Marina Adair Guest Post & GIVEAWAY

Fiction from Reality

For me, some of the best ideas come from my everyday life. Sometimes, an entire character or scene can come from something I see or hear. Today, I was sitting outside of my daughter’s dance studio when I overhead a mom talking to her 4 year old son, asking him to be patient while she found her phone. The poor kid was moaning and cupping his man-parts, hopping back and forth on both feet. Now I don’t have boys, but I was pretty darn sure he was flashing her the universal sign for “I gotta go bathroom.”

Mom, still looking for her cell, didn’t act fast enough, and the kid just dropped trou. Right there in the middle of the parking lot. The mom looked up and, she didn’t yell or even scramble to get him to a bathroom, she just let out a tired sigh and said, “Come on, Connor, don’t pee by the car door. If you have to, then pee on the back tire.”

Obedient Connor waddled, pants around his ankles, to the back of the car and did as mom asked. Connor found his relief, and I found the beginnings Nicholas Reese, my heroine’s four year old son in the fourth book of the St. Helena Vineyard series.

The idea for the St. Helena Vineyard series itself came in a similar way. Years ago my husband invited his cousin to Thanksgiving dinner, who in turn invited her aunt, who invited another aunt, who invited an uncle and in the end I was responsible for roasting turkey for 13 Italians—let me clarify, I put the turkey in the oven and as soon as his family learned I was A) NOT Italian and B) a vegetarian, I was promptly kicked out of the kitchen and given a glass of wine. The dinner was loud and long and we consumed 25lbs of Turkey, 14 bottles of wine, and I knew that someday I would have to capture this kind of crazy love on paper. Seven years later the DeLuca family was created and I was finally able to write my scene. And here is a snip of it…

In this scene, the heroine, Lexi Moreau, is in the bathroom, trying to have a private conversation with her best friend, Abby, when the door explodes in. Poor Lexi discovers that, bathroom or not, private and the DeLuca’s do not co-exist.

Excerpt from SUMMER IN NAPA

~~~

Lexi heard a muffled voice came through the bathroom door. It was Marc’s youngest brother, Trey. “Christ, man, I know this is all new to you, but give the lady some space.”

There was rustling as though some brotherly shoving and maybe a noogie was taking place on the other side of the door. Then Marc spoke. “She’s in there with Abby.”

“Doing what?” Trey sounded completely confused.

“They’re either sharing secrets or they’re trying to sneak out the window above the commode again,” Nonna ChiChi said a moment before the door shot open.

Dressed in an apron that read Got Cannoli? and a pair of red kitten heels that cost more than Lexi’s entire wardrobe, stood Marc’s nonna ChiChi. Beside her was Pricilla, looking stunning in her teal slacks and a tucked-in David Hasselhoff T-shirt with a seascape of gems bedazzled around the neckline, making the ensemble evening appropriate. At least in Pricilla’s mind.

“We weren’t trying to sneak out,” Abby defended, standing up.

“Of course you weren’t, dear,” Pricilla said, stepping into the bathroom and sitting on the commode. She held a covered dish in her right hand and her crocheted bag of treats in her left. She was smiling and in arm’s reach of both Abby’s and Lexi’s mouths. Most grannies discouraged lying with a mouthful of soap; Pricilla believed more in the if-your-mouth-is-too-full-of-chocolate-the-lie-can’t-come-out method.

“That’s exactly what you told me the last time, right before Mr. Patterson caught you two skinny-dipping in his pool,” ChiChi accused.

Abby was about to say something when Marc peeked his head over ChiChi’s. “You went skinny-dipping?”

“The night she stole my car,” Pricilla added.

“I had on underwear,” Lexi clarified, forcing her shoulders back but failing to hide the embarrassment creeping up her face. “And I just borrowed it.”

“What color was the underwear?” Trey wanted to know, popping his head in.

Marc elbowed his brother in the ribs and saved Lexi from answering.

“She hasn’t even had dinner and you’re going to scare her away.” A petite woman with striking blue eyes pushed her way in the room. One hand was securely tangled with Gabe’s, and the other rubbed back and forth over her pregnant belly. “The DeLucas are still learning the concept of personal space and that a bathroom isn’t the place for a family reunion.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Gabe said right as Nate and Tanner came through the door.

“Is it true you’re shacking up with this guy?” Trey wanted to know. Marc slugged him in the arm, and Trey slugged back when Nate pushed his way into the room and between the two brothers.

“Leave the poor thing alone,” Regan said with a reprimanding swat to Trey’s gut.

“I never really knew,” Lexi whispered to Abby.

“Oh, this is nothing,” she whispered back. “Wait until one of them questions the other’s manliness. Then it is on.”

“Shame on you, Trey. Where are your manners? Sleeping in sin is one thing.” ChiChi shook her head and made the sign of the cross. “Making her admit it in front her grandmother is plain rude.”

Lexi felt the blush rise even higher in her cheeks. Did they know about last night? Making people think they were having sex was part of the original plan, but that was before they had done the pantry-floor shuffle.

Marc ran a hand through his hair. “Christ, Nonna—”

Pricilla shoved a summer fiesta cake ball in Marc’s mouth and scolded, “Language. Plus, I don’t think he’s eaten the apple.” Her eyes narrowed, assessing Lexi and then Marc before frowning. “Tart, pie, or strudel. What’s wrong with you, son?”

~~~

Summer in Napa Blurb:

When Alexis “Lexi” Moreau caught her husband, Jeff, sampling the sous-chef’s more intimate wares in their New York restaurant, she ran—all the way back to her hometown of St. Helena, California. Six months later, Lexi has no husband and no restaurant. But she does have a three-step plan: First, convert her grandmother’s bakery into her dream bistro. Second, ignore Grandma’s matchmaking attempts. And third, avoid Marco DeLuca, her ex’s commitment-phobic, distractingly sexy best friend.

In school Lexi was off-limits for Marco. After all, she was his buddy’s girl. But she’s still as smart and as gorgeous—and apparently as immune to his charms—as she used to be. Yet the simple fake romance they agree upon to dodge Lexi’s grandmother’s matchmaking plans soon turns deliciously complicated. And the sultry summer might bring together all the right ingredients for Marco to win the only woman he’s ever wanted.

Author Bio:

Marina Adair is a National bestselling author of romance novels. Along with the St. Helena Vineyard series, she is also the author of Tucker’s Crossing, part of the Sweet Plains series. She currently lives with her husband, daughter, and three neurotic cats in Northern California.

Website: www.marinaadair.com

Twitter: @MarinaEAdair https://twitter.com/MarinaEAdair

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Marina-Adair/313569728682853

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6426714.Marina_Adair

Buy Links: Amazon/B&N

 

GIVEAWAY – Marina has graciously offered up one ARC of Summer In Napa to a US winner. To enter simply answer this question:

*Do you enjoy small town romances?*

Giveaway open until  May 24th @ 11:59pm EST with winner announced shortly after!

 

Guest Post With Anya Karin & GIVEAWAY

Villains in Romance

When I started writing the first book in the ‘Her Highland Hero’ series, I had to decide, obviously what sort of book I wanted to write. Having been a person who voraciously devoured everything from Harlequin romances I got from my grandma to teenage male warrior-fantasy indulgence novels like the Dragonlance series and everything in between, there was plenty to draw on.

I decided, for better or for worse, to let the book do whatever it wanted to do. Now – before I let that statement go, I better describe what that means. I’m not one of those authors who can just come up with a couple characters and let them go on their merry way. First of all, it drives me crazy when that happens in books I’m reading, because I can almost always tell, and then in my own writing, I find that it leaves the story a little loose, a little unhinged, and unfocused. I prefer to present a tightly woven, and fast-paced narrative, which given the reaction the first book got, seems to be the right thing to do. I plot, I outline, and all that, but in this series, I decided to let the characters develop their own approaches to problems I laid out for them.

In a happy bit of serendipity, this included the villains as well as the heroes. As Gavin developed his James Dean, Will Scarlet attitude, and Kenna grew quite a bit more head-strong and intense than I thought she would when I began the story, the villains – Laird Macdonald, and Sheriff Alan – took on a life of their own. Whether it was the often strange and sometimes grotesque sheriff, or the conniving Laird, I was incredibly pleased with how they developed. In fact, in rewrites, I toned the sheriff down a little, because at the behest of one of my editors, ‘there’s gross, and then there’s this’.

This book is a little different. It’s more intense, both in emotion and in plot. That’s not to say it’s deep and dark and heady, because it isn’t. There’s just more emotional maturity at play because of what our characters went through in the last book. Therefore, the villain(s) had to also become more menacing, and more complex. The two featured in Passion and Plaid – and I won’t spoil anything, but everyone’s favorite sheriff makes a glorious return – have much bigger plans, and pose a much larger threat to Gavin and Kenna than Laird Macdonald ever did.

Of course, this mirrors a growing intensity in Gavin and Kenna’s relationship, and the worse things get for our stalwart heroes, the more they come to realize that their strength alone is nothing compared to what it is together. The world around them, and the bad guys they have to overcome serve as a perfect mirror for what is going on in the hearts of our dashing, be-kilted hero, and the flame-haired love of his life, and that’s just the way I like it, both in my romances and in my movies. I hope you do too!

EXCERPT of Passion and Plaid:

“When I say to you ‘wedding’, Kenna, what is it you see?” Gavin looked across the top of the saddled horse, smiling at his bride-to-be, who couldn’t be more pleased. He walked around to the wagon they were pulling and looked in on Sheriff Alan, who the two of them were taking to Glasgow so he could stand trial. After that, they were going to Fort Mary, the place the both of them called home, where they were to be married.

Gavin very much liked that idea.

“Oh, I dinna,” Kenna said smiling. “Just something small, supposing my Da and Ma would want to go, and your father.”

In the back of her mind, she had images of a tremendous royal affair, a hall decked in white sheets and colorful plaids to mark the mixing of their families, and a drum, fife and pipe band to play as they danced. She imagined a big, swirling, poofy-skirted gown, and on Gavin, a fine Macgregor great-kilt with a huge sash, brooch, and a beautiful sporran that she’d make for him before the wedding. With their friends all around, John and Lynne, Red Ben and Alice, Rodrigo, Elena and of course Olga, the minister would say solemn words in front of the entire kirk congregation; they’d both take very solemn vows. Then, when it was all finished, Gavin would lean in and kiss her, and suddenly the whole place would explode into music and dancing and drinking and fun.

“You’re sure about that, wee li’l lass?” Gavin said with a smile. “Looks like you’ve something else in mind, ach?”

“No,” she said and laughed. “No, just a small ceremony. I canna imagine a big to-do.”

Behind them, in the wagon into which they’d packed a few supplies – and one very angry Sheriff Alan, who just wouldn’t stop sputtering and swearing – a crash interrupted their tender chatting.

“I better go see what he’s done,” Gavin said, but couldn’t tear himself away from Kenna and her big, semi-tamed mop of red hair, or the tiny freckles that dotted her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, or her big pale-blue eyes. “You know, actually, he’s probably just fallen over again and is making his best at a big scene to get attention.”

He stepped closer to her, she took his hand in hers and squeezed. “I canna believe this is all happening, Gavin. As a wee girl, I dreamed about it, but I didn’t even know you then. Not really, anyway. And now, here we are, about to go home and…”

“Aye,” he said sliding his arm about her waist and pulled her to his chest that was bare, save for the sash of his kilt. A few drops of water remained from the bath he’d just taken and she smelled the tiniest hint of cologne that Alice Black gave him to use, saying that it would make him seem more rugged and manly. She wasn’t quite sure how he could be any more attractive than he already was, but the scent was nice anyway. Curling her fingers against Gavin’s chest, Kenna purred softly and kissed his collarbone. He slid his hands up her back, and his thumbs along either side of her face.

“I canna believe it’s really happening either,” Gavin said. He stared straight into her eyes, straight into her soul, Kenna thought. His gaze warmed her and the two thumbs brushing along her cheeks made a grin creep across her face. Suddenly, she began to blink, fighting back tears she didn’t want to ruin the moment. “I canna believe it, but now I think I have to, because you’re right here and so am I. Nothing better has ever happened so long as I’ve lived, Kenna Moore.”

With that, she couldn’t hold it anymore, not for one second longer. Kenna threw her arms around Gavin’s waist and hugged him so tight that a moment afterward he began to act like he couldn’t breathe. The Sheriff made another whining noise and another crash, but they both ignored him, lost in their own little world.

“I’m choking you am I, Gavin? A wee girl like me keeping big, strong Gavin Macgregor who stole and stole from the English, from breathing? Gavin Macgregor, who every single Scot in Edinburgh sees as a mythical hero is being smothered by a tiny girl?”

“Ach! You’re no tiny girl! I’ve seen you fight!”

They held each other for a moment longer before Gavin bent his head to hers and kissed Kenna first behind the ear, and then on the jaw. As he ran his fingers up the back of her head to hold her close, Kenna felt his lips part around hers, and gently caress her full bottom lip. When he pulled away and gave her a gentle, playful little nibble, she let out a giggle and then squeezed him again before she let him go.

Before I let you go, I’d love to invite you to enter the giveaway that Nikki has so graciously agreed to host. I’ll be giving away ten e-book copies of this book (Passion and Plaid), in whatever format you prefer! And, of course, none of this would be possible without you fine guys and gals – the readers – thank you from the bottom of my heart.

*Giveaway open until 5-21-13 at 11:59 EST with winners announced shortly after. Open internationally

Thistle and Flame is part one, and Passion and Plaid part two. I’ve been assured by my editors that they are both perfectly standalone, although if you enjoy the first one, you’re sure to love the second that much more.

See you in the highlands!

-Anya – (Anya’s Amazon Page)

Beth Kendrick Guest Post

I strive to write the kind of characters I would want to hang out with—fun, funny, and multi-dimensional. They’re feisty and unpredictable. Of course, this also means that they sometimes revolt and refuse to follow my plot outlines, but I think this adds a certain sense of spontaneity to the story…a certain sense of spontaneity that makes me weep bitter tears during revisions!

The first thing I do when brainstorming for a new book is to make some phone calls, do some Internet searches, and start researching. Over the last few years, I’ve gone to dog shows, pastry classes, and high-end salons, all in the name of research. (Well, okay, that last one might’ve been a multi-tasker!)

Research is really fun, if you do it right. It’s fascinating to get little peeks into other careers, other lifestyles, other cultures. (Training to be a surgeon = like 16 years. Interviewing a physician for a chapter set in an emergency room = like 22 minutes. Imagining you’re a doctor is much more time-efficient!) Emily, the bride-to-be in The Week Before the Wedding, is engaged to a transplant surgeon, and I conducted an impromptu Saturday night Q & A about lung transplants with a surgeon who was downing tequila shots while he explained the importance of the vena cava to me. (I forced myself to choke down a margarita in the spirit of camaraderie. These are the sacrifices I make for my craft!)

While writing The Week Before the Wedding, I also interviewed a flight attendant, a film producer, and an M.B.A. grad, and all of them had hilarious stories to tell. The flight attendant gave me the run-down of her training and qualifications, but she also mentioned how much she hated wearing black tights with a navy skirt. (“It may be airline regulations, but it goes against all the laws of God and nature!”) She spun tales of the smarmy first-class passengers that had hit on her and the adventures she’d had on two-day layovers in Puerto Rico. You’re simply not going to get those gems from a website or a book about aviation.

So first do your research, and then start asking yourself questions. A lot of questions. What kind of heroine dares to open negotiations with a cranky professor who teaches a graduate seminar in negotiating? What kind of hero is drawn to the world of film production, which requires laser-like focus, never-say-die tenacity, and unlimited resourcefulness? How do their career strengths manifest in their personal lives? In the case of Emily and her hottie ex-husband, Ryan, we see a heroine and hero who are evenly matched. They are worthy adversaries, and they rock each other’s world in every way. And of course, they revolted halfway through the book and refused to follow my original story outline…but they did it together. Just to show me that they could.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

Book blurb:

After enduring a chaotic childhood, Emily McKellips yearns for a drama-free life, complete with a white picket fence. Her dreams are about to come true: She has a stellar career, a gorgeous house, and a fiancé any woman would die for. But as friends and family arrive in picturesque Valentine, Vermont, for her wedding, an uninvited guest shows up. Ryan is Emily’s first husband from a disastrous starter marriage. They wed on a whim, only to discover that combustible chemistry couldn’t ensure a happily ever after. But Ryan is no longer the headstrong boy she left behind. He’s now a successful film producer who just happens to be scouting a resort in Valentine with his adorable retriever in tow. As the bridesmaids revolt and the mothers of the bride and groom do battle, Emily is surprised to discover new sides of both her ex and her fiancé. She thought she had life and love all figured out, but the next seven days might change her mind—and her heart.

 

 

BIO: Beth Kendrick lives in Arizona with her trusty rescue dogs, Roxie Hart and Friday. She is the author of nine women’s fiction books, including The Week Before the Wedding and Nearlyweds, which was made into a Hallmark Channel movie.

Social Media info:

Website: www.BethKendrick.com

Facebook: www.facebook.com/BethKendrickBooks

Twitter: @BKendrickBooks

Julie A Lindsey Guest Post

Newbie Benefits

So, there’s this unwritten law in publishing that says you have to write in one genre. I imagine a big red and white sign outside literary agencies and publishing houses, nailed to the bricks: No Genre Jumping Allowed. Multi-genre authors will be ignored.

Now, if I was, say, I don’t know, someone BIG like Meg Cabot….then I could try my hand at another genre because I was big and big people do whatever the hell they want to. Hello, life. Well, I’m not big. I’m little. In fact, I have a fledgling baby-writing career and a natural inclination to thumb authority. So, I write the stories that come to mind. Because writing is still fun for me. It’s not my job. It’s my sometimes paying hobby. Plus, I have other problems like my wild mood swings and erratic thought train. I have no idea what my “correct” genre is. Where does my voice fit? No clue. I deeply admire the writers who grew up on Harlequin or Stephen King and simply *knew* one day they too would write books on those shelves. Good on ‘em! But it’s not me.

My brain doesn’t work like that.

I works like this… TILT.

I have to write what I write when it’s in my head or it’s gone. Sometimes my heroine is in high heels, sometimes in high school, sometimes both. Hey, I’m an equal opportunity fabricator. I figure, until one of my little-novels-that-could hit the big time, I have the advantage of doing whatever I want. There’s a window ahead of me, where I’ll be put in a box – the whichever genre sells best box– and I’ll have to hone and shape my ideas to go with the paycheck. BUT. Meanwhile, if I want to write about a shape shifting wererabbit in drag who solves crime by day and runs a brothel by night, I can. Hey, afterward I can write a picture book for kids (not about the rabbit). Maybe a how to book on messy living. Possibilities are limitless.

While I can indulge my whims, I plan to. And a perfect example of this is my April release: Reinventing Chloe. Last month was a sweet romance, Written on Her Heart. This month an angsty, kick ass teen. In the fall, a cozy mystery from Carina Press and a serial killer from Merit Press releases 10 days later….plus another sweet romance the following month. *shrugs* It’s how I do.

Here’s some more about my YA mystery…

 

Reinventing Chloe by Julie Anne Lindsey

When Chloe’s completely tragic life strands her in an East Coast nightmare, the smart, sassy Texas cheerleader sets her sights on solving a local murder. Sure, her new home has no Internet, her iPhone doesn’t get a signal and there’s no mall to be found, but Chloe’s navigating a new

school, new job and a confusing new romance. Her life’s officially tragic and she’s freezing her peep toe pumps off. She needs the distraction.

When her killer curiosity lands her in the cross hairs of a suspected murderer, things go from no fun to downright deadly. He’s determined to get Chloe off his case, but someone should’ve told him Chloe’s bully proof.

 

About Julie

Mother of three, wife to a sane person and ringmaster at the Lindsey Circus. You can find her online day or night, amped up on coffee and wielding a book. Julie writes sweet romance for Honey Creek Books, Her debut cozy mystery arrives from Carina Press Fall 2013 and her YA suspense, Deceived releases in October from Merit Press.

Find more information about Julie Anne Lindsey at julieannelindsey.com

Amanda Scott Guest Post & GIVEAWAY

How did your interest in your own family history spark your interest in history? Does it play any role in your stories, and do you think it shaped your interest in writing?

This one also takes me back to my grandfather. He often talked (rattled on) about our family history. Only when I inherited the work he had done on it did I wish that I had listened more carefully to it. Since my paternal ancestors came here from Scotland and Wales, and the original one—Scotts right down to Granddad—were lawyers, I learned a lot about the value of law and order, and that theme definitely resonates throughout my books. What is legal? What is right? Are they compatible or not? So, it definitely sparked my interest in writing, and I have used more than one incident my grandfather described for me in my books.

My great-great-grandfather, Walter Ferguson Scott, married Elizabeth Rice Jones, the daughter of Welshman John Rice Jones, who was born in Mallwyd, Merionethshire, Wales in 1759, lived on The Strand in London in 1783, and left Britain for Philadelphia in 1784. He is said to have been the first lawyer west of the Mississippi and to have known Ben Franklin in Philly, but I have found only anecdotal blips about that.

In 1786, he joined the army of George Rogers Clark and eventually became Commissary General of his Vincennes Garrison. John Rice Jones—he always signed his full name, bless him—had studied law at Oxford and helped many people, primarily Native Americans, who ran afoul of a host of laws that were, needless to say, new and hitherto unknown to them.

While I was researching material for The Rose at Twilight (the hero of which is a Welshman, Nick Merion), I stayed in Brecon, Wales, with the woman who found John Rice Jones’s marriage license for me at Brecon Cathedral. I had written to ask if they had it, and the bishop turned my letter over to her. When I told her that I wanted my hero to come from Wales and was thinking of visiting the north of Wales, she said, “You can’t get there from just anywhere; you’d do better to come and stay with me.” So I did, and one of the things she had arranged by the time I got there was a visit to Mallwyd (pronounced Ma-THOO-wyd). Our guide was a history teacher from the high school in Brecon, and she took us to a place where three roads come together. There was lots of grass and hills, and sheep, and one large building that had been an inn at the time of Richard III (1485). It was now an apartment house of sorts. We also went into the church, and the baptismal font was dated 1758, the year before John Rice Jones was born and baptized there. Very cool, and one of the true perks of the research I’ve done that connects in any way with my family-history research.

Just a couple of additional, related notes: The City of London Archivist found John Rice Jones’s parents’ marriage for me at St. George’s, Hanover Square, the church that figures in so many Regency novels.

And . . . remember the bishop I wrote to about the marriage information? When I needed a Welsh epithet for my hero to exclaim when the heroine sent him into orbit, I asked my friend in Brecon, delightfully named Olive Bacon, and Olive wrote back to say that since she knew none in Welsh, she had asked the bishop for an example or two. She included them, and I used one of them, which meant “By the bones of St. David.” That bishop, whom I had met and chatted with several times during my stay, shortly afterward became Archbishop of Wales.

Dangerous Illusions

The first book in Amanda Scott’s acclaimed Dangerous series journeys from the battlefields of Waterloo to the ballrooms and boudoirs of London, where a deadly deception unfolds . . .

Engaged by proxy to a man she’s never met, Lady Daintry Tarrant is dismayed when the war hero returns, introducing himself as her fiancé, Lord Penthorpe. She cherishes her independence and has turned away many suitors, but this one she must marry. Penthorpe is completely captivated by Lady Daintry—but he’s not who he claims to be.

Penthorpe and Lord Gideon Deverill fought together at the battle of Waterloo, and when Penthorpe fell, Gideon assumed his identity in order to see the beautiful Lady Daintry. Gideon knows there’s bad blood between Lady Daintry’s family and his own, but he’s smitten with Daintry and determined to reunite the bitterly feuding clans. When a ghost from Gideon’s past appears, he could lose everything—including Daintry’s love.

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Border Bride

Set in treacherous sixteenth-century Scotland, the first volume of Amanda Scott’s Border Trilogy tells the unforgettable story of a woman sworn to defy the knight she is forced to wed—only to discover a love she’ll do anything to claim

As Mary, Queen of Scots, languishes in the Tower of London as a prisoner of her cousin, Queen Elizabeth, war tears Scotland apart. To save her beloved homeland, a proud Highland beauty named Mary Kate MacPherson must wage her own battle when she’s forced into wedlock with a knight, Sir Adam Douglas, from the barbaric borderland of Tornary.

Even as she succumbs to her seductive husband’s sensual demands, Mary Kate vows never to give him her heart. She will belong to no man. But Adam burns with something deeper than desire. Sworn to carry out a long-awaited revenge, he won’t rest until he has vanquished his enemies. Accused of treason, the last thing he expects is to lose his heart to the woman he’s determined to tame but never to love: his own wife.

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Highland Fling

Forbidden passion has never been more dangerous—or more irresistible—in the first novel of bestselling author Amanda Scott’s spellbinding Highland series

Scotland, 1750. In the aftermath of the Jacobite rebellion, Maggie MacDrumin vows to keep fighting to liberate her people. But the intrepid Scotswoman is risking her life for a dangerous cause. When her latest mission lands her in a London courtroom on a trumped-up larceny charge, she has only one hope of survival. Enlisting the aid of Edward Carsley, the powerful fourth Earl of Rothwell, is a two-edged sword. The seductive aristocrat who awakens treacherous desire is her clan’s mortal enemy—a man she can never trust.

Edward will do whatever it takes to quell another bloody uprising. But how can he fight his passion for the rebellious Highland beauty in his safekeeping? As their lives come under siege, Maggie lays claim to the one thing Edward vowed never to surrender: his heart.
Review Blurbs/Praise for Author

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About the Author

A fourth-generation Californian of Scottish descent, Amanda Scott is the author of more than fifty romantic novels, many of which appeared on the USA Today bestseller list. Her Scottish heritage and love of history (she received undergraduate and graduate degrees in history at Mills College and California State University, San Jose, respectively) inspired her to write historical fiction. Credited by Library Journal with starting the Scottish romance subgenre, Scott has also won acclaim for her sparkling Regency romances. She is the recipient of the Romance Writers of America’s RITA Award (for Lord Abberley’s Nemesis, 1986) and the RT Book Reviews Career Achievement Award. She lives in central California with her husband.

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**GIVEAWAY**

Winner has their choice of 1 of the 3 listed books in mobi, PDF or ePub format. Open to the US & Canada until 4-26-13 at 11:59pm EST with winner announced shortly after. Simply comment and leave a way for me to find you. Thanks!

Find the rest of the tour HERE

Terri Ponce Guest Post & GIVEAWAY

Passionate Couples; Complicated Connections

 

Some of the most memorable couples in books all have something in common – a hefty dose of passion along with a good amount of trials. And I think that combination is what makes the difference between a good read and a really great one. Think about it. If a couple has an easy time of it – either in coming together or staying together – then what’s the hook in the story?

And every couple, like every story, has to have its conflict. I’m not talking arguments (though those can add to the fireworks, too), but outside and internal influences that pull at the guy and the girl. What’s really difficult for a writer is finding new ways to play up old themes to grab a reader’s attention. If you throw divorce at me, I’ll immediately think of Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn. Give me misunderstood intentions and I’ll talk up Bet Me by Jennifer Crusie. Ask me about star-crossed, “can’t be any more in denial than they already are” lovers and I’ll bring up JR Ward’s Qhuinn and Blay.

These stories, and the stories about characters I truly come to care about, are messy. They may have a happy ending (or not). They will have a certain degree of angst. The stars will not always align, and if they do it will only happen after some, or a lot of, challenge. Some of it may be in good fun. Some of it will be bittersweet. And some of it will make you downright squirm in your chair.

Oh, I know all about the HEAs. But I prefer a read that takes what we experience and feel in life and throws twists into it. Something that feels real but that ramps up tension. That makes it into something more.

Yeah. That’s what gets me all jazzed about a book that I’d ultimately label as a great read.

In honor of couples and challenge, I’m going to share a short scene from my latest paranormal romantic suspense, Covet, right after protagonist David finds a photo of the love of his life kissing another man. A tease that shows how just when a character thinks his (or her) life is pretty good, things are about to change. Forever.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

A rustling magazine woke me up.

I felt like I’d run a full marathon and blamed jet lag and too many nights with too little sleep in Turkey for my exhaustion—though Lottie had done a solid job of finishing me off last night. If I could have spent another day doing nothing but sleeping I’d have done it, but the magazine rustled again and curiosity got the better of me. I rolled over, grunting through sore muscles and a foggy brain, and found Lottie propped up against a pillow, reading. Her hair hung loose, making her look like a raven-haired Rapunzel. Her black eyes were narrowed and focused, and her mouth moved every now and then when she read. I remembered the things that mouth did last night, felt all my blood rush south, then remembered the image of that mouth planted on another man.

“Something on your mind?” Lottie asked.

My gaze slid up, met hers, and held.

“You let out a really loud sigh,” she said in answer to my unasked question. After placing the magazine on the nightstand, she focused on me. “Sleep well?”

“Not enough.”

She ran fingers through my hair and studied me like she was looking for something deeper. Then she frowned and sank into her pillow so we were at eye level. “What’s wrong, David? Your mom was right last night. Something’s on your mind. I can tell.”

“Later.”

I didn’t want to spoil the morning after even though I’d already done enough damage. If I had my head on straight, I’d have hit Lottie up about the photo last night and not tumbled into bed with her. But I had my priorities at the time.

Lottie rolled on top and straddled me, misinterpreting my meaning. “I like later,” she said, pressing her warm lips against mine. A warm, woodsy scent that was distinctively hers and that always made me weak in the knees fired up my blood. “What do you want to do for our first day of vacation? Throw on some sweatshirts and go for a walk on the beach?” Her mouth worked over my chest. “Head up to that bed and breakfast we found in Massachusetts?” Her tongue made its way past my stomach and kept going. “Stay right where we are and see where this bed takes us?” She pushed the sheet from my thighs and moved in on her goal.

I grabbed her by the arm and stopped her.

Her head came up. “What’s wrong?”

The damned photo.

This is what happens when you let yourself slide into denial. You always pay the price for it later.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Terri Herman–Poncé is the author of Covet and In This Life, and looks for any opportunity to make stuff up. She thinks anything that can’t so easily be explained is worth an extra look and often makes a great story. In love with red wine, sunrises, Ancient Egypt, and the New York Yankees, Terri is the youngest of five children and lives with her husband and son on Long Island. In her next life, if she hasn’t moved on to somewhere else, she wants to be an astronomer. Terri’s fascinated with the night skies almost as much as she’s fascinated with Ancient Egypt.

Terri is a member of Sisters in Crime, Mystery Writers of America, and Romance Writers of America. You can read about Terri and her stories at http://terriponce.com/ and can find her on Twitter and Facebook.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

GIVEAWAY: Terri is graciously giving away 2 e-copies of COVET to winners here! Simply comment to enter. Giveaway is open until 4-19-13 at 11:59pm EST and winners will be announced shortly after. Good luck!

Julie Anne Lindsey Guest Post

I’m FINALLY Signing at My Favorite Reader/Writer Event

The Lori Foster Read & Author Get Together is a *REALLY* good time. I’ve attended twice and both times I couldn’t wait to get back. It’s like spring break for college kids, only the demographic is slightly *cough* older hotter and very bookish. I get to see all my imaginary friends from the Interwebs, who I can now confirm are NOT dirty old men posing as ladies online. They are hot & dirty minded women, just like they promised. You never know what will happen at this event. It’s tame compared to other conventions, I hear, but loads of laughs. Last year I was kissed by a cover model. I posed as the Highlander. I ate vodka soaked gummy bears and cupcakes with a little *something* extra. I also met a crapton of authors and found your web host seated on another friend in an elevator. Good times. Fun times. Silly times.

You should come.

If you can’t come, I promise there will be many. Many. Many. Pictures documenting the event both during and after. I will tell the tales all year long. I will tell them with much enthuse, as if they were epically awesome and I will make them more awesomer as the days go by. (Hey, they say the memory goes first).

Anyhow, this year will be my first year seated among real life authors, signing books and smiling like I belong there. If you see me, don’t tell anyone I’m a fraud. Somehow they’ve let me in. I *think* there will be a print compilation of my novellas there, but one thing I know for sure is this. Written on Her Heart arrived this month in digital formats and I will definitely have those in print to sign! If you are attending the Lori Foster event in June, please come see me. We’ll make an amazing story and spread it around the Net together about our wild weekend and be friends forever. If you can’t be there in June, look me up online. We can make something up. Hey, if we put it online it MUST be true!

See you around *winky face*

Written on Her Heart, a Honey Creek sweet romance

Emma’s falling in love with a man she’s never met, or has she?  

Emma has her reasons not to fall in love, but fate has other plans. When she finds a journal near Honey Creek lake, she sneaks a peek at the words of a stranger, but finds the heart of a hero instead. Soon she’s savoring every word, opening her heart to the man inside and her mind to possibilities she gave up long ago.

 Across town, Nicholas is devastated at the loss of his grandfather’s journal, one he’s written in since he left for Iraq a decade ago. The thought of a stranger mocking his words, or worse, someone from Honey Creek knowing his most intimate trials…. If his journal falls into the wrong hands, humiliation is sure to follow.

But what if it fell into the right ones?

Excerpt from Written on Her Heart

When Mom pulled the door open, she nearly leapt into my arms. Tears already streamed from her eyes. It’d been two years since I’d been home, but not even secrets formed halfway around the world were safe from our small town. The moment I pulled my rental onto Route 22, I became fair game for gossip and ghost spotting. When a train lumbered along the only set of tracks and held me up for nearly five minutes, I watched a dozen bystanders take notice. First of the car they didn’t know, and then they dipped their heads for a look at the driver. The lady in front of me yanked her mirror to the side to check her face, and her chin dropped when our eyes met. By the time I lifted Mama into my arms, she’d received no less than four phone calls announcing my arrival. So much for surprises.

 

She looked smaller and more fragile than I remembered. Maybe after two years in a battle zone everything did. Her thin palms gripped my cheeks tight, and she kept saying, “Welcome home,” until my eyes filled to match hers. Tears streamed over the skin on her cheeks, and I never wanted to leave. The most important thing I could protect was right there in my hands.

 

Emma sniffled and wiped tears as she finished the passage for the third time. Her tears dropped onto the ink. She flung her body backward onto her bed and exhaled. The imagery astounded her. She knew firsthand how it was to arrive home. Every car in town must be inventoried somewhere. She shook her head, picturing the train. How awful to be held back by something as mundane as a train when you’re coming home from war to see your mother.

 

A gush of air filled her lungs, and she bolted upright.

 

“Oh my Lord in Heaven, he’s from Honey Creek!” She looked around for someone to dance with. Grabbing the journal in one hand, she skimmed the words again though she’d practically memorized them already. Route 22. One set of tracks. His journal sat under her willow. “Wheeeee!” She scooped a pillow off her bed and spun until the floor tilted.

He was from Honey Creek.

About Julie Anne Lindsey

I am a mother of three, wife to a sane person and Ring Master at the Lindsey Circus. Most days you’ll find me online, amped up on caffeine & wielding a book. I write sweet romance for Honey Creek Books. I’m anticipating five release in 2013, including two YA titles and my debut cozy mystery from Carina Press. I can’t wait to see what’s next.

Find Julie online:

Musings From the Slush Pile
Julie Anne Lindsey.com
Find Me on Facebook!
Tweet Me!!

Julia Kent Guest Post & GIVEAWAY

Why are Elevators So Hot?

From the hot kisses and fiery gropes between Derek and Meredith on the television series Grey’s Anatomy to the exceptionally intense elevator scene between Jeremiah and Lucy in the beginning of Sara Fawkes’ Anything He Wants, elevator scenes and romance go hand in hand.

Why?

Is it the idea of being trapped – with no way out – in the dark (sometimes) with someone so breathtakingly arousing that you can’t help yourself? What might be claustrophobic for some becomes a heady, tantalizing event for others – leaving us breathless in a very different way.

Matt/Mike (yes, dual identity!) and Lydia, in my new novel, Maliciously Obedient, have a (nearly) obligatory elevator moment that clinches their attraction while sending them into an unconventional clinch:

* * *

A zing of thrill shot through her as she waited for her elevator and watched the doors open slowly, finding Matt already on board. That zing shouldn’t have thrilled her. Horror at her own inappropriate feelings for her boss should have been her response, but instead it was her clit that dominated, heating with a fire of excitement that turned into a deeper throb, making her pulse race and her heart slam against her ribs, every bit of her throat feeling her hot breath as it escaped.

“Morning,” he said, his mouth stretching into a big grin. Lydia had avoided him since that closet kiss, hoping she could just – what? Forget it? He had come to her, once, and seemed like he wanted to say something, but she had been so flustered she had jumped up and found some files to scan, scurrying off, too uncomfortable to talk.

“Good morning,” she replied. What she wanted to say was Kiss me. Or, worse, Take me.

How about: Fuck me silly?

Good morning would have to do.

Everything about this man turned her on, from the hint of aftershave he wore, to the way his biceps pressed against his oxford shirt. Those arms had been around her just days ago, and his body rested in a relaxed, but aware state, knees slightly bent, hand holding a briefcase, eyes perceptive and watching her. As she stepped into the elevator she hoped no one would join them, the pneumatic hiss of the doors closing like an answered prayer.

Out of habit, she reached over and pressed the floor button, feeling his eyes crawl over her, like a hot laser she could sense in every pore. A flush covered her cheeks and she felt a climax rising, just from this. Being in an enclosed space with him, the air electric with the tension of touches not yet completed.

She wasn’t imagining the tension, either. He gave it right back, his eyes intent on her, body tight now, shifting his weight toward her, surveying every inch of her skin with his eyes.

And then – a jolt. Black. Disoriented, a little scream escaped from her throat, hands gesticulating wildly, searching to grab onto a wall, or something to steady herself, to find herself in space. Reaching the side of the elevator, she spread her hands out against the side, now attuned to her surroundings.

Lydia stood bathed in pure darkness, the only light in the elevator shining from the tiny red emergency light on the panel of buttons. A flicker of movement as Matt reached over and pushed the emergency button, setting off an alarm, a loud bell that filled the tiny elevator’s interior with enough noise to drive her mad, but not enough noise – unfortunately – to drown out the pounding of arousal and overwhelm in her body, in her veins, in her –

“You okay, Lydia?” Matt asked, his rich baritone like a caress in the dark, making him seem everywhere and nowhere all at once. She heard scuffling sounds, and realized he was trying to find her in the dark. Well, fuck me, she thought. Racing thoughts filled her mind – images, touches, hopes,

fantasies. Who didn’t want to have sex in an elevator at least once in her life? And here she was, with opportunity screaming, the alarm filling her ears, the darkness blocking her senses, and then she felt Matt’s hand on her breast, soft and searching, as she stifled a moan.

“Oh, there you are.” He seemed not to understand what he was touching – or, she hoped, he knew exactly what he was doing – and Lydia shifted just slightly, out of instinct. Not that she didn’t want his hand on her there, and in fact she most desperately did, but she was so unused to being touched in such a manner like this, by a stranger who was her boss, her boss in the job that she had so wanted for the last two years, and now she began to feel something more than the primal fear of being trapped in a completely dark elevator with a stranger.

Boldness. The word bold was the last word anyone would ever use to describe Lydia. Fierce? Sure. Intelligent? Of course. Determined? Absolutely.

Bold? Overt? Sensual? She wasn’t a risk taker. Not by nature and not by volition. Yet here she stood with chance screaming at her in the form of an emergency alarm, and something inside her tipped. She reached for Matt and found the top button of his shirt, a sprinkling of chest hair under her fingertips. Feeling her way up over his throat to the slight roughness of his clean shaven face, up to his nose, she stood on tiptoe, and kissed him.

Pulling apart, their lips warm and wet, he silently reached for the emergency button and pulled it out, ending the alarm.

They needed as much time as they could steal.

* * *

Is it the stolen time that is so appealing, as if the world stood still and all that mattered was the tiny box of privacy and forced containment? For Matt/Mike and Lydia, it’s the one moment in the day when the unexpected gives them the chance to unleash what they’ve both spent so much energy restraining, after a kiss in a supply closet a few days before the elevator malfunction. It’s part of a series of encounters that lead up to a monumental loss of control, their attraction for each other too powerful to hold back any more.

And maybe that’s part of it – in an elevator you have no control. Zero. You’re at the mercy of the machine and if it stops – your life freezes. Everything becomes those few square feet of metal box. Sharing it, in such close quarters, with the one person in the world you are trying so hard to quit, well…those are the same moments we really, really want to read about.

What is so seductive about love in an elevator?

What do you think?

BIO:

Julia Kent turned to writing romance novels after learning that she could not work as a fighter pilot because her fear of flying disqualified her. Turning to her second love, she became a dog groomer, but had to abandon that job after adopting too many strays. Writing about very real, very flawed people is a natural extension of her life and, well, her. She lives on the east coast with her partner, two small children, seventeen dogs that weigh less than fifteen pounds each, and a monthly consumption of Nutella, brie and french bread that makes cardiologists cringe. She loves to hear from her readers by email at jkentauthor@gmail.com, on Twitter @jkentauthor and on Facebook (Like me!) at http://www.facebook.com/julia.kent.100

Julia is currently on virtual tour with 15 other awesome romance authors as part of the Insatiable Reads Book Tour. From March 4-31st, readers will be invited to enter for a chance to win a Kindle Paperwhite, free books, and other fun goodies. Readers will also be able to participate in author chats, get insights into writing and publishing romance, and collect story swag. This week, Julia is touring with Melanie Marchande, Selena Kitt, and Tanya Korval. To enter giveaways and meet the other writers, follow us at:

Website: www.insatiablereads.com

Facebook: www.facebook.com/insatiable.books

Twitter: www.twitter.com/insatiablereads/

Google+: https://plus.google.com/u/0/100902224798608127488/posts

Pinterest: http://pinterest.com/selenakitt/insatiable-reads/

 

**GIVEAWAY*

Julia is graciously giving away 3 e-books here on the blog! The giveaway will be open until April 3rd 2013 @ 11:59pm EST with winners announced shortly after. Comment to enter!*

Anya Karin Guest Post & GIVEAWAY

Anya Karin

Author of Thistle & Flame

Insatiable Reads book tour

Blog post for 5/22/2013

Subject: School lesson or just for fun? The History part of historical fiction

Just to go ahead and date myself, I’m thirty years old. When I was growing up, in the 1980s, big, over-blown historical epic movies were in a little bit of a lull. The big extravaganzas of the early days of 35mm film were no longer being done, not really, because why would a studio choose to make “Ben Hur” or “Cleopatra”? Why spend all that money to make “The Ten Commandments” when the order of the day, were smaller stories? First Blood, Sixteen Candles, The Blue Lagoon, An Officer and a Gentlemen (be still my beating heart), Dirty Dancing, they were all incredible movies, some of them even immortal, but they were also small. Two characters were important, three or four maybe, and that was all she wrote.

And then something came along that changed the way my brain saw the world. That sounds dramatic, but again, I’m a writer. It was 1987, and I was about to turn six. Even at that age, my mom and dad took me to movies fairly regularly, but they had different “jobs”. Mom took me to kid movies, dad to ‘cool’ movies. And, don’t worry, I was civilized well. I didn’t talk, didn’t cry, and didn’t text during the film. They almost never took me to the same movie. Except this one.

I’ll give you a hint – there is the nastiest pair of villains I’d ever seen. One of them had six fingers. There was a giant, a pirate, a crafty little man who at the time I couldn’t quite figure out, and then there was the one I fell in love with: a Spanish swordsman with mesmerizing eyes, a beautiful head of feathered hair, and who wanted nothing more in the world than to kill one of the villains.

The Princess Bride is, as far as I’m concerned, one of the best historical romances ever made. The book, written in the 1970s by the brilliant William Goldman (er…I mean S. Morgenstern) is wonderful, and now that I’ve got a kid, I read it to him when he’s sick. That’s just the way things should be. But the movie entranced me. From the opening line, I was stuck. I didn’t move, didn’t titter, and didn’t stir, for the entire ninety-eight minutes it played. And even more shocking, neither did either of my parents.

At almost-six, I didn’t really understand what it was about the movie that did all those things to my pulse, except that it was really cool, but the one thing I did notice is that at the end of it, my parents were holding hands. That might seem normal for a lot of people, but it most certainly was not for mine. Something about Westley and Buttercup and Inigo and Fezzik had them entranced too, I realized.

Skip forward a few years. A few great historical romances had come and gone, but nothing that did quite the same thing. Sure, Bram Stoker’s Dracula (1992, with Keanu) was naughty and fun, and Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves (Kevin Costner, also 1992) was a good romp, and Mel Brooks’ Robin Hood: Men in Tights was hilarious and surprisingly sweet, but nothing and I mean nothing, prepared me for Braveheart.

What can I say? I’m Scottish by heritage, though an American by birth, so I immediately had long-buried nationalist pangs when I saw the previews. And then when it finally came out, again with both parents along for the ride, we were there opening day. And that movie was BIG. Huge battles, huge heartbreak, Mel Gibson in a kilt, what could be better?

“That’s not really what happened,” my dad said. “They didn’t wear kilts. Not until much later. Tartan and boots, sure, but kilts, no. And William Wallace didn’t do any of that. And Robert the Bruce wasn’t anything like that.”

But – it was right there! Right in front of us, the story played out. It most certainly did happen on the screen. And it was exciting, thrilling, and he fought a war for love!

That’s when I realized that one of the most profound balancing acts in entertainment takes place in historical fiction, no matter the medium. There are such delicate threads that all need attention, or you’re going to end up with a whole lot of grumbling reviews. On the one hand you’ve got audience expectations – the readers or the viewers want a fun story, they want excitement and romance. But they also want historical accuracy. They want to know what life was really like in the time your book takes place. With Thistle and Flame, I’ve tried to capture the feel of eighteenth-century life in Scotland in two places – the rural (and very fictional) Fort Mary as well as cosmopolitan Edinburgh. Historical romance readers are sophisticated, they know what they love in a story.

As I began the book, I’d outlined a story that I thought would be a fun ride, and started to sketch out my characters. Almost immediately, I came to the first of many (many, many…) crossroads. I remembered what my dad said in the halcyon days of 1996.

“They didn’t wear kilts.”

But you know, there’s another part of all this that the best historical fiction keeps in mind, that I alluded to earlier. Reader expectations. They’re important in any genre, and important when you’re writing for an audience, which all writers do to some extent or another. And, in a book about Scotland, people expect kilts. If you write about King Arthur, they expect knights and round tables, and with Scotland, it’s kilts.

And really, is that so bad? Historical fiction is, to me, and to a lot of other writers and readers, about the flavor of a time. The feeling of a place that gives a story some gravity, some oomph, that makes it a little more real. I remembered, as I was writing, that stir that I felt in my red-headed soul when I saw Braveheart, even though I knew it wasn’t a history lesson – it was a legend.

When I started Thistle and Flame, it was a very different book. It was a little dour, a little cynical, and a little too realistic. I got about three quarters of the way through, read it back and… absolutely hated it. I think that looking back, it wasn’t bad, not really. But it wasn’t the book I wanted to write. And so, I pretty much scrapped the whole thing. When you’re working on a deadline, and that deadline is breathing down your neck, tossing a whole book’s worth of text in the trashcan is the last thing you want to do in the world. But there was something that just wasn’t right. I read through the whole thing again, trying to figure out what it was that had me so irritated.

Finally, on the third go-around, I thumped myself in the forehead.

Accuracy. It was just way, way, way too real. Too dire, too grimy, and that’s not at all what I wanted. Confession time: I’m a trained historian. That can be a really, really good thing! I mean, whereas other writers would have to spend a great deal of time researching their time period and so on, I already did that. It took me seven years, but I already did that. On the other hand, it’s very difficult to separate “real” from actual reality.

Scotland in the 1740s was a very difficult place to live. Families were torn apart, people were hurt and worse, and on and on. That’s important to know about – important to remember – but that’s not what I want to read when I pick up a romance. Now, admittedly, there are still some shreds of that left in the book, but I think they’re used to good effect. And anyway, the villain really gets it in the end, so it all works out.

But then, there we are. The book is finished, people seem to be enjoying it, and so I think I made the right choice. Did “it really happen that way”? Well, no. Not all of it.

First of all, they wear kilts!

-Anya Karin is a long-time writer of romance, historical romance and historical fiction, who is part of the Insatiable Reads book tour, featuring fifteen other great authors. If you’d like to check out Anya’s work, head on over to http://www.amazon.com/Thistle-Flame-Highland-Historical-ebook/dp/B00BQI8VUQ and grab a copy. She thanks Nikki for the chance to guest on this fantastic blog, and hopes you all have a wonderful, and plaid-filled weekend!

 

GIVEAWAY: Anya is graciously giving away 5 e-copies to winners here! Simply comment to enter! Giveaway open until 3/29/13 with winners announced shortly after

Jan Scarbrough Guest Post

First Hand Research, It’s Fun

On Sunday, April 14, I’m going to the PBR Bass Pro Chute Out at the KFC Yum! Center in my hometown of Louisville, Kentucky. What, you ask, is that? It’s BULL RIDING, baby! And it’s my latest down and dirty, first person research for an upcoming novel.

Over the years, I’ve participated in many first-hand research projects, and being from Kentucky, I’m pretty darn lucky. For one thing, I love horses, and I ride American Saddlebreds. I live in a horse crazy state with the Kentucky Derby and the beautiful Bluegrass horse farms nearby. All that makes research easy and fun.

I’ve set a whole series of books in the Kentucky, my Bluegrass Reunion series. My first one, Kentucky Cowboy, drew on my PBR research, because my hero is a champion bull rider. Several of my books draw on my horseback riding experience. Going to the World’s Grand Championship Horse Show at the Kentucky State Fair becomes a research project for me.

Let’s see, I’ve never killed anyone in real life, but I’ve maimed a few characters in books. That’s when books like Body Trauma: A Writer’s Guide to Wounds and Injuries by David Page come in handy. I’ve written a medieval and I write medieval short stories as Darby York, and unless I’m reincarnated, I have no real-life experience with that time period. But I have shelves of history books on the subject. I may be nuts, but I like digging into that time period. I also love authors like Phillipa Gregory and Anne O’Brien. They’re lucky because they can go to the places where they set their historical novels.

I write romance. One day, the girls at work asked my boyfriend—now husband of thirteen years—if he was the inspiration for my love scenes. I’ll leave it to your imagination to answer that question. As for Bill, he turned red and escaped the cube without a word.

So, when you read a novel, know that the writer probably had a good time with the research. <wink-wink>

XXXXXXXXXXX

Links to include for the blog:
Professional Bull Riders http://www.pbr.com/
World’s Grand Championship Horse Show http://www.kystatefair.org/wchs/default.aspx

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Jan Scarbrough website  http://www.janscarbrough.com/

Jan Scarbrough FB page https://www.facebook.com/pages/Jan-Scarbrough-Reader-Page/204815941631

Darby York FB page https://www.facebook.com/pages/Darby-York/188342454558919?v=wall

 

 

Information about Author Jan Scarbrough

Bio: A professional technical writer by day, Jan Scarbrough spends her nights writing romance. She is a member of Novelist, Inc., the Romance Writers of America, and the Kentucky Romance Writers, where she manages their award-winning web site. Jan has written for Kensington and ImaJinn Books, and currently writes for Resplendence Publishing and the Turquoise Morning Press. She lives in Louisville, Kentucky, and rides American Saddlebred horses for fun and recreation.

March 2013 eBook—Kentucky Rain

Kentucky Rain Blurb: Kate Lawrence is a recently divorced, single mom who is ill-prepared to make it on her own. She moves to her small Kentucky hometown to create a new life for her daughter and herself. Carrying emotional baggage with her, Kate is not sure she is ready for the man she finds living right next door.

A confirmed bachelor, Scott Gray thinks he’s gotten over Kate, but when he finds out who his new tenant is going to be, he’s surprised at the depth of his reaction. Carrying a torch for someone who hasn’t given him a thought in years is ridiculous. There’s no time like the present to move on. But does Scott really want to?

Review: “I am never disappointed by anything written by talented author Jan Scarbrough. Kentucky Rain, her latest ‘reunion’ story, is an emotionally satisfying read that has us rooting for Kate and Scott the whole way. We love them, hate Kate’s ex-husband, and enjoy her supporting cast. Highly recommended for everyone who loves a happily-ever-after ending.” Karen Block

Purchasing info: http://www.resplendencepublishing.com/

Books from the Bluegrass Reunion Series published in this order:

• Kentucky Cowboy—Bull rider/veterinarian—She dumped him in high school, because he was a risk-taker.
• Kentucky Woman—Banker/exercise rider—She loved him when she was a teenager, but they never connected.
• Kentucky Flame—American Saddlebred Horse trainers—She had his baby, but he left not knowing the truth.
• Kentucky Groom—Teacher/software designer and Saddlebred groom—She can’t afford to fall in love with a lowly groom.
• Kentucky Bride—American Saddlebred Horse trainer/CEO—She rejected him once, but he’s willing to try again.
• Kentucky Heat—Country music singer/artist—She doesn’t need to take on another project, but he won’t take no for an answer. (Sequel to Kentucky Bride.)
• Kentucky Rain—Divorced single mom/security consultant—She has responsibilities to her daughter and herself, not to the handsome guy next door. (Mentions characters from Kentucky Cowboy.)