Recently, I began the research for a set of books I plan to write and came across some interesting details about the women of Camelot.  Elaine of Corbenic is one of those women who may not be as well known as Guinevere or Morgan le Fay, but has a fascinating and terribly sad tale.

King Pelles, Elaine’s father, held the most wondrous treasure, the Holy Grail, and kept it hidden away in Corbenic.  The Holy Grail had miraculous powers to heal if one but sipped from the cup.

Elaine’s story began when the evil Morgan le Fay cast a spell, and Elaine was kept in a boiling cauldron.  Sir Lancelot heard about this wicked deed and charged to Corbenic to rescue the lady.  As was the fate of many of the fair sex, Elaine of Corbenic fell deeply in love with Lancelot du Lac. But the love was one-sided, as Sir Lancelot loved only Queen Guinevere.  (Although there was another Elaine who fell in love with Sir Lancelot, Elaine of Astolat, this was not the same lady.)

Seeing her lady in such despair, the maid, Brusen, had a plan to get Sir Lancelot and Elaine together.  Too much in love to protest, Elaine went along with the deception, and the maid informed Sir Lancelot his Guinevere had secretly arrived and would spend the night in the castle.

Upon waking the next morning, Sir Lancelot found himself in bed with Elaine, not Guinevere, and left for Camelot immediately.  Nine months later, Galahad was born, and Elaine kept her days busy with her son.

When the opportunity came to go to Camelot, Elaine went.  She continued to love Sir Lancelot with all her heart and hoped there was a chance for them.  Elaine was settled in the room next to Guinevere, and the crafty maid Brusen managed to fool Lancelot into going into Elaine’s room once again.

`

When Guinevere overheard Lancelot’s voice in the room next door, she stormed in and threw the knight out of the castle.  Grieved to the point of madness, Sir Lancelot left and roamed the land.

Two years later, Elaine came across Sir Lancelot after he had stumbled near starved to death under a fountain on her father’s land.  She quickly revived him with the Holy Grail, and he decided to stay.

`

Elaine’s happiness knew no bounds, until the fateful day Sir Ector and Sir Percival rode up.  Queen Guinevere had been searching all along for Sir Lancelot and requested him to return to Camelot at once.  Galahad, fifteen years old by then, departed after his father to become a knight.  And poor Elaine never saw either her love or her son ever again.

`

Tell me what you think of Elaine of Corbenic.  What do you think she should have done?  Fought harder for Lancelot?  Forgotten him and found another?  Taken a sword to the scoundrel?  I’d love to know your thoughts.

`

Next month, I will present the brave Lyonet’s tale.

~Tiffany

www.tiffanygreen.net

When my number one daughter was very small, I was bitten by the quilting bug. Now all the women in my family quilted to some extent by necessity. I had grown up watching ‘nine-patch’ squares turn into bed-sized blankets. I’d been fascinated by the colors and the optical illusions that came together in their skillful hands. Somehow I’d not quite come to the realization that I could make that happen, too, though I’d been sewing since I was a child. Then the bug bit me. I had all the scraps left from making toddler pinafores and summer play clothes. I had tons of remnants from stitching up garments for myself. A good many scraps had gone into miniature gowns I created for a museum display when I copied the gowns worn by figures in a collection of portraits. Somehow I hadn’t latched on to the idea of turning those varied scraps into a crib-sized quilt. But the moment came. And it came with a little family history that my beloved Little Grandmother shared. When she was a young thing, and a number of suitors came to call, one in particular caught her eye. As he nudged out the competition and she began to think of making that relationship permanent, she also began to think about a wedding dress. White satin and orange blossoms didn’t come easily to hand in the dusty small town in the Panhandle of Texas where she lived. Young ladies, for the most part, made their wedding dresses out of the prettiest and most durable fabric available. In Little Grandmother’s case, it was a bolt of cherry red gingham. The young man proposed, was accepted, and the date set. Little Grandmother cut and stitched, hemmed and tucked, and finished her red gingham dress in time for the early spring wedding. And so she and her handsome cowboy were married.

In due time, of course, the couple became a family, first a boy, then another boy, and at last, the girl Little Grandmother had hoped for. Baby Girl grew from tiny baby to toddler, and Little Grandmother wanted to dress up her little girl in something special for Easter. Times were hard, the market had crashed, and banks were failing. Not much money for buying pretty dresses. But Little Grandmother didn’t give up easily. She looked through her own things and saw the red gingham dress in her wardrobe. She’d worn it a lot, and the durable cotton had begun to show a bit of age. But the wide skirt had good fabric in it. With careful snipping, there would be enough yardage to make a new Easter Dress for Baby Girl. And so the second generation wore that cherry red gingham.

Years passed and Baby Girl grew to adulthood, and as is wont to happen, she married and produced a Darlin Girl of her own. It was war time and fabric was scarce, especially something suitable for a tiny child. The young wife looked through the things she’d had in her early life and found the little red gingham dress her mother had made for her. There wasn’t a lot of fabric there, but there was enough to make a nice skirt. With a bit of solid red to make a top, Darlin Girl would have something pretty to wear when Daddy came back from the war. And so a third generation wore that soft bit of gingham.

You know what happened. Darlin Girl grew up and what do you think? Into her life came Angel Girl. And there I was, a young mother trying to juggle college, a house, a husband, and a baby. We counted pennies from pay check to pay check. But I wanted to make my angel child a quilt. Little Grandmother was visiting, and she offered to help me over the hard spots. So I pulled out all the scraps, put this and that together, and somewhere turned up the red gingham skirt my mother made for me when we were waiting for Daddy to come home. When Little Grandmother told me the history of that bit of red gingham, I knew it was meant to be. What could be more appropriate? I snipped and stitched and created that first-ever quilt for the little girl in my life, the fourth generation to share the dress that Little Grandmother made so many years before. Now Angel Girl has a Precious Girl of her own. And I’m glad to say the quilt, and its red gingham squares, has gone to one more generation.

I treasure the story of the red gingham dress and the cowboy who loved the girl who wore it. And I understand the longing and uncertainty of the young wife waiting for her husband to come back from the war. I like to think that some of their dreams and hopes linger in the bits of faded red stitched into that quilt. Like putting together the patches for a quilt, using the bits and pieces left from other projects, when I write a story I’m using the bits and pieces, the hope and dreams, of those who came before me. Maybe somewhere in time to come, someone will read something I wrote, faded and worn thin by time, and hear an echo of the cowboy, the war bride, or the college wife, and be comforted by the story as my special granddaughter was comforted by her quilt and the memories it held.

Fleeta Cunningham

DON’T CALL ME DARLIN’

BLACK RAIN RISING

ELOPEMENT FOR ONE

HALF PAST MOURNING

CRY AGAINST THE WIND (to be released in June, 2013)

www.fleetacunningham.com

fgcunningham@yahoo.com

I’ve had a great affection for all things English since I could remember.  I think that is one of the reasons I decided to write historical romance set in Regency England.  In 2010, I was fortunate enough to travel to England and explore the southern part of the country.  What a great adventure!  We visited tiny villages with thatched roof cottages to the bustling grand city, London.

So I got another opportunity to visit again last November.  We explored the northern part of England, Wales, and Scotland.  From Manchester, Chester, Liverpool, York, to tiny towns in Wales I could not possibly pronounce (I have my doubts the Welsh can even pronounce them,) the landscape was breathtaking!  Even the weather cooperated for November.  In fact, it was downright warm at times.  Must have brought a little Texas sunshine to them.  Maybe I should charge for that?  And then we went to Edinburgh.  Holyrood Palace is something to behold!  Finally, we wrapped things up in Paris.  The city was lovely, the people were gracious, and the wine was outstanding!  Can’t wait to go back.

Stay tuned for my next grand adventure.  I already have something in mind…

~Tiffany

www.tiffanygreen.net

I am so excited to introduce to ABM a new author with a great debut novel. Lael Neill now lives in Central Texas but her roots are in the Northwest. Her book, STONE DREAMING WOMAN,  from Wild Rose Press, has already received high praise on the Amazon.com reader review. It is available as an ebook now and will be out in hard copy in March. I asked Lael to tell ABM readers about her book and how a Texas gal wound up writing about Mounties and medicine women of the early Twentieth Century. This is how our visit went.

FC:  Your story STONE DREAMING WOMAN is set in the period just before WWI in Canada. What inspired you to use that time and setting? Do you have a strong personal interest that suggested the story?

LN: The very first romance that ever caught hold of my imagination and my heart was MRS. MIKE, by Benedict and Nancy Mars Freedman.  I fell in love with the hero, so I wove a story of my own about a Royal Northwest Mounted Police officer and a woman whose background was about as far removed from his as I could imagine.

I grew up in Tacoma, Washington, only about an hour and a half from the British Columbia border.  I am very familiar with western Canada, and I originally imagined setting the story there.  However, the Mounted Police did not have jurisdiction over British Columbia until much later, so I was faced with a choice.  I either had to move the timeline up or I had to reset the story in a different area.  Moving the timeline would have reduced the impact of the basic theme of the story (gender bias), so changing the setting seemed the more logical course to take.

The period before WWI was a real watershed concerning the role of women in society.  They had fought for and won the right to vote, and were crusading for reproductive rights and gender equality.  The resistance at that time was much greater than during or after the war.  In Jenny’s case, the lack of physicians stateside and the demands of the Spanish Flu epidemic created a vacuum that would have sucked her into a medical practice somewhere out of people’s sheer need and desperation, hence the necessity of setting the story before the war heated up.

FC:  Your heroine Jennifer is a medical doctor in a time when few women, certainly not women with social stature, dared enter the medical profession. And your story shows a lot of medical knowledge. Do you have a medical background? Or did you build the character based on research? The details in your story are impressive.

LN: I do not have a medical background, but my education included detailed a five semester hour honors course in human anatomy.  It both fascinated me and provided enough basic grounding that I could expand my knowledge and understanding on my own.  I also have a trick memory for trivia.  If it’s something I’ll absolutely never have any possible use for, I’ll remember it.  For instance, the little bony bumps we sit on are called ischial tuberosities.

I did have to conduct a boatload of research for the story, though.  Most of it had to do with the state of medical practices and knowledge of the time and if, how, and when things like surgical gloves and stethoscopes changed over the years.  I also had to research firearms of the period and, of course, fashions, though I had some expert help in that regard.

FC:  What led you to set the story in Canada? Surely that made heavy demands on you as an author. The setting is a major feature of the book and contributes to the conflicts the characters face. You weave it seamlessly into prose. Did you know when you started the story that the place would influence the story so much?

LN: The story had to be set in Canada because you don’t find Mounties anywhere else.  And yes, I did know that the setting would influence the story.  Local color is one of the best ways to achieve realism.  Until I moved to Texas I was an outdoors girl, which included fishing, camping, hiking, scuba diving, target shooting, and skiing, so describing the woods, the mountains, the rivers, the salt water, and the seasons comes very naturally.

FC:  I’ve heard it said that one good story opens the door to many more. Will there be more stories with this location and time? Maybe centering on characters we meet in STONE DREAMING WOMAN?

LN: I ’m working on a sequel right now involving Jenny’s younger cousin Elizabeth.  Without giving away too much, the hero is Sergeant Paul Weller, the best friend and sidekick of Jenny’s love interest in STONE DREAMING WOMAN.  Elizabeth and Paul are coming through as a well defined characters in their own right and their story is clamoring to be told.  At this point the working title is SAND ISLAND DIARIES.

FC:  Your first book is a vintage romance. Do you write about other times and places? Can you give us a hint where we might find you next? What audience will you be writing for?

LN: I have a story all but finished, but since I did it as a point of view exercise, it needs a complete rewrite before it goes anywhere.  It takes place in and around New Orleans during the period between the Louisiana Purchase and the War of 1812, the sunset of the age of Caribbean piracy.  The heroine is the daughter of a British naval officer and an aristocratic lady from New Orleans.  Marianne has the temerity to fall in love with her father’s worst enemy, a privateer sailing under Letters of Marque from France.  The target audience for MAGNIFICENT PIRATE is, of course, the same audience who will enjoy STONE DREAMING WOMAN and SAND ISLAND DIARIES.

Even though I am exploring the world of romance writing now, I have always had an abiding love of fantasy.  A huge and very different “swords and sorcery” trilogy lurks in my computer, hopefully to find a publisher someday.  In it, two powerful and very different men on opposite sides of a rebellion forge an unlikely friendship to bring peace to their war-torn country.

FC:  What book/books first inspired you to tell stories?  What story elements did they have in common? All romances? Adventure? Strong and unconventional heroines? Do you remember the first story you created?

LN: The book that first inspired me to tell stories came my way when I was eight years old.  Those of us “of a certain age” remember the WEEKLY READER and JUNIOR SCHOLASTIC magazines we purchased through our schools.  I had never found it easy to go to sleep, so when I read one of the letters to the editor from a little girl who said when she could not sleep she told herself a fairy tale, I decided to try her tactic.  After going through CINDERELLA and SNOW WHITE ad nauseam, I thought, “Well, how boring is this?  Why don’t I tell myself MY OWN stories?”  Thus a writer was born.

I played with writing until I started high school, and when I had a little maturity under my belt the bug bit seriously.  Then at Central Washington University I had the rare privilege of studying creative writing under Dr. Harold L. Anschutz, a totally brilliant professor who loved his subject and loved his students.  He was also my faculty advisor, so after worshiping at his feet for four years, writing was so deeply ingrained in me I knew, like Lady MacBeth, I would never be able to wash it from my hands or out of my soul.

I became deeply involved in skiing and alpine racing then, so naturally my main characters were skiers.  The stories were both romances and adventures, with brave heroes and strong heroines who knew their own minds and were not afraid to go for broke.  Some of those characters from way back when have survived and cropped up in a Vietnam-era romance I have tentatively called GOING PRO.  It concerns a sheltered young man who retires from the Austrian Olympic team, comes to the United States to manage a ski school, and encounters American culture.  It is a very long and very complex story that may or may not see the light of day.  Writing is like that.

FC:  Will you give us a short scene from STONE DREAMING WOMAN? Something to whet our appetites.

They finished their food, and he helped her clear the table.  She discovered they made as good a team doing something as mundane as picking up dishes as they did saving a life.  She rinsed the bean pot and the bowls, then put all the dishes in the pot and covered them with water.  Then she dried her hands on the flour sack towel and anointed them with her favorite Honey Almond Cream.

“There.  That’s good enough.  We’ll do them with the breakfast dishes in the morning,” she said.  He had moved behind her to return the butter to the cooler, and when she turned she bumped into him.

“Sergeant!  Excuse me!”  A toucher, she laid her palms above the breast pockets of his tunic by way of apology.  Impulsively he covered her hands with his.

“Miss Weston, I can’t thank you enough for what you did today, for being kind enough to come to North Village with me, and for saving Jimmy’s life.  He’d have been in dire trouble without you, Miss Weston…”  He paused awkwardly, stumbling over her name.  “No, I… Doctor Weston?  I’m not certain how I should address you now.  After today, ‘Miss Weston’ sounds so frivolous…”

“ ‘Jenny’ will do quite nicely, Sergeant.”

His gaze leveled on her, and he gave her a deeply searching look that was all grey eyes and hugely long lashes.  “I have a first name too, you know,” he said softly.

“Touché.  Shane.”  She smiled and felt her cheeks flush.  “Then have a good night.”

“You too.”  Her hands lay trapped against his Red Serge.  She turned them beneath his and held them palm to palm for a moment.

“Until tomorrow, then…Shane,” she said awkwardly.

“I look forward to it.”  Then he reluctantly let her hands go, drawing a deep, nervous breath.

“Jenny?  May I call on you, then?  With Richard’s permission, of course.”

“It would be my honor entirely.”  His hands went slowly to the points of her shoulders, and he drew her to him.  She closed her eyes and tipped her head back.  All her senses were full of him, from his warmth to the masculine scent of soap, sunshine, and the wool of his Red Serge.  She let her hands travel to his muscular shoulders, and as he gathered her into his arms, her left hand slipped over the standing collar of his tunic to the slightly long hair at the nape of his neck.  It felt soft, satiny, and much finer than her own.  Then his lips met hers, gently and tenderly, the stimulating touch of warm velvet.  As she flowed up against him, the night turned to fireworks.

The kiss was exactly what she would have expected from Shane: undemanding, powerful, and thoroughly exciting.  Then he held her close and pressed his cheek against her hair and she let her arms encircle his back.  He was a big armful for her.  His lips traveled across her cheek and he nuzzled into her hair.

“Oh, Jenny,” he whispered, sending a shiver from her heels to the top of her head.  Then they kissed again.  This time his red-clad arms engulfed her and she was lost in the incredible power that was Shane Adair.  She went weak all over and plastered herself against his chest.  She wanted to blurt out that she loved him madly, but that was a frightening idea.  She laid her hand against his cheek and backed up a few inches.  His face held high color and he was breathing hard through flushed, slightly parted lips.

“Do I owe you an apology now?” he whispered.  Her arms tightened about him.  Then she raised her head just enough to look up into his eyes.

“No.  That was just as much my idea as yours.  Don’t apologize to me unless it was just a one-time impulse and you intend never to repeat yourself.

He proved to her that he was up to her one-line stingers.  “Chèrie, I’ll kiss you goodnight every night for the next eighty years if you’ll have it,” he said softly.

“In eighty years I’ll be a hundred and five!  Who in their right mind would want to kiss a hundred-and-five-year-old woman?”  The grey eyes tilted again.

“A totally smitten one-hundred-eight-year-old man,” he whispered, holding her hands against his chest.  She laughed softly.

“I swear, one of your ancestors had to have kissed the Blarney Stone!”

“Just wait eighty years and you’ll know that I’ve never meant anything more.”

“I’ll check again tomorrow, thank you.”

“Tomorrow, gladly.”  He raised her hands to his lips.

“Then good night, Shane.”

“Good night, Jenny.”  He leaned down and bestowed a chaste peck on her forehead.

“Sleep well.”

“I don’t think I’ll sleep at all, after this,” he sighed.

“I’ll see you in the morning.”  She backed away from him, letting her hands run softly through his.  Then she was gone, leaving behind an aura of Honey Almond Cream.

I had the fun of reading STONE DREAMING WOMAN while it was still in draft form and know first hand what a great tale it is. I’m really looking forward to the sequel and keep urging Lael to write fast so I can see how it all comes out. Thanks for sharing your time and your ideas with us, Lael. Come back soon and keep us informed about your projects.

Fleeta Cunningham

DON’T CALL ME DARLIN

BLACK RAIN RISING

ELOPEMENT FOR ONE’

HALF PAST MOURNING

CRY AGAINST THE WIND (forthcoming)

When I went to England a couple of years ago, I learned some very interesting facts.  To the average person, they may seem small and insignificant, but to a writer and lover of everything English, I gobbled them up, eager to use them in my books.

Here are a few things I learned:

• Colonel Thomas De Veil started the Bow Street Magistrates Court in 1740 from his home, opposite the Royal Opera House.  It was Henry Fielding, the novelist who sat on the bench at the court, who actually came up with the Bow Street Runners idea, formed in 1754 by his brother John, which became the first paid police force.
• Sir Robert Peel formed the Metropolitan Police in 1829, who were called “Bobbies” in his honor, and Bow Street became the first police station in Britain.  This station is the only police station in London to have a white light instead of a blue light outside because when Queen Victoria would attend the Royal Opera House across the street, the blue light would remind her of the blue room in which Prince Albert died.
• The oldest printing and publishing house in the world is the Cambridge University Press; the oldest bookstore in the world is also located there, established in 1581.
• The first botanical gardens began in Oxford in 1621.
• The Savoy Theater was London’s first public building to be lit by electricity.
• Champagne was actually invented by an English doctor, Christopher Merrett of Gloucestershire, in 1662.  In 1695, a French monk, who also happened to be a winemaker in the Champagne region, Dom Perignon, adopted the process.
• George III purchased Buckingham Palace in 1762 from John Sheffield, the first Duke of Buckingham, who built it in 1703.

Have you any interesting English facts you’d like to share?

~Tiffany

www.tiffanygreen.net

Just over a year ago, as I watched my little town tremble in the wake of the worst wildfire Texas has ever recorded, I wrote that I prefer my drama in book form, not up close and in my own backyard. In the twelve months and a few days since the fire was officially declared ‘out’, we’ve moved on. We had to–there was no way to go back. For instance, within three months the first pile of debris and soot gave way to a rebuilt home and a family was moving in! Celebration time. Of the uncountable trees that fell in flames, more than two million are being replaced by seedlings. The Lost Pines will rise again. It will take time, probably more time than I have left on earth and I won’t be here to see it, but my grandchildren’s children will play in the woods, hear the mockingbirds, and see the land I love bloom again.

Last Sunday at my church we solemnly gave thanks for the recovery effort. One of the most touching things in that service was a small bowl set aside to collect house keys, car keys, pet collars, and tiny remembrances of the things we lost. A single key–an insignificant item in itself–is now the only tangible thing left of a home and the memories it housed. A pet collar–the symbol of a memory that haunts one dear friend who devoted her life to the rescue and rehabilitation of abandoned cats. She saved as many as she could but thirty-eight of her beloved fur-friends died in the fire. She moved away because the pain of rebuilding was too much.One pet collar spoke more eloquently than words of her loss.That little bowl held a sea of tears shed in twelve months and an ocean of memories.

The Sunday service sifted through the ashes of our remembrances. It brought us across the dark moments to the other side, the side where new homes are beginning to fill the gaps left in the wake of the fire. It reminded us that while we suffered a traumatic shock, we could have lost more than homes and possessions. We lost pets but we lost no children. Collections and photographs and heirlooms burned, but no one lost a parent or a grandparent. We survived more than one hundred days of temperatures above one hundred degrees and the worst drought we could imagine, but this year has been cooler and wetter. We are grateful for the relief that winter rains brought us. So we sifted the ashes, we gave thanks for what we salvaged and for the arms stretched across the country offering help, and we turned away from the destruction. This little town, part of Stephen F. Austin’s Little Colony, has been here since 1832. We survived the Texas Revolution, we endured the Civil War, and by golly, we made it through three attempts to burn the town to cinders. I think we can admit to a quiet sense of accomplishment. Texans are known to brag a bit, but I think we’ll just nod, give thanks, and go on about our business this time around. Like that mythological Phoenix bird, we’re rising up and starting over. And that’s all right, too.

Fleeta Cunningham

DON’T CALL ME DARLIN’

BLACK RAIN RISING

ELOPEMENT FOR ONE

HALF PAST MOURNING

CRY AGAINST THE WIND (forthcoming)

I’m the type of person who has to have the perfect working conditions in order to write.  I wish this were not so.  I wish I could write anywhere, at any time, and under any conditions.  I wish I could sit for five minutes at a bus stop and come up with something fabulous.  This is simply impossible for me.  I need long blocks of time to get in my characters’ heads, and I need quiet.

>

Some time ago, I realized I had to get away from a ringing phone, seeing dirty dishes in the sink, a barking dog, and a husband who still could not remember how to use the fax machine.  In other words, I had to have my own writer’s paradise.

>

After coming to this realization, I started planning.  What did I want? What could I afford?  What could I envision using as a special place to plot?  And that’s when it hit me.  Whenever I’ve gone to conference or on vacation, I’ve done some excellent plotting in a hot tub.  Relaxing in the warm, churning water with a glass of wine could unlock ideas, get the creative juices flowing, and had characters chattering like nothing else.  Eureka!  I got my answer and created a special place to write in my back yard.

>

*                                                              *                                                                *

I must say, it works pretty well.

How about you?  Do you have a special place to read or write?

~Tiffany

www.tiffanygreen.net

I suppose as long as we have people who write, we will have readers who ask, “Where do you get the ideas for your stories?” and some of us will make a stab at answering. This is my version: Some of my best story ideas come from that social no-no EAVESDROPPING. Yes, I know it’s rude. And I was taught not to do it. But what can a storyteller do? You’re having a quiet lunch, the people at the table behind you–total strangers–mention the excitement at a recent wedding when the bride suddenly refused to say “I do’ . Well,I don’t know about you but when it happened to me, the next thing I did was dash home and make notes for ELOPEMENT FOR ONE before I forgot the details. I had a lot of fun finding out why the bride ran away and who she ran to.

Another great place for story ideas to take root is off-beat little feature stories in the local newspaper. I think small town newspapers are the best for this kind of inspiration because they print personal stories that aren’t news-worthy in the metropolitan press. Small town newspapers will give the reader the total guest list of a recent party or a button-by-button description of the gown Mrs. Hoopenlooper wore to the Knights of Columbus ball. The reader gets intimate tours of the engagement parties, baby showers, and small celebrations that are part of daily life. From a small town paper I learned about a valiant librarian who was defying civic leaders and refusing to remove a popular book from the shelves. Outraged mothers were insisting the book was endangering the moral fiber of the young people who might read it and discover–mercy on us–sex, sin and rock-a-billy music. In that librarian’s stand I found the basis of the story that became DON’T CALL ME DARLIN’. I’ve always been grateful to librarians for broadening my world.

One place I’ve found to be a gold mine of possible story ideas is the much maligned family reunion. Just get a group of older aunties together and listen. Sitting quietly in a corner, forgotten and ignored, I’ve heard enough family scandal to supply the cornerstone of a ten book series. By the time I’ve figured out why Aunt M doesn’t speak to Uncle J or how it was that Cousin BB had a baby that looked just like Cousin DB’s husband, whole plots, subplots and sequels are falling into place. The bits and pieces of one such reunion gave me the underlying story for the new book CRY AGAINST THE WIND coming out next year. Hope the dear old aunties don’t recognize the source of that one.

Don’t overlook personal experience as a source worth developing. When I was a small girl I spent a lot of time with my grandparents. Granddaddy had a little country band and a radio show on Saturday morning. One of my great treats was to go to the radio station with him and watch the ‘fellers’ do their show. While searching for a way to connect Evie and Dallas, the heroine and hero of BLACK RAIN RISING, I remembered my early trips to that tiny radio station and made it the center location of the book. Thanks for the memories, Granddad.  Writing the book gave me a chance to borrow back a treasured moment from my childhood.

Finally I find that my own hobbies and interests offer a hook that will support a story. I’ve been a classic car enthusiast since I fell in love with a TR-3–the boy who drove it was secondary. I attend car events, belong to a club that puts on classic car shows, and find myself avidly listening to people who own those pieces of engineering art. Out of that fascination I built the story about the disappearing groom and his 55 T-bird that became HALF PAST MOURNING.  I owe a lot of people many thanks for taking the time to help me understand the finer points of driving and how a road rally is planned. Hobbies or passions are ripe for harvesting for story ideas. I’d bet any organization devoted to a collective interest is full of quirky characters just waiting to be plugged into a story.

Where do story ideas come from? Well, perhaps they wait to rain down out of the atmosphere. They may lurk in high school annuals. Some can be overheard in elevators between floors. Possibly they are picked up from  casual encounters in the grocery store. Now I’ve told the absolute truth about where my ideas come from, but I’ve only told it to other writers. Needless to say, when a reader asks, I’m never going to admit my inspiration is anything as mundane as a family reunion or an old newspaper. What do you tell people when they ask the inevitable question?

Fleeta Cunningham

Don’t Call Me Darlin’

Black Rain Rising

Elopement for One

Half Past Mourning

Cry Against the Wind (forthcoming)

I was fortunate enough to land an interview with a great newspaper, The Examiner.  In case some of you missed the interview, I’d like to share it.

`

 Seriously Interviewed questions.

`

Thank you for sharing who you are with us. We have tried to make the process simple. There are two sets of questions. Serious questions and Are you serious? fun questions. Choose up to 5 questions from each list that you would like to answer.

`

Thank you

Seriously Reviewed

` 

Thank you so much for this wonderful opportunity.  I am thrilled you asked me for this interview.

`   

Serious Questions – please use these questions to tell readers about you – the author and your books. Serious questions with serious answers. Choose up to 5 from the list.

`   

What is your favorite thing about being a romance writer?  My favorite thing about being a romance writer is the ability to make up characters and situations in my head.  I love to get my characters into as much trouble as possible, then see if I can get them out of it.  There is no better job in the world!

`   

When writing your description of your hero/ine what feature do you start with? Eyes, age, hair color, etc?  I usually begin with the most unusual or striking feature.  For instance, in my book Innocence Lost, Megan has violet eyes and that is typically the first thing someone notices about her.

`   

Is there anything special you do to get in the mood to write?  For some odd reason, when I listen to Beethoven, Mozart, Chopin, and most classical music, this puts me in the mood to write.  I may also read a book that strikes a chord and puts me in the right frame of mind to write.

`   

Are you a plotter or a pantser?  I’m actually a little of both.  I create plotlines for my stories, then just let my characters fill in the blanks.  When I tried to plot an entire story, I found my characters usually had different plans, so I just gave up and let them have their way.  For instance, in my forthcoming third book, Innocence Found, I had no idea a shot was about to be fired upon the hero in the park until it happened.  That allowed for an interesting and somewhat inconvenient attempted murder charge to be inserted into the plot.

`   

If I was a first time reader of your books, which one would you recommend I start with and why?  Well, I would recommend a first time reader start with the first book in my series, Innocence Lost.  Although each book in the series is a stand alone book, they are in chronological order.

`   

Are you Serious Question – these are fun, quirky bits about you. Answer with a single word or go into as much detail as you want. Choose up to 5 or come up with some of your own.

`   

What song would best describe your life?  Love Rollercoaster by The Ohio Players from their 1975 Honey album.  No question!

`   

What’s a guilty pleasure you have?  Chocolate and shopping.  Okay, that’s more than one, but I couldn’t decide which one to put down.

`   

What sound drives you crazy?  When someone eats with his or her mouth open.  Arrgggg!  I can’t stand the smacking!

`   

If you came with a warning label, what would it say?  Warning!  Anything you say and do can and will be put in my next book!

`   

What’s number one on your list of things you hope to do before you die?  Be on the New York Times bestseller list.

`   

I hope you enjoyed the interview.  If you could ask your favorite author a question, what would it be?

`   

~Tiffany

www.tiffanygreen.net

Follow me on Twitter: @SeeMyTiara

Friend me on Facebook: tiffany.green.5895

Loretta Wheeler wins our Historical Romance Basket! We’ll mail out her books and goodies at months end, along with the other baskets, but it’s worth the wait. Congratulations, Loretta!

Thank you to everyone else who commented, liked us and/or  followed us so far this month. You are still eligible for the Paranormal, Vintage and Western Baskets. A week from today we’re announcing winners of our Paranormal Basket, featuring books by ABM’s own Linda LaRoque, Beth Caudil, Francesca Hawley and Lindsay Below, along with several other writers in the paranormal/fantasy genre!  Other goodies come with each basket, including dolls in original outfits by Fleeta Cunningham.

Leave comments to enter — up to three per person per post will be eligible — and get some extra chances to win by liking our Facebook page and/or following Authors by Moonlight on Twitter.

Check out our Contest page for complete rules, and visit us often! We’re always glad to see you.

Happy commenting!

Ann