?”

“A … a volunteer. Go back to sleep.”

His eyes fluttered closed.

The monitor barely missed a beat. With a satisfied chuckle, I retrieved my clothes from beneath the bed. I tossed the hospital gown into the corner and changed.

Even with the tear in my Steelers jacket I felt better already. I poked my head out the curtains. While nurses and doctors tended to really sick people, I followed the signs, left through the main entrance and made my great escape from the ER.

I took my health seriously, but it was my health. I didn’t need a wisecracking doctor and a battery of tests to mend my broken heart. I stuffed both hands in my jacket against the chilly early morning and began the long walk home to Lady.

Visit Michael Murphy’s web site

Goodbye Emily is available on Kindle and Nook and a bookstore near you.

BIG Change for Pam Crooks!

Have you read the bestselling motivational book, ‘WHO MOVED MY CHEESE?’?  This little blockbuster gives the reader courage to face change by way of a story so simple a child could understand it.

I could certainly relate.  As an author who cut her eyeteeth on western romance back in the 90’s, I wrote nothing but that time period, and finally in 2000, I sold my first one.  I continued writing western romance until 2010 when my gut–and the market–told me it was time to make a change.

I made a conscious decision to leave the line I was writing for.  People thought I was crazy.  I had a good career going, I had name recognition and a reputation for writing some decent westerns.  Hundreds of writers, maybe thousands, would give their right arm for what I had.  Countless writers had tried to get their foot in the door to my powerhouse-publisher and failed.  Why would I give it up?

Life got in the way, and I went a couple of years without a new book out.  I felt adrift, for sure.  I had friends happily announcing new sales.  I was stuck at a day job with no book deadlines, no covers to anticipate, nothing to update on my website.

During that time, the ebook revolution was in full swing.  I got the rights back to my first four western romances, and I self-published them.  Big change there.  I never thought I’d read on an e-reader, and here I was, selling books for them.  I found myself loving my Kindle more than I ever thought I would.

Fast forward to November, 2012.  I had this romantic suspense I’d written, just sitting on a disc on my desk.  Contemporary.   Nothing like the other books I’d written before.  Was I good enough to pull off a story like that?  Would readers get hooked by the suspense, the action, the romance?

Evidently, they did.  The first two months have brought me more sales than my first four books combined.  HER MOTHER’S KILLER was a big change for me, but thankfully, it’s been a good one.  I’ve pushed through a new wall, enabling me to continue on to write more romantic suspense if I wanted.

But wait.  There was more change in store for me.  I wasn’t idle in the time since my last western romance was released.  I’d been working on a new series so different, so hugely sweeping that I was compelled to take a pseudonym before I introduced it to the world.

THE SPYGLASS PROJECT, by Frankie Astuto (that’s me!) is Book 1 of the Secret Six series and mostly written from the male point-of-view.  It’s not western, and it’s not contemporary, but it’s an historical suspense set in the 1920s.  Mafia, Prohibition, Nazis.  I threw in an ex-military hero brimming with American patriotism.  He’s hurting, and he’s angry, and he wants revenge.  Mostly, he just wants the truth.  And with a little help from a beautiful Italian woman and the mysterious double-agent who betrayed him . . . well, his story needed to be told.

There you have it.  HUGE change for Pam Crooks.  Who is now Frankie Astuto.  But I’m exhilarated by the change in my career.  I’m thrilled someone moved my cheese to a new place far more exciting.  It’s going to be a good thing.

The Spyglass Project on Amazon.

www.pamcrooks.com

www.frankieastuto.com

Goodreads Book Giveaway

The Spyglass Project

by Frankie Astuto

Giveaway ends January 20, 2013.

See the giveaway details at Goodreads.

Enter to win

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Conversation on an Airplane

He: (headphones stowed now the movie’s done) What’s that you’re doing? All that typing red words into black. Don’t you have any games?

Me: (smiling). I’m working. No time for games. (Unspoken—or idle chatter with a fat man.)

He: What kind of work?

Me: (trying to be polite but not overly welcoming of conversation) I’m an editor. What do you do? (that usually works—but not today.)

He: Really? Like, how does that go down?

Me: Authors submit books to the publisher for possible acceptance and publication. I read some of them and make recommendations.

He: Like what?

Me: (giving in to the inevitable, craning neck for the vodka-cart, which some people erroneously call the coffee-cart, but as an editor, I get to make some rules. It’s a vodka-cart today) Whether to accept, reject, or request revisions on the manuscript.

He: (looking disgruntled on behalf of all would-be writers) It all comes down to you? I write a book, send it in, and you get to decide if it’s going to be published? (wrinkles nose as if smelling a nearby fart.)

Me: (resignedly shutting down and closing laptop—that vodka-cart is far away, but coming this direction, clinking and tinkling, tantalizing me) Not for every book written. Just those sent to the publisher I work with.

He: Seems like a big responsibility for a woman like, well, you. (I should maybe be home baking cookies for grandkids or simply dozing in my rocking chair?)

Me: I’m up for it. (that’s going to be a double vodka, easy on the rocks)

He: (suspicious as all-get-out) Okay, so I write a book and send it in. What would make you accept it?

Me: An interesting concept, well presented. Clear and concise writing showing the author’s attention to detail, an ability to show rather than tell, good writing-craft and a solid sense of genre.

He: Genre?

Me: Genre is the type of story. In a murder mystery, there must be a dead body, either before the story begins or within the first chapter or so and someone must care enough to pin-point the murder by the end of the book so the villain is suitably punished. In a thriller, I look for a strong plot with carefully crafted good guys, equally well defined bad guys, and a thrilling chase or two, a couple of gun-fights or fisticuffs leading up to a world-saving event at the end. For science fiction, a credible world I can see and believe in, where beings, be they human or alien or a mixture of races brought together by some kind of strife work their way to a satisfactory conclusion. It’s pretty much the same in fantasy, though there are lots of different kinds of fantasy, each one has its own rules and parameters that have to be followed. In a romance, I’ll want to see characters I can care about, a love story that shows me the conflicts and problems that block the lovers’ way yet can be solved or corrected to allow a happy ending

He: (dismissively) Oh. That girlie-stuff.

Me: What kind of books do you like to read? (Didn’t he hear a word between Murder Mystery and Happy Ending? That vodka-cart is taking an awfully long time).

He: (looking offended) I don’t read. No time for that. Too slow. I like action. What kinda books you got give me action?

Me: Thrillers, mysteries, science fiction, fantasy, even romance, all have lots of action in them. Most genres combine elements of all the others.

He: So, who died and made you God and lets you choose who gets a book and who doesn’t?

Me: (Do I have enough time for an unneeded potty-break before the vodka-cart comes?) I don’t see myself as having quite that much power.

He: I bet the people who send in their stuff see it that way. (Looking avidly hopeful.)You get a lot of hate mail?

Me: Not so far. I like my work and try to make choices that will be good for the company and the customers who buy the books we publish. I also try to help the writers whose work I have to reject by making suggestions on how they can improve their work.

He: You go to editor school, or somethin’?

Me: Well, I did go to school. But lots of people do that. I think to become an editor a person needs to have a good working knowledge of the English language—its basics, such as spelling, grammar and structure. I learned most of that before I was eight years old but hone it every day. I’ve read a great many books and know what works and what doesn’t. I’ve also taught novel-writing classes.

He: (almost inaudible snort) Oh. Yeah. Like, those who can, do. Those who can’t, teach.

Me: (Gee, I wonder where he heard that. It’s clear he didn’t read it) Not always true. Some people can both do and teach.

He: (challengingly) Oh, yeah?

Me: (slipping fingers into jeans pocket for the ever handy credit card as the vodka-cart draws slowly nearer) As a matter of fact, yes. I’ve had something like fifty books published.

He: (eyes widening) Should I know you?

Me: No, especially since you don’t read, and I write romance novels. You know, that girlie-stuff. (Help! The steward with the vodka-cart is flirting with the blond guy three rows forward)

He: That’s wild. I never met a writer before. And you do them love stories?

Me: Yes.

He: (raising eyebrows) “They got sex in ’em?”

Me: (cautiously) “Yes. Some. (Thank God, he’s here! He’s leaning over with the coffee, tea or (not) me question.)

Me: (babbling) Vodkarocksdoublepleaseeasyontherocks. (flips out credit card)

He: No, no. Here. Let me get that for the little lady. (his card is a different color from mine. Why in hell is he traveling coach?)

Me: That’s very kind, but…

He: (gently shoving my pathetic little card away.) It’s my pleasure. Wow, have I got some stories for you. Maybe we could work out a deal for them. I tell them, you write them, and we both get rich! I’ve had lots of sex. (eagerness gleams in his eyes, punctuated by dollar signs)

Me: (to the steward) Since the gentleman’s feeling generous, make mine a triple, please.

I did not one day wake up and decide to be a super hero. I did, however, one day read a good book and decide I wanted to be a writer. It took me a long time to figure out what kind of books I wanted to write, though. I read so many different genres, and I loved every minute of it. Most of the books I read I would say to myself, “I want to be that kind of a writer!” It wasn’t until I seen the movie, You’ve got mail, that I knew I wanted to write romantic comedy, though. I loved the characters in that movie so much that I’ve watched it a hundred times. I’ll never tire of it!

The only genre I did not, and never will, aspire to write is horror. Don’t get me wrong, I went through my Stephen King phase. I read that genre passionately for about two years before I realized I’d begun to creep myself out and I was too old to sleep with my lights on. I proudly stand with my hand raised, and say, “My name is Niecey Roy, and I am a scardy-cat.” Yes, I am that annoying girl who, while watching a horror flick, spends 90% of the movie with my hands over my eyes and squealing like a little girl with each flutter of a curtain or creek of a door hinge. Ugh. No one ever wants to watch a horror flick with me. They’re more creeped out with me screaming at every little thing, than they are creeped out by the movie itself.

Being October, I think it’s the perfect month to talk about horror flicks. Fun! So, quoting Scream, the movie that almost made me pee my pants a few times, “What’s your favorite scary movie???” *in the tone of creepy, maniacal psycho villain voice followed by creepy, maniacal psycho villain laughter*

I think the one that got to me the most was the newest version of Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Eeekkk, creepy! The most hysterical part of that move — yes, there is a hysterical moment — was when I was running my fingers through my husbands hair, daring that movie to scare the bejeezus out of me, when it did just that. And then I grabbed a handful of my hubby’s hair and accidentally yanked his head back while I screamed my face off. So, the moral of this story is, if you’re a big scardy-cat like I am, do NOT run your fingers through a loved one’s hair at the exact moment a freaky, inbred psycho jumps out with an ax. The repercussions will not be in your favor. Also, said loved one will NEVER watch a scary movie with you again. I know this from experience.

I’d love to hear what your favorite scary movie is! I’ll be giving away a free, autographed of my soon to be released novel, Fender Bender Blues, a contemporary romantic comedy. Just post a comment below to be entered in the drawing. Also add your email address. Once the book is released, I’ll send out an email to the winner and let them know when they should expect their autographed copy.

Happy Halloween month, everyone, and thanks for stopping by!

Blurb – Fender Bender Blues, coming soon from The Wild Rose Press:

Rachel Bennett loved her job, until one bad day derails her life. Now she’s on the hunt for a new career, and as luck would have it, starting over isn’t easy. So her plan is simple—no distractions until she’s bagged her dream job. Who knew fate would throw her a curveball in the form of a sexy guy in a suit and a fender bender she can’t afford…

Craig Larsen is a wealthy, successful auto dealership owner whose goal is simple—weather the PR nightmare resulting from a lawsuit against his dealership and stay away from his overly determined ex-girlfriend. He’s used to control, and measures happiness in professional success and money in his bank account. Then he meets Rach, a sassy redhead who can’t drive, and she’s turning his world upside down…

Soon, they’re battling a yard war with Rach’s grumpy old neighbor, toilet-papering the trees of a high school nemesis, and fighting over the last slice of pizza. Will two very different people plus one fender bender equal bad luck…or fate???

Excerpt – Fender Bender Blues, coming soon from The Wild Rose Press:

“Now what?”

“Nothing.”Rach sniffed.

Craig shifted to eye her warily. “Since when do you answer me with single words?”

“Since I decided I’m not talking to you,” she answered with a shrug, crumpling up the white paper wrapper from her sub.

Craig leaned his face in close to her neck and enjoyed the startled jerk of her shoulders. Her eyes opened wide in surprise. His breath shifted a few strands of hair at the nape of her neck as he whispered, “Why, because you want me?”

“You’re incorrigible,” she said, breathless, her cheeks flushed.

She’s enjoying this. The thought pleased him. Rach was on her back beside him now, her eyes closed. He glanced around the park to see if anyone was watching. No one was. He could swoop in for a kiss and no one would catch him. No one would care, he told himself. She won’t mind…

“I can feel you staring.”

Craig smiled down at her. “So what.”

She peeked at him with one green eye. “So stop it.”

“And if I don’t?” Maybe she’d tackle him, push him down on the blanket and…

She didn’t. She promptly closed her eye and went back to pretending indifference. “I’ll hit you, that’s what.”

“Not if I do this, you won’t.”

He’d only meant it to be a short kiss, but the pleasure of touching his lips to hers kept him there longer. Her tongue was velvet soft and warm against his and the slow mating of their mouths quickened his heartbeat even as he told himself, It’s no big deal, just a kiss.

Visit Niecey at:

www.nieceyroy.com

www.facebook.com/NieceyRoyRomanceAuthor

https://twitter.com/NieceyRoy

Our guest can’t be here (or at least not a lot) today because she is at her family compound in the Arizona mountains celebrating. TODAY, October 4^th, is her five year survivor mark. We had to ask Mackenzie Crowne- awesome author and amazing woman -to visit though, because October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month and she has made me, for one, uber aware of this horrible disease since I (Calisa) met her last year. You may have read this post from her recently, but I asked her if we could post this one specifically. You’ll understand as you read it. Having edited her first self-published book, this post may mean a little more for me but can you think of a better book title to address breast cancer than– Where Would You Like Your Nipple?

My name is Mac and I’m a survivor. One of eight kids – yeah, I said eight – I was raised in a middle-class, Irish Catholic household. I’m also the author of several romance novels. So, how does a chick from a middle-class, Catholic upbringing end up writing romance, you ask? Simple. I had a front row seat to a world class love story from the day I was born.

I admit to not always appreciating the experience. I mean, can you imagine how embarrassing it is to a teenager to witness her father patting mom’s ass in appreciation as she passes by him in the kitchen? Gross! But as a grown woman, the memory of the sparks that flew between the two of them, well into their golden years, reinforces my belief in true love. And where true love exists, it can’t be contained in the souls of two. It spills out to enrich the lives of others like a living force. I can attest to the fact that it spilled out to me and my siblings, but it also touched others, like the local florist in my parents’ town.

Every year, a few days before my parents’ wedding anniversary, Dad would stop by her shop. A jovial man, who referred to himself as the fat Irishman with eight kids, he lived his days with humor and hope, and made friends wherever he went. The florist was no exception. Like his yearly order of carnations (Mom’s choice. She’s a pragmatic woman. Carnations last – and they’re cheap) the conversation went pretty much the same way every time. “I need some flowers for Whats-her-name,” he’d say. The florist would laugh and hand over a tiny card on which he would pen a cheesy poem beginning with Roses are Red, Violets are Blue. I can’t tell you how his many poems ended, especially not the ones that made Mom blush, before she tucked the card in her dresser drawer.

Fast forward to 2004. We lost Dad on a clear July day. He didn’t make the trip to the florist’s shop that year, and yet, several months later, on the morning of September 25^th (yes, today would have been their 58^th anniversary) a clutch of carnations arrived at Mom’s door with a simple card that read: “To Whats-her-name.”

You see, true love not only exists, it doesn’t die. It lives on in the hearts of those it touches. It also reaches out to those in need. My dad was an incredible man and I expect, the best soul I’ll ever have had the privilege to meet as I walk this world. He understood the power of love and his door was forever thrown open to those in need. I like to think he’d approve of my story of humor and hope, and my attempt to lessen the fear of those facing breast cancer, as it was his loving example that led to the writing of Where Would You Like Your Nipple?

What about you? Do you believe in true love? And, more importantly, have you witnessed its positive influence spilling over your life?

Where Would You Like Your Nipple? Available at Amazon

Find Mac at Mackenziecrowne.com Facebook and Twitter

A guy in a girls world

Ready to be floored, I mean knocked on your butt? I’m a guy, 300 pounds, 6 foot 2 inches, 54 inch shouldered alpha male that adores the visual, the erotic, the wonder and splendor of the female form, scent and touch. Now here comes the shocker: I write romantic suspense. That’s right, amora. No, no. Not the traditional stories of love me, hate me, love me, rather themes constructed around intrigue with a romantic flair at the core.

Impossible you say. Maybe, but you’d be surprised at what’d you’d find between the sheets of my novels. Every release on twelve stories so far has received top/five star reviews from web sites recognized as bastions of feminine mystic (Romance Junkies, Night Owl, Long and Short Reviews, etc). Case in point, my novel BLIND CONSENT even won the Rose award for best romantic suspense. So what’s the problem, right? Well there is an up and down side to being a guy writing in a female domain, IMO.

Positive – I get to write stories that come to me in whispers from my muse. I am very fortunate that my publisher provides tremendous latitude on what I write. I can blend across thriller, mystery, paranormal, heck even SciFi and season the theme with romance from a male POV, as long as the stories envelope the reader.

Positive – I have sensed no prejudice from reviewers for being a man, not a metro guy, but a man man. Never has a reviewer remarked alarm or disbelief they were reading thoughts from the male mind.

Negative – Many of my associates, men and women, and family, were dumb founded when I came out of the closet. Funny thing, but male and female buy my books, not just one but all my stories. No, I don’t beg ‘em too. I just know because they keep coming, contacting me for my new releases.

Negative – Many ladies have difficulty accepting I actually write the stories. I’ve had several inquires via email ask, “Are you really a guy”. Even had a woman at a book sell pick up one of my books and ask, “What’s the story about?” When I said, “This novel was nominated as the best romantic thriller of…” never even got to finish the sentence. “Romance? You can’t write romance. You’re a guy.” Believe me; I’m not making that up. Hard to think such framing exists but it does, and it happens to female authors writing in a male dominated genre. Read an interesting article about twelve women authors that hid their true identity till they became known. One was named Rawlings (Harry Potter series). Her publisher suggested she use only her initials. Once she became famous, well you know that story.

Negative – Sells are affected by stereotyping. Although I write roughly the same number of titles in the RS vs SciFi world, most of my royalties come from the latter, yet the romance market is much larger in its readership. Why not shift totally to the genre with the greater ROI? Hey, my muse is in control. Not me. Should I ignore the fictional worlds that cry in the night to be captured on paper, just because they deal with amora? I don’t think so.

Probably should have listened to my wife eight years ago when I started, but you know how men are when it comes to taking a woman’s advice. What was it? To author my stories with the romantic flair under the alias Michele Davis. She was probably right, thought I’ll never tell her that (g). You can check out reviews, excerpts, trailers, and awards at Davisstories.com.

In 2005, Michael Davis began his writing career authoring 14 romantic suspense and SciFi stories. In 2008 & 2009 he received the Author of the Year Award, and in 2011 the Award of Excellence. His book BLIND CONSENT won the Rose Award for best romantic suspense. Other Top review rated titles include: TAINTED HERO, FORGOTTEN CHILDREN, SHADOW OF GUILT, and WHISPERS OF INNOCENCE. Excerpts, trailers and reviews are available at Davisstories.com

Hello Authors By Moonlight! Thanks to Linda LaRoque for inviting me to Guest Post today.  She and I are kindred spirits in writing historical fiction/romance, and enjoying the research that enhances our stories.  She previously blogged about The Joy of Research and I’d like to continue on that theme.

I decided to write my “Welsh-tern”–a Western about three immigrant brothers from Wales in the Arizona Territory–to share the beauty of Arizona with folks who had never been here and different cultures with Arizonans who were unaware of local history. Hours in the Arizona Historical Society Research Library on the campus of the University of Arizona (whew, say that five times fast!) yielded a mother lode of facts, but to take my readers into my characters’ lives, I had to show where they came from and go where they had their adventures.

Book One of my Dragon & Hawk trilogy begins in the mining camps of Bisbee and moves to wild and bawdy Tombstone. Touring Bisbee’s Queen Mine multiple times gave me a real appreciation for how dangerous mining operations were (still are, actually). And visiting Wales let me listen to how Welshmen speak English in a musical cadence with a Welsh sentence structure. When I learned how miners were specifically recruited from the coal mines of Wales to dig out the copper mines of Bisbee, I knew I had to tell the story of how Evan Jones found love in a new land with a Mexican mystic who was nothing like the girls back home.

Book Two, Out of Forgotten Ashes continues in Tombstone and Tucson as well as the booming port of San Diego. The Historical Society of San Diego was a treasure trove of information; for instance, it was much faster to take a boat than a carriage from what was called New Town (and is now downtown San Diego) to small communities on Point Loma. Having maps of what had been compared with what is there now was very handy. This orate archway from what would have been Roseville inspired a rendezvous scene between Evan and a woman from his past, only one of the phoenixes that rise from forgotten ashes to threaten to destroy everything he holds dear.

My latest release is Book Three, Dragon’s Legacy, which takes place in 1904 Tucson. Bigotry rears its ugly head as more people arrive from the East with prejudices the half-Welsh/ half-Mexican generation of Joneses must face on an increasing basis. This story explores how two young men vie for the attentions of a beautiful but manipulative woman, unaware of their rivalry–and their connection in a web of deceit that could shatter the Jones clan completely. 

I was surprised to find a high level of racial tolerance in Tucson prior to 1900. Even though officially interracial marriages were illegal, many white men married Native or Mexican women. A real rarity was the acceptance of a black man and white woman as a married couple in 1868, but there they were in the county records. They obtained a mortgage, owned two businesses, and their daughter went on to run a boarding house at one of the stagecoach stops. But around the turn of the twentieth century, more white women came to the Territory, bringing their strict Victorian opinions of what was socially acceptable and what wasn’t.  While Tucson remained more tolerant of non-whites than the outlying mining towns, miscegenation laws were enforced more regularly and outright discrimination grew more frequent.

I visited houses still standing from those days, from the Territorial style house of a real Welsh-born civic leader (with more than one unsavory secret) to the hacienda layout of an Art Deco style mansion built by the owner of the town’s first department store. [insert photo 3] Walking where my characters would enlivens the process for me, makes me feel as though I am actually in the action, and I hope my readers can feel that as well.

To read an excerpt from each book, visit my website.

The Dragon & Hawk Trilogy is published by and available from Champagne Books.

Jude Johnson has been a history enthusiast since childhood and has lectured about her historical research at the Sierra Vista Historical Society, the Welsh League of Arizona, and the West Coast Eisteddfod in Los Angeles. She is a member of Gecko Gals Ink, LLC, a group of “sassy Tucson authors” who encourage other writers to become published by holding writing seminars and classes. While she has no Welsh heritage in her lineage, she has studied Cymraeg—the Welsh Language—and learned just enough to be dangerous in Cardiff pubs. She also speaks bad border Spanish that gets better with cerveza.

She lives in Tucson, Arizona.

Website: http://jude-johnson.com

Blogs: wordsthatremain.blogspot.com

thewritersvineyard.blogspot.com

geckogalsink.blogspot.com

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/JudeJohnsonAZ

Twitter: @JudeJohnsonAZ

Photo credits:

Photo 1: SD Archway, Jude Johnson

Photo 2: Hughes House, Jude Johnson

Photo 3: Steinfeld Mansion, Jude Johnson

Book Cover, Dragon’s Legacy , artwork by Amanda Kelsey