Barb'ed Comments

Interview with Sherri Derr-Wille

2009-01-25T15:08:00.003-05:00

Please welcome to Barb'ed Comments author Sherry Derr-Wille. Her featured title: Josephine’s Journey is a January 2009 release from Wings www.wings-press.com

Biography:
A country girl at heart, Sherry Derr-Wille has been writing since she was a sophomore in high school in 1961. Now that she’s retired she has more time to write and enjoy being at home.

By day Sherry is a wife to her husband Bob, a mother to her three grown children, and a grandmother to her seven grandchildren. By night she writes and writes and writes, creating new worlds for her myriad of characters. With over forty books in print, she feels she is well on her way to achieving her dream of becoming a well-read author.

What do you find the most difficult about being a writer?
Realizing that the statement “it takes 15 minutes to get into character and 15 seconds to get out”. This is particularly true now that both my husband and I are retired. I just get started writing and he says something or needs something done and the train of thought is completely gone.

What is your hero's biggest challenge? Getting used to the idea that Josephine does not want to be dependant on him. Unlike his first wife, she wants to know what his decisions are not be told after things have done and this puts a strain on their relationship, especially since most of it is on a long distance basis. With him being in Denver and her in Montana, the mail is sometimes too slow for messages to reach either of them in a timely manner.

What is your heroine's biggest flaw? She has been burned by a bad marriage and when love comes for a second time, she doesn’t know if she wants to be dominated by another man now that she has become independent.

What prompted you to write this story? This is the third book in the Quade series. Josephine, Quade’s mother, was introduced in book one, Quade’s Quest, and played a part in book two, Wind Dancer’s Desire. It was only natural for this book to be written. Hopefully there will be at least two more books to this series. The one I am working on at present is Tall Elk’s Woman, and another character, Wolf’s Heart is making noises about wanting his own book as well.

What is your least favorite genre? Regency. Would you ever consider writing it? Probably not, because I don’t read that genre and I wouldn’t know where to start in writing it. Besides, I have too many other stories that are screaming at me to be written first.

Who has helped you the most? My friends and readers have been most influential. They have supported me and buy my books, so that I can keep creating the stories and characters that I so love.

Do you have a favorite theme? Eg: love conquers all; good vs evil; How do you use it? Not in the sense of the suggestions. My favorite thing to write is the older heroine. With the Baby Boomers growing in number, they are more interested in reading stories about women like themselves and this is an untapped area. I have several books out with the less the perfect heroine proving that there can be love for her whether she’s a plus size woman or one who has raised a family and is just about ready to give up on love.

What have you learned about yourself from your writing? That I can create something and I am an artist. My art is not in beautiful paintings or even photography. It is in the written word and what it can do for my readers.

Why will your reader think your book is different? I hope so. I have read a lot of Indian books where there are white people involved, but never one where a white woman has come to the reservation at a time of change for these people and made a difference.

Blub: Josephine’s Journey
Josephine has come west in search of the son she hasn’t seen in far too many years. Once she arrives in Montana, she is thrilled to find that her son is about to be married. Once her grandchild is born, she agrees to take over the duties of teaching the children of the reservation in exchange for being able to stay close to her son.
George Roberts came to Montana to judge not only Crooked Snake, but also the Indian Agent, Simon Leary. He never expected to a woman who would become important in his life. When he returns to Denver and his duties there, he realizes that Josephine is the woman he wants to be his and his alone. Before that can happen, he has to prove his love to Josephine when she’s not certain that she wants to commit to him.

Interview with Toni Andrews

2009-01-10T09:43:00.003-05:00

Welcome Angel of Mercy author Toni Andrews. Toni hosts the new television show "Too Many Books," that features authors and their books.

Toni, I loved your website. The anecdote about changing focus was great.

What did you find the most difficult about being making this drastic change?

Two things: 1. Not getting a big, whopping paycheck every two weeks and 2. Not working with a team of people on most days.

I expected to have difficulty adjusting to an irregular income, but I don’t think I was aware that spending so much time alone with my computer and my cat would begin to drive me stark, raving crazy after a while. It didn’t help that I also moved from the bustling city of Miami to rural Connecticut , where the closest bar is attached to a miniature golf course and everything is closed about the time I used to go out! I had to look for opportunities to be around other people.

I see youʼre doing a show on public television. Tell us more about it.

The show is called “So Many Books,” and it’s a talk show for and about writers. So far, I’ve arranged to have it appear on stations in Connecticut , Massachusetts , and New Hampshire , and I’m working on other venues.

I like to call it “ Wayne ’s World for Writers.” With better production values.

Readers many not realize how difficult it is for “mid-list” writers – those whose novels are selling well enough in bookstores, but have not yet made it onto the bestseller lists – to get publicity. Contrary to common belief, our publishers do not arrange for appearances, set us up on book tours or get us on the radio and television. So I decided to produce my own TV show!

Public access means that it’s free, but in order to have it appear in an area other than my own, I have to get a local “sponsor.” Usually that person only has to fill out a form, attesting that they live in the broadcast area and that the material they’re submitting isn’t pornographic—which I promise it isn’t! If your readers want to appear in their area, they can contact me through my website: http://www.toniandrews.com/, and I’ll work with them to make it happen.

Also, your readers can always view the latest episode of my TV show by going to my website and clicking on the “So Many Books” link.

Whatʼs your newest title?

My latest title is Angel of Mercy, the second novel in the Mercy Hollings series, about a hypnotherapist with paranormal abilities. Technically, it’s Urban Fantasy, but it’s unique in that I don’t have any supernatural creatures, like demons or vampires. Mercy’s world is pretty normal...except for when it isn’t.

What prompted you to write this genre?

I love movies like The Sixth Sense and TV shows like Medium. Where people are living in an everyday world, but something happens that isn’t quite normal. To me, that’s a lot scarier than monsters because, in the wee dark hours, I can actually believe it could happen.

What is your least favorite genre? Would you ever consider writing it?

I’ll read about anything if the quality is there, but I don’t have much patience for the helpless woman, waiting for the big, strong Alpha male to rescue her and fix her life. My heroines have their own white horses, thank you very much!

All new writers want an agent. How and when did you find one?

I found mine at a writers’ conference sponsored by a local chapter of the Romance Writers of America. When I first started writing, I had a good job and a pretty decent income. I decided that all of my entertainment/vacation budget would go into attending writing conferences, meetings and other events, so that I could immerse myself in that world, meet people, and make contacts. It was the smartest move I ever made.

My first advice to any new writer is to join your local professional organization. I recommend Romance Writers of America, even if you’re writing in another genre—they have the best support and infrastructure for new writers.

Who has helped you the most?

My critique partners have been invaluable. They’re tough and honest, and make me better than I could possibly be on my own.

Do you have a favorite theme? Eg: love conquers all; good vs evil; How do you use it?

I think it would probably be “overcoming your greatest fears.” My novels almost always involve figuring out what my characters’ worst case scenarios are—then doing it to them (insert evil laugh here J).

What have you learned about yourself from your writing?

That I am one lazy b***h.

Seriously, I’ve learned that I need to learn! I was so very good at my corporate job, so comfortable with my skills, that I never felt like “Oh, my God, I have no clue what I’m doing!” Now, every time I hear a talk, attend a workshop, or open a book by a real master, I think, “Damn, can I ever learn to be that good?” For example, I just read James Lee Burke’s latest novel, and the opening paragraph broke every rule ever taught in any book about writing, and it absolutely took my breath away.

I’ve also learned that there’s no such thing as writer’s block. There’s just a lack of focus. When you think you’re blocked, turn off the TV, the email, and the telephone. Ignore your unwashed floor and your pile of laundry. Hire a babysitter, or velcro your toddlers to the wall, take your Alpha Smart and head to the library—do whatever you have to do to eliminate distraction. Then, put your butt in the chair and your hands on the keyboard and WRITE!

Excerpt/

Here’s an excerpt from Cry Mercy, the next book in the Mercy Hollings series, available June 1, 2009 from Mira Books. Readers of the first two books witll know that Mercy was abandoned at birth, then later became a ward of the state when her adoptive parents gave her up. In the following scene, Mercy, who has the ability to compel others to obey her, had driven to Tucson , Arizona to confront Tom and Roberta Hollings, the adoptive parents who had the adoption dissolved when she was eleven.

Note: The following sample consists of uncorrected page proofs. Please not any quotes for review must be checked against the finished work.

The front door was recessed, with one side against the garage, which jutted out a good six feet from the front of the house. An iron grill had been installed and was locked, making it impossible to reach the door to knock. They probably went in and out through the garage, because it didn’t look like the front door was opened very often--withered leaves were blown up against it, adding to the general bleakness. There was a button mounted next to the grill’s hinges, and I pressed it. If it rang a bell or buzzer within, I couldn’t hear it.
I held very still, trying to discern whether there were sounds of movement behind the impenetrable windows. I couldn’t even tell if there were curtains, never mind if someone was pushing them aside. I hesitated, unsure of whether to try the button again. Again, the urge to flee rose hard and strong in my chest. But I’d driven eight hours to be here, and spent at least eight hundred hours talking myself into it.
I pressed it, holding it down for a few second. Wake up, dammit. I considered trying to project my thoughts, but didn’t know how to do it without a familiar target. The Hollings had ceased to be familiar a long time ago.
I considered what I’d do if no one answered the door. The obvious move would be to return to the hotel or find someplace to walk around, then come back later. They had to come home sometime. But I was afraid if I got back into the car I’d drive straight to the I-10 and head west, even with the prospect of a second day under the crushing desert sky to daunt me. As for walking around, it was already at least 85 degrees out, and this was November. What must August be like?
I jumped when the door opened with a sucking noise, as if coming unstuck. It opened maybe ten inches.
“Yes?” The woman’s voice didn’t strike a chord of familiarity, and I could barely make out the figure in the gloom, standing in dazzling sunlight as I was. “What is it?”
“Bobbie, is that you?” I asked.
“Who are you? What do you want?” It wasn’t an answer, but the tone of voice was sharper, and I felt a frisson of recognition. It was Bobbie, all right.
“It’s Mercy,” I said flatly. “Come on out, Bobbie, and let me in.” I resisted the urge to press her, but I would if I had to. The idea was distasteful, for some reason I couldn’t quite put my finger on.
There was an intake of breath, followed by a beat of silence. I expected the door to slam shut, but instead it opened a couple of inches farther. “M-mercy?”
“Yes, Bobbie, Mercy. Are you going to let me in?”
This time the hesitation lasted a little longer. I took a deep breath, ready to command her to open the door, and then she said, “Just a minute. I have to get the key.”
The door closed, and in the silence that followed I could hear my heart beating. Stay calm. Remember to breathe. After a few seconds, the door reopened and Bobbie Hollings stepped into the sunlight.
She was smaller than I remembered, no more than five-feet, four inches. Her hair was dishwater blond and tied back with a rubber band, and I could see a good half-inch of salt and pepper roots as she leaned forward to insert the key in the lock on the iron gate. How old would she be now--fifty eight? Fifty-nine?
The door opened on squeaking hinges, and she stepped aside to let me pass. She didn’t look at me.
I walked through the entryway and into the dim interior beyond. There was a short hallway leading into a small living room. There was a matching chintz sofa and loveseat in a faded rose print, and I only hesitated for a minute before sitting down on the latter. The magazines and full ash tray on the table at the opposite end of the sofa identified her regular seat. I’d forgotten that she smoked. When I was a kid, she’d always gone outside with her cigarettes.
She sat down and looked at me. “I always knew you’d come. I didn’t think it would take this long, though.” Her face was calm, but there was a barely discernible tremor in her voice. I reminded myself that however unsettling this was for me, it had to be worse for her.
The thought didn’t displease me.
“Where Tom?” I asked. Other than her niche on the sofa, the rest of the room didn’t look like it got much use.
She shrugged. “I’m not sure. We’ve been divorced for almost twelve years.”
Twelve years? “But his name’s on the title,” I said and, when her eyebrows rose, added, “That’s how I found you. Property search.”
She nodded. “We were going to sell it. You know, split the assets. But he had a good job, didn’t need the equity. The mortgage payments were low, so I took it over.”
Divorced. I hadn’t considered this possibility, even though it seemed obvious now. I had planned what I wanted to say to the two of them. Would Tom’s absence make a difference?
“Do you know where he is?” I asked.
“ Florida somewhere. Tampa , maybe. I get a Christmas card from his sister. Do you remember your Aunt Kate?” I shook my head, and she went on. “She generally jots a note, says if he’s moved or anything.”
She picked up a tooled leather cigarette case from the table and shook a cigarette out of it, put it between her lips and lit it. As she inhaled, I studied the deep vertical lines that transected her lips. She wore no makeup, but I remembered her always applying bright red lipstick before leaving the house. I shuddered at what that would look like now.
“So,” she said, “Why did you come? To tell me to kiss your ass after all these years?” Her tone was hard, bitter. This wasn’t how I remembered her. I thought about what Sukey had said last week in the office and realized that, no, I had no such intention.
“I didn’t come to try to make you feel bad,” I said. This was part of my rehearsed speech. “I do have a few questions about the dissolution of adoption, but that’s only because my memory of the whole thing isn’t very clear.”
She took that in, regarding me through a haze of blue smoke. The place was air conditioned to a degree of frigidity that must have cost her a mint, but the air didn’t seem to move much in this room. As my eyes adjusted to the gloom, I could see the ceiling was stained yellow from nicotine.
“Ask your questions, then,” she said. Her tone had lost its harshness, but there was still something unsettling in her expression. Fear, I suddenly realized. She’s afraid of me.
Well, of course she was. I felt like an idiot for not anticipating this. Now, the realization took all the nervous tension out of me like a suddenly deflating tire.
Reservations gone, I pressed her. “Relax, Bobbie. You don’t need to be afraid of me. You can be assured I don’t mean you harm.”
She almost slumped in relief. I wonder if she knew I’d pressed her not to be afraid, the way Madame Mineshtí, a gypsy woman who had met others like me, had immediately recognized the feeling of being compelled. I didn’t think so.
I went on, no longer pressing. “I’ve become interested in trying to find my birth parents. I’m wondering if you have any paperwork or anything relating to the adoption.”
She thought for a moment, unconsciously lighting a new cigarette from the old. “Maybe,” she said finally. “There’s a box in the garage with old records. We--Tom and I--lugged it around for a few moves. I haven’t looked in it in years. I’ll go get it.” She started to rise, but I stilled her with a gesture.
“You can get it before I leave,” I said. “I have a few more questions first.”
She settled back. “Shoot.”
I almost smiled. I had a sudden, vivid picture of a younger Bobbie, the skin on her face unravaged by time and cigarettes, wearing shorts, and serving potato salad at back yard barbecue. A man--a neighbor, maybe--had said “Can I ask you a question, Bobbie?” She’d turned her head, grinning flirtatiously, and said, “Shoot.” I’d thought it clever and cool at the time.
“When you adopted me, did you know where I’d come from? You told me I’d been abandoned. Was that true?”
She winced. “Yes, it was true. I probably could have phrased it better, though.”
“You may have--I don’t really remember. But go on, what do you know?”
“You were in some kind of orphanage run by a church, but they only took care of the babies. They didn’t have anything to do with the actual adoption, which was all done through the state.”
“What church? Where was it?”
She shrugged. “I’m not sure--it’s probably in the paperwork. We didn’t go to the orphanage to see you. Once we made it to the top of the list, they showed us pictures, and then a woman who worked for child services--a social worker, I guess she was--brought you to meet us.”
“How old was I?”
“Seven or eight weeks old,” she said. Her face took on a wistful expression. “You were so beautiful. Everyone says that about babies, I know, but you were like some exotic doll. A full head of dark hair and eyes already brown--not a hint of blue, like with a lot of newborns. You didn’t even seem like a real baby. I couldn’t believe you were real, that they’d actually let me keep anything so perfect.”
“She brought me to your house?” My throat was beginning to feel oddly constricted.
“It was an apartment, back then. But yes, they brought you there. You were supposed to stay for a couple of nights before everything was decided. But the moment I saw you, I already knew I was going to keep you.”
“And did you--” I searched for words. This wasn’t going the way I’d planned. I’d grown used to the idea that they’d never loved me. But that wasn’t what I was hearing here, not exactly. “Did you still feel the same way...later?”
She got very still. “I wanted to,” she said, her voice small. “I held you and kissed you and played with you. You never cried, were never a problem. You slept through the night.”
I was hearing an unspoken “but” here. I didn’t have to wait long.
“I kept expecting this--this zing to happen, and all at once I’d really feel like you were mine. My little girl. That we loved each other. I read books. They said some mothers take a while to bond with their baby, even their natural child.”
“And did it? Ever happen, I mean?” I already knew the answer, but I needed to hear her say it.
She looked at me, then away. “No,” she said, finally. “I mean, I was fond of you, and I didn’t want anything bad to happen to you. But you’d watch me with those big, brown eyes like you were expecting something, too. Something that never came. I knew some of the other mothers from daycare, and their babies would look at them and just burst into a smile. Like they were connected. I wanted that so bad...” Her voice broke and I looked away, giving her time to collect herself.
“What about Tom?” I asked eventually. “Did he notice anything wrong, do you think?”
She snorted. “Tom? He thought you were some kind of toy, to take out and play with and then put away when he was done. He liked showing you off--you were so pretty and, once you got a little older, so smart. But Tom was old school. Children were the mother’s business. The father was responsible for their financial well-being, making sure they had a roof over their head and a college fund but, beyond that, he didn’t pay much attention to what was going on.”
I nodded. My memories of Bobbie were more vivid than those of Tom, who seemed like a background figure. I waited for her to say more, but she’d apparently come to a stopping point.
“Tell me about having the adoption dissolved,” I said. “When did you start thinking about that?”
She lit another cigarette. “When you started to--get odd.”
“Odd?” I, of course, knew what had been different about me, but only from my own point of view. I wanted to know what it had been like for her.
“I think other people noticed before I did, because I started hearing whispers. From other mothers. They didn’t want their kids to play with you. They were afraid.”
“The mothers?” I hadn’t known this, but it made sense. Certainly the kids had started to be afraid.
“One of your teachers called me, asked for a meeting. But she couldn’t really explain what was wrong, and I got pretty nasty with her.”
“You did?” I was surprised.
Bobbie smiled for the first time since I’d arrived. “I may have had my doubts, but that didn’t mean anyone else was allowed to mess with you. You were my kid, even if it didn’t always feel like it.”
For a moment there, I almost liked her.
“But then something happened that scared the bejesus out of me,” she said, “And I started wondering if what everyone was saying was true.”
I had no memory of a specific incident. “What was it?”
“You were in your room, probably reading. You always had your nose in a book. Anyway, you were supposed to be taking out the trash--we’d given you some chores--and I’d already reminded you once. So I called in and told you to get your butt out there and take out the damned trash.” I nodded, and she went on.
“You didn’t come out, though. You yelled back at me, and said ‘Wait a minute, I’m busy.’ I was really pissed, because you’d been ignoring me, and I was going to march in to your room and yank the book out of your hands. But I couldn’t.”
“Couldn’t?” I echoed. I was pretty sure I knew what she meant.
“Nope. I was rooted to the floor. I couldn’t make my feet move. Not until--” She took a deep drag on her cigarette. “Not until my minute was up. I was terrified. I ran to the bathroom and shut the door behind me and locked it.”
“I don’t remember.” I was surprised to hear that my voice was almost a whisper.
“No reason for you to,” she said. “It was just a normal eleven-year-old thing for you, not wanting to interrupt your book to do your chores. Afterwards, once I calmed down some, I realized you didn’t even know you’d done it. Whatever it was.”
“Why didn’t you ever ask me about it? I mean, if it was the first time.”
She shook her head vigorously. “But it wasn’t. It was just the first time I noticed.” She stood up, moving toward the kitchen. “You want some water? A coke or something?”
“Water’s fine.” I heard her open cabinets, heard the sound of a refrigerator door opening and closing, of ice cubes clinking and tap water pouring. She returned with two tumblers and handed me one before resuming her seat. She lit another cigarette before continuing. I wondered if she always smoked this much.
“That night I lay in bed awake, and thought about it. Tom was out of town somewhere. I started remembering things. Watching you play with other children. Not that you had a lot of friends, but there were a couple of girls who came around sometimes. Beth or Betsy or something. Her father was a car salesman. And the girl from the next block--I forget her name.”
“Candy,” I said. I remembered her, because she’d been one of the first to stop coming around, once my abilities started to show up with regularity. “Her name was Candy.”
Bobbie nodded. “That’s right, Candy. I remember now. You were out in the back yard, sitting at the picnic table, playing some kind of card game. That other girl, the dark-haired one, I remember she was a real brat. She was trying to cheat or something, and you got pissed off and told her to ‘straighten up.’ She dropped her cards and stood up, straight as a board. She looked like some kind of cartoon character or something.”
“She might have been joking around,” I protested, but I knew better, even if I didn’t really remember.
Bobbie grinned mirthlessly. “She might have been, but she wasn’t. I could see her eyes--she was terrified. She didn’t have a choice. Then you told her to sit back down and ‘play right,’ and she did it, meek as a lamb. I could tell she wanted to bolt home, but she stayed there and played until you said you had to come in to dinner and they could leave. You had to tell her to go a couple of times--she wouldn’t get up and leave until you got a little mad.”
I nodded. This had probably happened well before I figured out that I had some control, albeit shaky, over my ability. I wouldn’t have been able to press someone at will yet--may not have even known why Beth wouldn’t leave, or why she’d finally done so once I got annoyed.
“And I remembered other stuff--the doctor who wouldn’t give you a shot after you told him ‘no.’ He had to bring in a nurse, which seemed strange at the time. Tom backing right down when you didn’t want to help him wash the car.”
“Did Tom know? Later, I mean.”
“Not until I told him. And then he didn’t believe me. At least not until after that boy almost died. You remember.”
The flying leap kid. Yeah, I remembered.
“So that’s when you decided you wanted to try to have the adoption dissolved,” I said, then stopped. Bobbie was shaking her head again.
“No, I never wanted that.”
I was confused. “But you said--”
“I said I thought about having the adoption dissolved. I never wanted to do it.”
“Then why,” I asked, completely perplexed, “Did you go through with it?”
She put out her cigarette and gave me an odd look. “You really don’t remember, do you?”
I shook my head, mystified. “Remember what?”
She sighed. “Look, Mercy, you were no piece of cake. I didn’t know how to love you. Hell, I was even a little afraid of you. But I had no intention of giving you up. Neither did your father--I mean Tom.”
“Then why did you?” I repeated. My pulse was hammering in my eardrums, as if my body was trying to drown out what I was about to hear.
“Because you told us to, Mercy. You told us to get out of your life and leave you alone. You made us do it.”

Halloween Drawing Winner is...

2008-11-03T17:39:00.002-05:00

Thanks to everyone for their comments. I hope you enjoyed learning more about Rhodes End. The winner of a $10 gift Certificate at The Wild Rose Press is Billie Williams.

Carol McPhee interview

2008-11-03T17:30:00.002-05:00

Welcome, Carol McPhee, to Barb’Ed Comments. Her romance, Something About That Lady is available from http://www.champagnebooks.com/ and http://www.fictionwise.com/ After enjoying her interview, please leave a comment.

Carol lives in Nova Scotia, Canada, with Karl, her husband of over forty-six years. With their four children grown and flown, there is time to enjoy researching locations that will give authenticity to her stories. As soon as she finishes one story, another is burning in the back of her mind, its characters prodding her to let them out. Please visit her website at: http://www.geocities.com/carolmcphee2003

Hopefully, visitors have already read your bio, so I’m not going to ask you to tell us about yourself. Instead, what do you find the most difficult about being a writer? The most difficult thing is finding the time to write when inspiration strikes.

What is your hero’s biggest challenge? In Something About That Lady, Jed Cameron's greatest challenge is to trust that the heroine isn't a gold digger.

What is your heroine’s biggest flaw? Brie Beaumont's biggest flaw is her monumental fear of being hurt both physically and emotionally again.

What prompted you to write this story? I choose my stories to fit a particular locale that impresses me. I've lived in Alberta and the sheer beauty shouts romance. Add to that a rancher intent on living his life solely devoted to his land and an attractive but unwanted female guest and sparks are bound to fly.

What is your least favorite genre? Would you ever consider writing it?
I would never consider writing science fiction.

Who has helped you the most?
The experience and wisdom of other authors has helped me the most.

Do you have a favorite theme? Eg: love conquers all; good vs evil; How do you use it?
My favorite theme is: woman in jeopardy as in Undercover Trouble.

What have you learned about yourself from your writing?
From my writing I have learned that by letting my imagination soar, it will reward me with fun times and good stories.

Why will your reader think your book is different?
I try to incorporate unexpected twists and give the reader aha moments from time to time.

Excerpt from Something About That Lady

One
She shouldn’t have come! From the moment two well-worn, black leather cowboy-booted feet hit the ground and the pilot
She shouldn’t have come! From the moment two well-worn, black leather cowboy-booted feet hit the ground and the pilot swaggered around the nose of his plane toward her, Brienna Beaumont knew she shouldn’t invade Jed Cameron’s territory.
Brie inhaled sharply and pressed her fingernails to her palms but still failed to calm the butterflies twirling in her stomach. The merciless sun beating down on Vancouver airport’s tarmac added to her distress. She wiped the perspiration from her forehead and hoped her underarms didn’t display their discomfort.
The gleaming Cessna 210 drew her attention when she noticed the heat waves rippling above the metal surface of its bright yellow wings. The plane’s engines purred, poised for take off. Brie hurried to catch up with her new friends and Alaska cruise mates, Matt Cameron, blind part owner of the Circle C, and his foreman, Hank. They had begged her to return with them to their ranch in Alberta. Their friendship on board Holland America’s Ryndam had begun to erode her past year’s misery. Grateful for their help, she couldn’t back out and disappoint them.
They quickened their steps to greet the pilot, Matt’s brother, Jed. When Jed Cameron removed his sunglasses, Brie’s heart flip-flopped. His deep brown eyes twinkled as he grabbed Matt by the shoulders in a brotherly show of affection. Until his gaze fell on her.
Brie focused on the tall, lean and--judging by his scowl--surly man standing in front of her. At six-foot-two, he towered a good six inches over her. His coal black hair displayed a sprinkling of gray, but an errant forelock dipped low on his forehead, gave him a boyish appeal. For some indeterminate reason, she had offended him; his scathing appraisal told her so.
She stopped dead in her tracks. She had not even opened her mouth, but felt as if she were a piece of meat, inspected by him and found unfit for human consumption. She inwardly cringed; she had been made to feel like that before.
Brie carried on with her own examination knowing it wasn’t as tasteless as his. His deeply tanned, wind-burned complexion contrasted sharply with the white sparkle of his teeth. She wished he were toothless to destroy her initial impression of how handsome this guy was. If she could only get out of this arrangement and climb into a taxi for the short drive home. At least the jitters wouldn’t attack her in her apartment.
Against her better judgment, she had agreed to this additional excursion shortly before leaving the ship. She wished she had time to pick up other clothes. Her suitcases contained feminine, cool-weather duds, perfect for the cruise they had ended this morning, but suitable for a cattle ranch? Not likely.
Dressed in a dark green, long-sleeved shirt and beige palazzo pants, Brie forced herself to endure the suffocating heat and humidity. She pushed her long burnished tresses back from her face and prayed it would be cooler aloft. Why hadn’t her instinct kicked in and goaded her back to The Gallery so she could focus on her artwork? Then she remembered her instinct had advised her to take the Alaska cruise. The trip had given her hope that her emotional wounds had started to heal. Maybe some part of her wanted to accept this further challenge and continue the process.
Matt’s introduction carried an uncompromising tone. "Jed, meet our guest, Brie Beaumont." Had Matt expected Jed’s antagonism?
"Ma’am." Jed nodded, but he didn’t remove his hat or offer his hand.
"I’m pleased we’re meeting after hearing so much about you, Mr. Cameron." She ducked when a large plane thundered its takeoff overhead. She wrinkled her nose at the overpowering smell of jet fuel.
"Don’t believe everythin’ they said. Matthew’s been known to exaggerate and Hank’s not a helluva lot better." He winked at Matt. Hank shrugged his innocence and the pilot grinned.
Trying to appear unperturbed, Brie extended her hand. She glanced up at Jed’s face and wondered if the man would refuse to shake it. Was his rudeness a bluff or her imagination running rampant? He took the bait with obvious reluctance, but his grasp was firm, too firm. She was glad the handshake didn’t last long because her fingers stung from his tight squeeze, a deliberate show of power. If he thought he impressed her by his display of strength, he was wrong--she’d had enough strong-armed tactics used against her to last a lifetime.
"I’m really glad Brie is going to be staying at the ranch, Jed," Matt said. "She guided me around the ship when Hank was seasick. I think she deserves a longer vacation since I took up so much of her time."
Brie reached down and patted Matt’s hand. "It was a pleasure to help you enjoy the scenery, Matt. It forced me to look at the landscape in more detail so I could describe it to you. I felt like I was seeing everything through your eyes and that made it extraordinary."
"If you two are through fawnin’ over each other, we’ll get underway," Jed muttered. "There’s a lot of work waitin’ and we’re burnin’ daylight, Miss Beaumont."
"It’s Mrs. Beaumont, but please, call me Brie."
"Your family in the cheese business?"
Her mouth dropped as she noticed the lack of humor in his voice. She choked back the lump in her throat. She had always liked her first name; it was the Beaumont that caused her to want to puke. If she could, she would switch back to her maiden name, but changing monikers was for divorcées, not widows.
"Have you ever flown in a small plane before, ma’am?" Jed’s neutral question surprised her. She had expected a snarl.
"This will be my first time, and I’m excited. After enjoying our cruise so much, the flight will be doubly rewarding." She noticed he did a double-take at her last statement. As he pivoted on his heel, she saw his jaw flinch. What’s his problem? Had she unknowingly increased his irritation? In the midst of rolling her eyes at Hank, Jed turned back and saw her. His dark eyes flashed a warning.
"You don’t have any responsibilities to take care of?" Jed asked, walking backward. His eyes pierced her like they were pitching shards of glass.
"I called my friend, Carol, from the ship after I accepted Matt’s invitation. I told her where I was going; she volunteered to take over my obligations."
As they caught up with him, Jed turned and grumbled into Matt’s ear, "Is ‘Matthew’ too formal for the lady?"
Brie’s fingernails dug into her palms. He was the first stranger she had ever met with the ability to irritate her right away. She’d be damned if she would let him keep the upper hand.
Something About That Lady: http://www.champagnebooks.com/ and http://www.fictionwise.com/
Other releases:
A Spirited Liaison: http://www.champagnebooks.com/ and http://www.fictionwise/
Undercover Trouble: http://www.champagnebooks.com/ and http://www.fictionwise.com/Alaskan Magic: http://www.champagnebooks.com/ and http://www.fictionwise.com/

Strong, smart, sensuous heroines, heroes to die for.Carol McPhee: http://www.geocities.com/carolmcphee2003

Halloween drawing and Rhodes End short story

2008-10-29T13:47:00.003-04:00

As part of Halloween fun, I’m having a random drawing for those who leave a comment by October 31, 2008 at midnight for a $10 gift certificate at The Wild Rose Press.
This is a good time to introduce you to my favorite New England town. Rhodes End is located on a confluence of ley lines that draws magic and paranormal activity. Dog-legging the corners of Connecticut, Rhode Island and Massachusetts, it fails to appear on many maps due to various boundary and settlement disputes. This isn’t far from Hartford. Major highways to both Boston and New York City cut through the hills less than a mile away. It exists in my imagination and is the setting for my paranormal, Ancient Awakening.

Welcome to Rhodes End’s Halloween where All Hallows’ Eve is celebrated on the Town Green.
Two churches bracketing the wide swath of grass like book-ends dispense orange and black decorated candy bags. The scents of cinnamon, burning candles and scorched pumpkin drift on the breeze. An owl hoots from a hollow tree in the ancient cemetery behind the church. The nearby streets are dark and empty in stark contrast to the noisy party-goers. No-one goes from house to house yelling Trick-or-Treat since an incident in 1943 that no one claims to remember.
A huge bonfire lights the night where excited children toast marshmallows donated by Nelson’s grocery store and parents drink heated apple cider from Styrofoam cups. Peter’s Pluckers’, a local blue-grass band is stomping out ‘Turkey in the Straw’ to loud clapping at the gazebo strung with bobbing skeletons and ghosts. Johnson’s Orchard donates huge tubs of shiny green Granny Smith’s for bobbing. The dripping faced kids hardly wait to be dried before running off to another game. Colorfully attired townsfolk escort laughing, excited children from event to event. Everyone wants to keep the little ones safe tonight.
Costumed or painted to reflect their own personality, every child is present except Mickey Burton. He has the measles. A few giddy teenagers who dared each other to climb the flat-topped boulder on Witch’s Rock Road, run onto the green shrieking. One shouts she saw a shape fly across the face of the rising full moon. Parents nod wisely and laugh. Kids!
The full moon rises as the evening wanes and the younger children are taken home, protesting through wide yawns. Parents cast uneasy glances into the shadows. Older children drift to the games and food offered inside the church halls. More and more are encouraged to return to the safety of home as the hour grows late.
The costumed crowd oddly thickens. The patrolling police cruiser stops to allow two witches, a werewolf and a ghoul to cross the street. Headlights pick out gleaming red eyes. A casual wave is exchanged.
Under the huge silver moon, the townsfolk circle the bonfire as midnight approaches. Thankfully, a full moon doesn’t occur every All Hallows’ Eve. The churches shoo the remaining families home, shut off the lights and lock their doors.
A few brave souls linger, nervously glancing over their shoulders. The air is electric with nerves, fear tickles. A dozen witches gather to one side. Shadows conceal details, but a gleaming fang or claw occasionally reflects the flames. Hair, hide and patchy skin conceal the wearers. Too many red eyes reflect the light.
A thick-set man wearing a knit cap feeds wood onto the fire and flames leap voraciously skyward. The crowd pulled back then surges closer. It’s almost midnight, the witching hour. The heavy wood-smoke mingles with a coppery smell of fresh blood and rotting flesh. Circles within the circle join hands and murmur. Not all are willing, but they must protect their secrets.
The Congregational church clock bongs, once, twice, and the flames explode up in a column of sparks. Three, four, five…chanting echoes across the Green. Six, seven, eight, nine… skeletal figures twist and turn, stretch clutching fingers from the seething flames, almost breaking free. Demons howl. Ghouls curse. Ten, eleven… the chants strengthen until they drown the unearthly noise. The threatening figures shudders with rage. Tonight is their night to walk free!
Twelve…
With a weary sigh, the fire shapes disappear. The fire dies. Only embers remain.
The crowd silently melts into the night leaving a few shivering adults to wonder what they just saw.

For more Halloween fun and contests from Wild Rose Press authors visit:

http://blog.skhyemoncrief.com/
http://alishapaige.blogspot.com/
http://www.myspace.com/betty_hanawa http://michelehart.blogspot.com/
http://www.marlymathews.blogspot.com/
http://elizabethmeltonparsons.wordpress.com/
http://www.brendaweaver.blogspot.com/
http://alienplaces.blogspot.com/
http://www.hywelalyn.blogspot.com/
http://sherilewiswohl.wordpress.com/
http://sisterwriters.blogspot.com/
www.myspace.com/mrsplparker
http://www.skypuringtonwrites.blogspot.com/
http://bethcaudill.blogspot.com/
http://myblog.susannesaville.com/
http://www.dayanaknight.blogspot.com/

Interview with Therese Kinkaide

2008-10-20T16:23:00.005-04:00

Welcome Therese to Barb’Ed comments. Her book, Luther’s Cross, is a November release from Wings-Press. Feel free to leave a comment.

Therese Kinkaide holds a BS in Political Science, with a minor in Psychology and a Master’s Degree in Education. She is a former member of the National Writers Association, as well as former president and current member of the Quincy Writers’ Guild, a local writers’ group. Ms. Kinkaide has a self-published book entitled Betrayal. She has published short stories in ezines such as Lovewords, Pens on Fire, and Crime & Suspense. Ms. Kinkaide recently had a story accepted for publication in L&LDreamspell’s anthology Mysteries, Dreams, & Darkness. Ms. Kinkaide is a member of the Illinois Poetry Society and has had poems published in The Poet’s Pen.

Ms. Kinkaide lives in the Midwestern US with her husband, children and a much loved long-haired dachshund.

For more information on her writings, including her novel Luther’s Cross which will be published in November, visit her website at http://www.theresekinkaide.com/ .

Q. What do you find the most difficult about being a writer?
A. Obviously there are times when something about the writing process can be difficult, whether it’s getting started on a new piece or facing a blank screen and wondering where the words are supposed to come from. However, I think the most difficult part of writing is working alone. I have a college education; I have a masters’ degree in education, but I’ve chosen to stay at home with my children and focus on a writing career. I feel like many people think I’m crazy to try this, and I think a lot of people tend to see writing as a hobby for me. I belong to a writers’ group. We meet once a month, September through May. It’s good to mix with other writers, but sometimes it’s not enough. Writers need feedback, and I think most of my friends and family get tired of me talking about my characters and plots. Once I get an opening, once someone asks me about what I’m working on, I can go on and on and talk until I suddenly realize that my ‘listener’s’ eyes have glazed, and I am getting the polite nod now and then. I don’t want to bore anyone with my crazy ramblings about my characters, but I crave that attention and interest.

Q. What is your hero’s biggest challenge?
A. Jay Bryant’s biggest challenge is breaking down the walls Ellie Jordan has built around her heart. Jay is a divorced, ‘summer vacation only’ dad. He’s dated since the divorce, but he’s never fallen for anyone and he’s never risked his son’s heart with a woman. When he meets Ellie, he knows she is the one. And he knows, even if she doesn’t, that she is exactly what he and his son need.

Q. What is your heroine’s biggest flaw?
A. Ellie Jordan is stubborn. She’s a woman with a past, and she is determined that the life she lives now is punishment for the past. She believes she loves Jay enough to let him go, but it is fear that holds her back. She’s afraid to be happy, because she believes being happy will make her the shallow, selfish person she used to be.

Q. What prompted you to write this story?
A. This story started with a character. Several years ago, I was at a Cardinal baseball game with my husband and his parents. I am a people watcher, love to observe people and catch bits and pieces of conversations and wonder what makes a person tick. There was a couple in front of us that caught my attention. They were cute, obviously very much in love. I based Jay Bryant on the guy.
I wanted to write a story about learning to cope with a personal loss, a huge personal loss such as Ellie experienced. I love the complexities of human relationships, so I really wanted Ellie to find herself tangled in Jay’s family. I needed her to be so tangled in their emotions and they in hers, that she didn’t have a prayer of running away.

Q. What is your least favorite genre? Would you ever consider writing it?
A. I have always been a big reader. I read romance, women’s fiction, mysteries and crime novels. I enjoy young adult fantasy. I read horror sometimes. I don’t know that I have a least favorite genre to read. I haven’t read a lot of science fiction, and I don’t read much chick lit, but that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy it when I do read something in either genre. A year ago I would have said I would never attempt to write fantasy or science fiction, but I have toyed with it. I have ideas for a young adult fantasy trilogy; I’ve written a few chapters but I admit I haven’t worked on it recently.

Q. Who has helped you the most?
A. My readers. I’m just getting started with the publishing experience, but I’ve shared my writing in one form or another for several years. I get comments from friends and family and emails from people I’ve never met, who might live half way across the world. Every comment, every email touches me. Sometimes I’m having a bad day with writing, feeling like the work in progress is too much trouble, but then I’ll get an email from someone who has read something and it makes my day. And I’m not just saying that, ask my husband. Knowing someone lives and dies with my characters is a huge thrill for me.

Q. Do you have a favorite theme? Eg: love conquers all; good vs. evil; How do you use it?
A. I don’t know that I have a favorite theme. Right now my writing interests are all over the board. I have a suspense novel I am working on; I would say it is good vs. evil. I just finished a young adult manuscript, which focuses on the friendship between a fourteen year old boy and a fourteen year old girl. I have plans to write another young adult book, which might be considered good vs. evil and might be considered a study in friendships. I think my work is mostly character driven, so the theme works outward from who my characters are and who they are involved with.

Q. What have you learned about yourself from your writing?
A. I’m a very reserved person; shy, conservative-whatever you want to call it. But I do think I’ve learned about myself and others through my characters. I’ve learned that it’s okay to be reserved. It gives me more time to study others and to understand the dynamics of relationships. That insight enables me to write stronger dialogue, and writing that dialogue makes me think more about what I say to people in my life.

Q. Why will your reader think your book is different?
A. My writing style is a bit different, or so I’ve been told. I read so much, and I admire so many authors. I think I’ve developed my own voice, which might be a blend of a few of my favorite writers. I’ve grown so comfortable with that voice that I often hear it narrating events in my real life.

Excerpt:
“You don’t wanna love me, Jay,” she whispers.
“Little too late,” he answers. He leans toward her and touches his lips to hers. She tastes like summer and rain and the chocolate brownie they’d shared as they’d snuck out of Maeve’s, by the side gate on the yard. She kisses him back, still uncertain, but with more confidence than she’d had that first night. He slides his fingers around her neck and up into her silky hair. A soft groan escapes his lips and melts in her mouth when she touches him. Her small hand climbs his shirt again, until her fingers scrape up the front of his neck and then cup his chin and splay wide over his cheek.
“Why’d you kiss me at Maeve’s?” He breaks the kiss, but he presses his lips to her cheekbone.
“Few reasons,” she answers him.
“Like what?”
“Joe. I don’t get your deal with Joe.” She looks up at him. “I guess I wanted to remind you, I’m your friend. Not his.”
“What else?” He fishes for more words that will make his throat and heart burn like he’s swallowing whiskey straight from the bottle.
“I wanted to,” she admits with a little grin.
The finale is lighting the sky, but he doesn’t care that he’s not watching it. He wishes this moment with Ellie would last a lifetime. “Do you have a star where even people who don’t want to can fall in love?”
“I’m not gonna fall in love with you, Jay.” Her words don’t mean as much as the fact that she can’t look at him when she says them.

Interview with Wanda C. Keesey

2008-10-14T14:13:00.002-04:00

Please welcome Wanda C. Keesey to Barb’ed Comments. Wanda has written an insightful novel about two women’s struggles during the Civil War, one of my favorite time periods.

Wanda C. Keesey lives in small town USA with her husband and cats, located near the Pennsylvania capital of Harrisburg . She started writing late in life but is catching up fast. She is a student of the Civil War era and the people who lived it. She has had several short stories published, and her second novel, The Walk Home, will be released in November, 2008 (the first, Lost In The Mist came out in May). More information on her life and publications is listed Wanda's website (http://www.wandakeesey.com), a s well as articles, and reviews. She is a long time member and past officer of Pennwriters, Inc. (www.pennwriters.org) a group dedicated to helping writers hone their skills.

Hopefully, visitors have already read your bio, so I'm not going to ask you to tell us about yourself. Instead, what do you find the most difficult about being a writer?
Before I retired, my biggest problem was finding time to write, market, fulfill the duties of my Pennwriters office, work my seven to four job to pay the bills, take care of the housework, and find time to just relax and read for pleasure. Back then I did most of my writing on weekends. Now my focus has changed and I was able to rearrange my schedule to include writing or writing related work every afternoon. I still don't like or do housework as often as I should, but I do get more time to prepare a good meal now and then for my husband and myself. Because of this change I'm finding that I procrastinate on actual writing more than I did before (I'm a procrastinator supreme) so I have to make myself spend at least two hours a day on writing. My pleasure reading has changed to reading for reviews which I restrict to evenings.

What is your hero's biggest challenge?
My hero, Simon Nettling (aka Leonard Claremont) is an undercover Pinkerton agent working for the Federal Government in Civil War Richmond, VA. He is involved in spying, and working with the Underground Railroad (freeing slaves). AND then he meets a woman who makes him wish he could settle down and raise a family, but she is hiding something too. His biggest challenge is doing his job, and helping Sara without knowing what it is she needs.

What is your heroine's biggest flaw?
Sara Benning was viciously attacked and left for dead by the slave chasers who killed her husband and ten year old son. She want to avenge their loss, but she's afraid that she's not strong enough to complete the task. When she meets the banker in Richmond, Leonard Claremont, she begins to doubt her reasons for being there. She is very unsure of herself and her motives.

Hattie Carter is a secondary heroine in my novel. She and her husband, Charles were slaves. They had different owners who permitted them to marry, and to work off the cost of freedom. After years of slavery, they were freed and moved north where they met the Bennings and lived free, until the day the slave chasers needed another body. Hattie is a strong women, physically and mentally. If she has a flaw, it's that she is so focused on finding her husband that she gets careless.

What prompted you to write this story?
Women who lived through the Civil War era were thrown into a world they'd never dreamed of. Left without men-folk, they had to "do" for themselves. I wanted to write a story about two of these women, each with a unique problem. Sara Benning loses her entire family and reason for living and Hattie Carter's husband is "stolen" back into slavery. Sara and Hattie are friends and their families had been partners in business. When Hattie nurses Sara back from deaths door, they each want to follow the slavers for their own reasons. Hattie to rescue her husband and Sara to get her revenge.

What is your least favorite genre? Would you ever consider writing it?
Literary, or mainstream fiction puts me to sleep. I've reviewed several novels in these genres and I admire the authors who can pull it off. Their skills in their craft are to be envied. I do have a short story that is literary. It's a story based on my own true life experience, but I've had a hard time placing it for publication. I don't think I would venture into a novel length project, but who knows. When the mood hits, I write.

Who has helped you the most?
If my husband hadn't found a piece I was writing when we got our first word processor, and from then encouraged me to do what it took to become an "author", I would never have reached this point. He has been my steadfast backer. He doesn't read fiction, though he will edit my short work, he's never read any of my novels. He does bounce ideas around with me and he is with me as often as he can be at signings and talks, and helps with promotion. He is my biggest fan.

Do you have a favorite theme? Eg: love conquers all; good vs evil; How do you use it?
No, I don't think I do have a favorite theme, though many creep into my novels and stories. They say there are only about fifty different plots in writing, and it's the spin that the author puts on the words that makes each work unique. Having the Civil War era as a background helps to put that touch to my novels, it was a trying time. The romances in my books are based on love, not only of a person, but of life.

What have you learned about yourself from your writing?
I've learned a lot of things. Probably one of the most important is that I can learn and improve at any age. And life doesn't end with retirement, it's just beginning (for me anyway). And I'm impressed with the changes I see in my "voice" over the years of writing. And I'm always surprised that I enjoy reading my own books, over and over (a good thing because of all the editing). But I think mostly I'm more confident. I'm still shaky when I appear before a group, but I know my subject and soon find that my audience is waiting to hear what I know. No one has walked out on me yet.

Why will your reader think your book is different?
The Walk Home is the story of two women, one white and one black who pose as mistress and owner to travel into the teeth of the Confederacy at the beginning of the Civil War. The story isn't about the war, but the war's and society's effect on their lives and their bravery in facing a new and dangerous city.

Excerpt from The Walk Home:
“Sara, don’t you die on me. You hear girl.” Hattie pulled the shawl from her shoulders, draping it over the prone body of her friend.
“Hattie, where. . .” Sara’s whisper was almost lost on the spring breeze. She struggled to sit up, pushing against the ground with her hands. Long auburn hair fell in unruly clumps hiding Sara’s face. “Edward, Teddy, they said. . .” With a sigh she allowed her arms to relax, lowering her body to the ground.
Hattie helped Sara turn onto her back. She gasped as she pushed the screen of hair away.
An open gash disfigured the left side of Sara’s once unmarked face, laying open a ragged line that cut across the corner of her eye and ended at the left side of her chin. Her lips, bruised and split were parted as she struggled to pull air into her lungs. Blood encrusted Sara’s face and neck, her nose was bent at an odd angle, her swollen eyes had started to blacken.
Pale hands reached for Hattie.
“Quiet girl. You be still while I think.” Hattie was frightened. She had to get Sara back to her cabin.
“Lord, help me.” She cried to the smoke filled sky, “I can’t carry her myself.” Her dark eyes scanned the yard.
The Benning cabin was a burning skeleton.
--Wanda C. Keesey Author of Lost in the Mist ISBN: 978 1-59705-327-3 (ebook) ISBN: 978 1-59705-706-6 (paperback) And watch for The Walk Home (release November, 2008) Wings ePress, Inc. www.wings-press.com wckeesey@comcast.net http://www.wandakeesey.com http://wckeesey.wordpress.com (Civil War Writer blog) http://bookbabesandhim.workpress.com(readers blog)

Interview with A. Dee Carey

2008-10-06T14:02:00.002-04:00

Welcome to Barb'ed comments and my guest today, A. Dee Carey. Join me in learning more about Dee:

Dee is a fantasy novelist who started writing late in her life. Writing was a kernel of an idea that never found fertile ground until she was nearly retirement age. Unfortunately, it took her youngest daughter’s near death to spark her to do what was important to her, before her time ran out. Her daughter was in a coma due to an overdose of a prescription drug and to pass the time, watching and praying her child would be all right, she began to read a novel. Her older daughter noted the book was written by her former English teacher. As Dee worked for the same school district the two women met and Dee was encouraged to pursue a writing career.
She always loved reading and the next natural step was writing. So when all other life obligations were met, she tried her hand at being an author. The author of nine completed books, of which five are published, Dee enjoys the fantasy worlds she creates as a buffer between the real world and the world as we wish it to be.
She has the unfailing support of her patient husband and her children and grandchildren. All of whom say she is a little crazy, but love her anyway.
Dee is published with The Wings-Press Company who publish books that you will not find elsewhere. Truly unique stories that uplift the reader. Check them out at www.wings-press.com.

What is your hero’s biggest challenge? He must learn that revenge solves nothing and creates even greater problems. LaRoux is bent upon killing the man who murdered his mother, but learns from Merlot in order to have love, you cannot hate.
What is your heroine’s biggest flaw?
Merlot is headstrong and believes that she always knows the way to do things. She learns that all things are not always accomplished alone.
What prompted you to write this story?
St. Therese who is my patron saint, is very dear to my heart. I prayed to her daily for two years that I might be published. She plays a role in this fantasy tale. While I am sure she was not as timid as I have made her, she was most pious and devout. She aspired to be a Pope and had she lived I believe she might have made it. This book is my tribute to her.
What is your least favorite genre? Would you ever consider writing it? I am not a fan of science fiction or fantasy that is overly involved in world and language creating. I would never attempt sci-fi as I have not the skill that I believe is required. I do write fantasy, but try to do so in a manner that is easily understood. I want the reader to believe if he/she lived a long time ago, such things might have actually happened. Some reviewers have stated my books read as if they had been written in an ancient time. I am flattered.
Who has helped you the most? That is actually a tough question. My family always stood behind me and St Therese gave me the push to publication, but my greatest aid came from self realization that “Hey! I can do this.”
Do you have a favorite theme? It is carried out in all my books Good vs Evil and good always prevails. I take various methods to carry out the conflict and do my best to show doing good is a reward in itself. My characters do not do good for monetary gain, nor for power. All books are about love. It may be love of money, power, wealth or even drugs, but love (desire) is the root of all stories.
What have you learned about yourself from your writing? Writing is for me very empowering. As a child my father told me “You’ll be the height of mediocrity” and all my life I believed all I could be is average. I’ve learned I can be “outstanding in my field” even though I am not a farmer. I mold characters and establish “Ordinations” and beliefs that no one really believes in. I can create a suspension of belief for the period of time it takes one to read my books. I am writer, read me now!
Why will your reader think your book is different? The main difference is that in each of my books one of the lead characters has the ability to either change from fox to human or from human to fox. I usually write in first person and label each characters speech and thoughts with the character’s name. I have many older readers and they tell me that it helps them as they frequently tire easily and the labels help them to find their places. As with a little luck we will all get there in time I feel that someone should cater to the seniors among us. (I’m one myself 70 next year).

A. Dee Carey
The Fox Lady
Contact information.
foxladycarey@aol.com
www.foxladycarey.com
585-426-0578

A. Dee Carey is proud to present her latest novel

The Fox and the Chalice

A tale of faith, myth and legend. Can the fox woman find her own true love and save the cup of Christ? Found among the grape vines of the convent, as an infant, she soon learns she has been selected to save the Cup of Christ. Her ability to become a fox protects not only the convent but the man she loves as well. Come venture to a land where all is not what it seems to be and good will always triumph.

Reviews:
The Vixen
If you love the tales of olde, that touch of magic that has often been lost in stories of fantasies written in a modern world, then read one of A. Dee Carey’s books – she writes with the finesse of the ancient master, perfectly capturing a time when magic lingered and anything could happen.
Angela Verdenius… Heart of a Peacekeeper

Fox in the Mist
In Fox In The Mist, Dee Carey has created a thrilling fantasy wherein appealing characters, both human and animals, excitingl strive to oust a usurper and return the rightful heir to the throne. The heroine is eaually charming as both a fox and a girl, and the young hero has just enough vulnerablilty. Now, I want a fox! I want a tiny unicorn to dance in my palm!
Fran Keighley award winning Wings author
Mark of the fox

In this charming story, Ninaway, Merlin, Claret, and Ryan all learn that the true poser of loves lies in the giving of love, not the taking. Redemption has never been so magical as it is portrayed in Mark of the Fox. Replete with Travel Tunnels, shape-shifting, and magical spells, this fantasy romance waves an enchanting world that will leave the reader wishing it would never end. Kerrelyn Sparks How to Marry a Millionaire Vampire

The Fox and the Swan

A. Dee Carey has spun a magical web that makes one suspend reality and cheer her morphed characters on.. Although this not the type of genre I personally read, I found myself swept up in the storyline that was peopled with strong characters that formed a complete population of essential beings- not one too many and not one too few.
The Fox and the Swan is a story where the step-mother is truly is a witch. The plot , the arraged marriage fo a young girl to a curmudgeon to save her family, is one that is tried and true, but definitely has a different twist theis sorcery and religion becoming compatiable.
The transition of humans to animals was so believable one never lost faith in the story and I had to read it to its conclusion in a short time. A. Dee Carey keeps you wondering about the out come all the way through. The setting in Scotland rings so true you are visually whipped across the sea and live the Highland life while the story unfolds. Recollections of Narnia crept into my mind as I was reading as it is certainly carried that flavor of magic and the struggle between good and evil.
Whether you read fantasy or not, I recommend The Fox and the Swan as a good love story that plays out blending fantasy and reality that makes you believe in it and its characters.
Mary Jean Kelso The Homesteader, Goodby is Forever, Blue Coat

Interview with Sandra Marton

2008-09-30T18:11:00.001-04:00

I’d like to introduce award-winning author Sandra Marton. Sandra has published 75 novels and has a trilogy THE SHEIKH TYCOONS . The first book, THE SHEIKH’S DEFIANT BRIDE, is being released in October. Be sure to check her website for details.

Hi Sandra,
A bio never really tells everything. Give us a little more detail. How long have you been writing and how did you start?

I started writing when I was five but I began making up stories before that. My mother kept a scrapbook of my early writing/storytelling attempts (a typical Proud Mom!). At four, I made up poems and she wrote them down for me. By five, I was doing that for myself.

But if you mean, when did I start writing professionally, the answer is in the 1980’s. I wrote and sold a number of short stories to the so-called confession magazines, then wrote my first novel and sold it to Harlequin Mills and Boon in 1984.

You’ve published over seventy five books. How do you keep the well from running dry?

Honestly, Barbara, I don’t know the answer to that question. I think, like most writers, my head is full of characters and stories and “what if?” possibilities. My curiosity gets piqued by something I see, something I read, something I overhear and ideas come bursting forth. Or they come creeping out, and I have to find ways to encourage them to turn into something more specific.

Basically, I’ve always thought ideas, creativity, are almost mystical in origin. I don’t mean magical; I just mean that I’m not sure there’s any real way to explain or even define the creative process. It’s different for everyone. That’s the only certainty.

You’ve found time in your busy schedule to volunteer with your local RWA chapter. Why?

I haven’t volunteered as much this year as I’d have liked. I’ve done a workshop presentation and put together a giveaway goody bag but I just didn’t have time to judge in my chapter’s contest. Too tight a deadline schedule! As to why I volunteer… it just feels good to lend a hand to other writers. This chapter, CORW, is especially great. Warm, responsive, friendly… my thanks to you for forming it.

How do you balance writing full-time and having a life outside writing?

With great difficulty! (See my comment about deadlines, above.)

As you know, it isn’t easy. Writing can really consume you and if the writing’s going well, the hours at the computer roll by so quickly you don’t realize the day is ended until you look out the window and see that it’s dark. I’ve learned that the worst thing I can do is just assume I’m going to surface into the real world. Instead, I make deliberate appointments with myself. My husband and I believe in spur of the minute vacations—you know, get in the car and take off for a couple of days—but we also plan vacations well ahead of time. We make dinner engagements with friends that same way. Once something is entered in my appointment book, I feel compelled to keep to it even when my characters are tugging at me and begging me not to leave them. Well, okay. Sometimes, I don’t keep to the calendar; sometimes, I simply cannot leave my story or my characters but, for the most part, I’ve learned that without life outside writing, my writing suffers. Plus, I love my husband, my son, my daughter in law and my two little grandchildren. They’re very important to me and I want to be part of their lives.

Why do you write in this genre? Have you ever done other genres?

I’ve done romantic suspense, romantic adventure, a bit of supernatural stuff and even literary short stories but romance is what I love and what I believe in, creatively and personally.

How do you do research for your books? What’s the most interesting bit of research you’ve come across that you didn't use?

I use three primary research methods. One is online research, everything from contacting attorneys and physicians and realtors and peppering them with questions to “visiting” homes and castles and shops via the internet. The second method involves asking my husband, who is a great researcher, to delve into something for me. The third is direct contact between me and places and/or people. In other words, I travel. In fact, when your readers see this interview, I’ll be in Greece, researching a specific new setting for a new book; meeting with an Athenian translator and friend, face to face for some in-depth Q&A; and visiting Turkey because I have an exciting idea for a possible story that I’d want to set in Istanbul...

What’s the most interesting bit of research I haven’t used? That’s a tough question because I almost always end up with huge amounts of material that doesn’t make its way into a book. Let’s see… Well, when I was researching material for a book last year, THE GREEK PRINCE’S CHOSEN WIFE, I did an enormous amount of research on artificial insemination. In my story, my heroine becomes pregnant by reluctantly agreeing to an amateur insemination, done by her sister with a turkey baster. (She’s emotionally blackmailed into it for valid reasons.) I ended up with page after page of printed-out data from a variety of web sites and, most meaningfully, very personal info I absolutely could not use from e-mailed interview sessions with a woman I “met” online who had had two babies using this method. I had to laugh when a so-called reviewer at amazon.com chastised me for claiming a woman could and would be inseminated via turkey baster. Impossible, she said, and made it clear I was an idiot even to imagine the possibility. And then there was the time I set a book in a jungle. In preparation for what ended up being a very brief scene, I did lots of research on head-hunting. Anything you want to know about shrinking and preserving human heads, just ask. ☺

What advice do you have for aspiring writers?

Keep writing. Keep reading. Read writers you love and writers you think are flawed. You’ll learn from both kinds. Read good writers within our genre. Read good writers outside our genre. Again, you’ll learn from both kinds. Be honest with yourself. Do you have talent, or is it that you wish you had talent? It’s hard to be that honest, but try. Send your work to editors. It’s painfully easy not to do so but unless you do, how will you ever know if your stuff is any good? On the other hand, don’t let a turn-down stop you from writing. Not all editors like the same things; not all are good at discerning what will sell and what won’t; and no editor is god. Never stop trying to get better, even if you’re multi-published, even if you’ve won a hundred awards. Writing is a talent. It’s also a skill and all skills can be perfected.

What do you have coming out?

A brand new trilogy I created for Harlequin Presents called THE SHEIKH TYCOONS. The first book, THE SHEIKH’S DEFIANT BRIDE, comes out in October. The second, THE SHEIKH’S WAYWARD WIFE, comes out in November and the third, THE SHEIKH’S REBELLIOUS MISTRESS, hits the stands in December. The sheikhs in this series are old pals who know each other for years. They all come from the same part of the world, a place I call The Nations, and each is convinced love serves no useful purpose. Oh, are they wrong!
How do you like your fans to contact you?
Email is best. I’m at mailto:sandra@sandramarton.com and there are email links at my blog, http://sandramarton.blogspot.com/and at my website, http://www.sandramarton.com/. I answer snail mail, too, if readers enclose SASE (Sorry, North American postage only). Actually, for the next couple of months, if readers send me SASE, I’ll send them one of my beautiful, brand new bookmarks.
Thanks for this chance to visit with you, Barbara. I’ve really enjoyed it.

Interview with J.D. Webb

2008-09-15T12:26:00.003-04:00

I'd like you all to meet J.D. (Dave) Webb, author of Her Name is Mommy.

J. D. (Dave) Webb resides in Illinois with his wife of 40 years and their toy poodle, Ginger, losing all family votes 2 to 1. Dave became a full-time author in 2002 after spending 25 years in corporate management. A company purge promoted him to cobbler and he owned a shoe repair and sales shop for 11 years. During these careers he wrote short stories and suppressed an urge to write a novel. After making a conscious decision to live at the poverty level, those novels began forcing their way out.
Mystery author J D Webb http://www.jdwebb.com/
Shepherd's Pie (Golden Wings Award Winner)
Moon Over Chicago (2008 Eppie finalist)
Her Name Is Mommy (Now Available)
The Smudge & Aftermath (coming soon)

Hopefully, visitors have already read your bio, so I’m not going to ask you
to tell us about yourself.
Instead, what do you find the most difficult about being a writer?
Marketing my work. I was always taught not to brag, but that's what must be done to get people to buy books.
It also takes away time I could use to do more writing.

What is your hero’s biggest challenge?
I have multiple heroes/heroines. I try to put them into impossible situations and then try to figure out how they will succeed.

What is your heroine’s biggest flaw?
I have a PI series featuring Mike Shepherd. He's a laid back, easy going guy who wants to believe people when they tell him something.
It seldom works out that way. And it seems that every time he's on a date with his fiance he is called out on a case. He loves PI work, she hates it.

What prompted you to write this story?
I've always loved mysteries and so I thought why not write one? When I had done that I just kept going. I'm working on #5 right now.

What is your least favorite genre? Would you ever consider writing it?
Boy am I going to tick off some of your readers. My least favorite is Romance. Just because I don't read them as a rule.
I have nothing against them, just not my thing. So I guess I wouldn't write a romance. I try to include some romance with my books but it's not a main theme.

Who has helped you the most?
My wife has been most helpful, my biggest fan and my first editor. When I proudly brought my first chapter of my first book to her, she immediately asked for a pencil to mark some changes. So much for having a big head about how great my writing is. I now hand her a pencil when she does some reading. Also I have a wonderful critique group who gently make suggestions and help with grammar and punctuation. I'm extremely comma challenged.

Do you have a favorite theme? Eg: love conquers all; good vs evil; How do you use it?
I write what I call classic mysteries. In every one good overcomes evil and I'm proud that entire families can read my novels.
No graphic violence or sex and rarely any offensive language is included. I believe a novel can be interesting and exciting without any of that. I want everyone to be entertained and intrigued.

What have you learned about yourself from your writing?
That I have the discipline to finish a book and that I must have some ability since I've been published and receive fan mail and no hate mail unless you consider spam hate mail. I do. I've also learned that something other than my golf game can be humbling.
Why will your reader think your book is different?
It's my hope that rather than finding something different they will fall in love with my characters.
In mysteries the plots have all been done and the formula is predetermined, but the characters,
I hope, come alive. I provide twists and turns in the story but the people are the key elements.

Her Name Is Mommy Excerpt:
Prologue
Jan Lutovsky had no interest in the throng of shoppers. Exhausted from her own Christmas shopping, she checked her makeup once again in the compact mirror. Her long, blonde curls had been meticulously brushed minutes before, and Jan allowed herself a satisfied smile. Occasionally she glanced down at the large bags at her feet to make sure no one tried to grab one. Only three days left till Christmas and she finally had the perfect gift for everyone. With any luck, a nice snow would make it an ideal Christmas.
At 24, Jan had one of those model bodies, only not rail thin. In another life she could have been a movie star. At least that’s what her husband, Rick, always said. She was accustomed to being described as drop-dead gorgeous and learned to ignore the admiring looks from the many male passersby.
~*~
Jan’s four-year-old daughter, Madison, sat quietly on an uncomfortable, slatted bench and wondered how long she would have to sit there. She hoped mommy would remember the promise of ice cream as a reward for good behavior.
~*~
The Lutovsky driver, George, was not due for another fifteen minutes. Jan didn’t see anything that looked more comfortable, so she had just decided to seat herself next to Madison when a man approached. A worn Cubs baseball cap was pulled down to his eyebrows, and seemed to match the dirty jeans and scruffy, black leather jacket. Jan tried to snub the tall, gangly cretin who sported a three-day growth of beard, but he got right in her face.
“Come with me, and you won’t be hurt.” Despite the man’s appearance, his voice was soft and strained.
“I beg your pardon?” Jan looked him in the eye and shot him her most vicious stare.
“You’re coming with me. Let’s go.” The man grabbed her arm and pulled. The expensive compact flew out of her hand as she tried to wrestle her arm away, only to discover the unwanted grip had tightened.
“Ma’am, I have a gun. You don’t want me to use it.” He tugged his coat away, and she gasped at the sight of the shiny, brown handle of a pistol tucked in his belt.
“What do you want?” A cold shiver ran up her spine. She really didn’t want that question answered.
“I won’t say it again, lady. Let’s go.” They started toward the door. Jan took one last look at the bench where her daughter sat alone next to the pile of presents. She desperately hoped someone would help Madison, because she knew she wouldn’t be able to. Would she ever be able to help her daughter again? Dear God, this couldn’t be happening to her.

Billie Williams interview

2008-09-03T14:37:00.003-04:00

I'm pleased to welcome author Billie Williams author of Ancient Secrets to Barb'ed Comments.

Billie A. Williams is the award-winning author of over two dozen works of fiction, non-fiction, and poetry, as well as numerous articles, short stories and book reviews. Some of her work has appeared in Sister’s in Crime, Mystery Time, Thema Magazine, Guide Magazine for children, Inscriptions, Voice in the Dark, and Sell Writing on Line. She was a presenter at the Obadiah Christian Women’s Writing Conference in Merrill, WI in April of 2005.

She lives with her husband in Amberg, a small Northern Wisconsin community where the winters are cold and long but the town folk are warm and friendly. http://www.billiewilliams.com/
billie@billiewilliams.com
http://printedwords.blogspot.com/

Q & A

Hopefully, visitors have already read your bio, so I’m not going to ask you to tell us about yourself. Instead, what do you find the most difficult about being a writer?

Since my husband retired and my boss went in for heart surgery it’s finding enough time to write when I have enough energy to do it. So, I get up at 5 a.m. every morning to write before hubby gets up or I have to go to work. Then comes the tough part, finding a publisher, finding an agent — and getting the books finished and the next one started in case I get a nod on the current one. {smile}

What is your hero’s biggest challenge?
In my current work , (Ancient Secrets) that will be released September 2008 from Wings – the Hero must protect his mother, his girl friend, and himself from a force he cannot name yet, from dangers he cannot predict all in the world of South Africa where he is a complete stranger in a strange land.

What is your heroine’s biggest flaw?
In Ancient Secrets Abigail Stonehenge’s biggest flaw is her fearlessness and her trust of people she has just met. This puts her life at risk and pulls in the hero, his mother and some innocent by standers when Chet Kampa turns evil.

What prompted you to write this story?
This story has been rambling around in my brain for a couple years – it finally decided it wanted the page, it wanted the book written. It began with a study into the seven chakra’s associated with the various parts of the body and the stones that can heal/govern them. It fascinated me and I though what if a goddess imbibed these stones with powers that could be evil if they were not controlled — my wicked imagination did the rest. I actually did an interview with the necklace itself to find out what part it played in the tale I was to tell. It was a fascinating interview and revealed things —as strange as that sounds since I asked and answered the questions — why didn’t I already know the answer. All I can say is, it’s the muse—the writer’s world. If anyone wants to read the interview – I will post it on my website at http://www.billiewilliams.com/

What is your least favorite genre? Would you ever consider writing it?
I think all genres have a place and I do dabble in most of them. The only one I’d have a hard time writing would be Science Fiction and Fantasy – I don’t know if my brain could build a world, and build the characters to people it. That seems like an awesome task to me and I greatly admire those who write in those genres. Some day I may play around with it, but right now I have to many stories in my regular mystery/suspense genre that want me to get them written.

Who has helped you the most?
I have met so many wonderful people along my writing path from editors, authors, and reviewers to friends, family and books on the subject of writing or just the writing of so many authors —I could read non-stop and never read all the books by all the authors I admire. Every book I pick up can teach me something. Every book I write and have published has taught me something – the editors and staff of Wings have been fantastic in helping me develop my writing. I’ve had other editors and publishers and authors groups that have helped immeasurably as well. Siren/Bookstrand, Forbidden Publishing, Red Rose publishing, Echelon Press, there were others, but these are my current publishers and authors groups along with Wings where I have learned so very much and will be eternally grateful to them all.

Do you have a favorite theme? Eg: love conquers all; good vs evil; How do you use it?
I worked long and hard to find a theme – a brand if you will, for my writing and what I came up with was “Love and Evil have no boundaries.” Though my sig line says: Accidental Sleuths Solve crimes with wit, wisdom and chutzpah – and
The sig line for my romantic suspense (Cricket Sawyer) reads Accidental Sleuths, Incidental Romance, Heat Index—Inferno.

What have you learned about yourself from your writing?
That is a very interesting question and one I have never considered. I believe I have found out that I am a multi-facetted person. I can do what I set my mind to do. And creating believable characters that people can relate to comes out of the flaws I recognize in me, actions I have taken or would take in similar circumstances. I have also discovered some of my strengths—perseverance is one —or is that plain bullheadedness not knowing enough to give up {smile}.

Why will your reader think your book is different?
My books usually take the reader on a series of unexpected, unforeseen, unimagined twists and turns and I believe my characters are unique enough that you won’t find them in any other author's books.

Ancient Secrets

A novel of Sorcery, jealousy and legends tangles three unlikely adventurers in a drama of treachery in an effort to return the necklace stolen from the ancient goddess Ebony before the earth suffers her final blow. The only available path— through the Valley of the Kings laced with trials.

Ø Daringer Smith (Archeology Professor at a local university) finds his mother Mrs. Olenmurphy (a.k.a. The Story Lady) on the ground in her backyard. His worst fears are that she is dead, it turns out she is in a coma, no cause can be found for it. He was there to pick up the necklace she has asked him to try to authenticate. The bead and bronze necklace fascinated her. It is one of the items she used to teach her elementary students.
Ø The necklace seems to have some kind of power that Daringer experiences immediately when he finds the necklace among his mothers possessions while she remains in the hospital in a coma.
Excerpt:
As soon as Mempo could prepare the meal and they had prepared their bed rolls, they all turned in for the night.
Abigail awoke to screams and Chet’s urgent command to get dressed, grab their gear, and head for the collapsible room. She quickly dressed, helped Mrs. Olenmurphy gather her belongings and they both raced toward the room, Daringer was behind them shielding them from whatever attacked the bearers.
The jolt and groan of the room the minute they set foot inside told Abigail they had traded one danger for another. She pulled Mrs. Olenmurphy close to her and they huddled in the middle of the room behind Daringer and Chet as they frantically worked to open the other door.
When Daringer dropped the necklace and Chet tried to retrieve it Abigail’s fear escalated as Chet was blown across the room as if a giant hand had hit him. He scurried back to Daringer as the ceiling of the room drew ever nearer. When the bearer rolled out the other side to escape the crush of the room she held Mrs. Olenmurphy even tighter.
Finally, the door slid open and Chet and Daringer pulled them to safety at least a different sort of danger than the crush of the room. As the door slid shut the screams of the bearer being torn to shreds by the beasts they had just escaped were cut off as if with a scissors.

Interview with Kimberley Dehn

2008-08-30T11:50:00.002-04:00

Author Kimberley Dehn is my guest, a fellow author at Wings with an August 2008 release titled Southern Exposure available at www-wings-press.com

Let’s jump right in.

Hopefully, visitors have already read your bio, so I'm not going to ask you to tell us about yourself. Instead, what do you find the most difficult about being a writer?

Organization. I tend to write my stories without a concrete roadmap in order to keep my creative juices fresh. I want to be surprised as much as my readers. If I have a good idea about how the story will begin and how it will end, I keep a loose hand when writing the middle. Some of my best plotting comes from this method. Planning out every minute detail of a story will ensure that story never sees the light of day, because I will never finish it. In my head, the story has been told and I’m ready to move on to the next idea. However, there are times, like on my current work in progress, when the plot is multi-dimensional and there are more than two characters that have a meaty part to play that I wish I could be a bit more left brained. Unfortunately, I recently took a test and discovered I’m 20% left brained and 80% right, so I have no chance of ever being organized.

What is your hero's biggest challenge?
Dean has a paternalist complex fostered by his father dying when he was fourteen, leaving him to take care of his mom and sister. He can’t do what he wants to do for himself, which is leave town for Atlanta and resume a successful architectural career, until he takes care of his town and loved ones first. The people of Potter’s Kiln bailed him out of a personal problem in his past and he will do whatever he can to repay them, even if it means he’s stuck in a backwards burg going no-where for the rest of his life. He puts everyone first before himself, and as a result, he’s miserable.

What is your heroine's biggest flaw?
She believes her family’s opinion of her and hasn’t grown past it. Kat is from a wealthy, successful food icon family and as she puts it, is the red hot chili pepper in a family of instant potatoes. Her family is business first, last and always, while Kat, at age 24, has no idea what she wants out of life and is struggling to find herself.

What prompted you to write this story?
In a world filled with fascination for heiress party girls like Paris Hilton, and runaway brides like Julia Roberts or Jennifer Wilbanks, I wanted to see what would happen when such a woman lost everything and had to face life without privilege and family support. Thus, Kat Hubbard, the heroine in Southern Exposure, was born. This story was written years before Paris spent time in jail, so I watched how she dealt with her situation with great interest. In fact, she inspired me to dust Southern Exposure off and give the world another chance to see it, so I guess I have Ms. Hilton to thank for my novel’s success.

What is your least favorite genre? Would you ever consider writing it?
Erotica. I had a hard enough time writing passionate scenes in Southern Exposure because I could envision my mother-in-law…my father…reading what I wrote.

Who has helped you the most?
Marge Smith, who writes as Elizabeth Sinclair for Harlequin. We have been friends forever, and her advice and critiques over the years has made me a better writer.

Do you have a favorite theme? Eg: love conquers all; good vs evil; How do you use it?
Struggle brings out the best in people, and the worst. I love for a main character to have everything and then lose it all. I want to see what they do to survive.

What have you learned about yourself from your writing?
To trust my instincts. I no longer work with a critique group. I tend to write outside the box of what is typically published in the categories and genre’s, so in the past critique groups, especially when my work is not fully developed, have hampered my creative flow. I will give the work to trusted critiquers who are not writers, but rather readers for feedback. I’m writing for readers after all.

Why will your reader think your book is different?
Well, it’s not your typical contemporary romance. It’s actually a relationship comedy, with Kat Hubbard as the focal point of the story. Southern Exposure is about her journey of self-discovery, her personal growth and her relationship not only with Dean the hero, but also with his daughter Stevie, and various townspeople in Potter’s Kiln. It’s funny, poignant and at times, ridiculous. I wrote it to entertain readers in dire need of a good laugh.

Excerpt/Cover
Dean veered his motorcycle left off Main to skirt Polliwog and Pine and, despite Kat's scream, jumped the train tracks onto Old Man River Road. The bite of her nails through the paper-thin denim into his thigh became a constant reminder that he was a fool to give in to Rooster. Kat was going home with him, but only until her check cleared the bank. Four days tops. He had until Thursday to somehow use her to save his town.
Kat leaned to the right to glare at him over her left shoulder. He felt his pulse leap with anticipation. They would be the longest four days in his life. He noticed her large eyes were framed with the thickest lashes he'd ever seen on a woman. Probably synthetic.
"I need to stop at my yacht."
He shook his head. "Rooster will filet my hide if you escape."
"I won't escape."
"Right, you won't. End of discussion."
"Oh, for…” She stiffened her spine and leaned forward in an attempt not to touch him. After a moment, she again turned to him. "I need decent clothing; something without racing emblems or beer advertisements. If you won’t allow me to board my yacht, at least take me to the nearest mall with a Bergdorf anchor. I have their credit card.”
“Sweetheart, the North has Bergdorf. The South has Dollar General.”

Kimberley Dehn
Southern Exposure
www.kimberley-dehn.com

Thank you so much for being my guest. Good luck with your new release.

Barbara Edwards

Coming soon from The Wild Rose Press: Ancient Awakening, a Black Rose
www.barbaraedwards.net
http://barbaraedwards.net/blog/blog.asp for Barb'Ed Comments
www.Wings-press.com for Annie's Heart, Another Love, Rachel's Rescue

Why is mentoring such a scary word?

2008-08-27T09:56:00.002-04:00

I recently put together a mentoring program for my chapter and volunteered to help with one for Novelsisterhood.com. A number of things made me wonder why the response wasn't more favorable. I think I understand.
The concept of mentoring can paint a frightening picture in a new writer’s mind. The Buddha-like figure perched high overhead, showering concepts onto the ignorant newbie springs to mind. So there is a distance involved and even a little fear. The basic taking of information without a return to the giver makes the experienced writer hesitate to be a mentor. It can make an inexperienced writer hesitate to ask a ‘dumb’ question. Never mind that everyone says no question is dumb, it feels that way.How does mentoring work? Two people exchange information. That’s right. Both benefit in a number of ways. Ask about finding an agent or editor and answers jump from every corner. A place to find a list of reputable people, names of editors taking submissions, agents looking for a new authors are some of the things I’ve learned. This benefits the more experienced writer as well as the beginner. Even beginners have information to share.So let’s change the concept to a friendlier picture. The older sister showing the younger how to put up her hair in a new fashion is a better one: a partnership rather than lecturing by the professor. Everyone benefits.

Guest interview with Gabriel Timar

2008-08-24T17:57:00.003-04:00

I'm excited to introduce my guest Gabriel Timar to Barb'ed Comments.

Gabriel Timar is a Canadian with Hungarian roots. He writes novels in both languages. In English, he published the Hades Connection, Assassins’ Club, Air Mogadishu and the Novgorod diary. His Hungarian language titles, the Hősök vagy bűnösök, A Fegyverek árnyékában, and his fictionalized autobiography Menni vagy maradni earned the praises of the top Hungarian critics.
Gabriel Timar enjoys meeting readers at book-signings, visiting book clubs, speaking to local groups (at the library, community college, clubs, etc.) about his work, and may be contacted through his website at http://www.gabor-timar.com/ or by e-mail at gabriel@gabor-timar.com

Hopefully, visitors have already read your bio, so I’m not going to ask you to tell us about yourself. Instead, what do you find the most difficult about being a writer?
It is the most difficult to deal with literary agents and bookstores. They want their pound and a half of flesh and they don’t care about the blood.

What is your hero’s biggest challenge?
The hero of the NOVGOROD DIARY has to keep the heroine alive, fix the Russian elections, satisfy the CIA the KGB and the Mafia at the same time, and that is for starters. In comparison to satisfying the insatiable heroine, these are easy.

What is your heroine’s biggest flaw?
Her love of men is compounded by a burning desire of doing a perfect job as a professional. Oh, yes, she also wants to stay alive.

What prompted you to write this story?
I wanted to show the readers the true face of the twenty-first century. If I tried to do it in a serious novel, nobody would publish it. However, giving it an overdose of humor, it is a pushover.

What is your least favorite genre?
Historical adventure set between 1930 and 1975.

Would you ever consider writing it?
Most certainly! I just published one entitled AIR MOGADISHU. Some people consider it a romance, but I think it is rather an adventure.
Three of my novels about the same period were published in Hungarian to rave reviews in the major daily papers. I am working on the English versions.

Who has helped you the most?
My wife. She is a linguistics major (French and Hungarian), from the University of Budapest. She taught me the techniques of constructing a novel.

Do you have a favorite theme? Eg: love conquers all; good vs evil;
I try to remain within the boundaries of reality. Let’s face it. Good never conquers evil; at best, the contest is a draw. I aim for that point. Love rarely conquers in the long run. For a few months, yes, but in the end most people realize that love is a feeling that starts in heart, hits below belt, and ruins one’s finances.

How do you use it?
In most of my books the end shows a direction only, and I leave the solution to the readers; imagination. This way they’d never wonder about certain things: like how is Sally going to put up with Jack’s incessant smoking

What have you learned about yourself from your writing?
Although I like to be in control, in the interest of success I let my characters solve the problems. They are clever people.

Why will your reader think your book is different?
Well, if the hero dies on the first page is rather unusual, but the guy coming back to Earth to interfere is more so. The fact that he overcomes insurmountable odds, deals with some of the most unsavory people, the greatest problems in our times while making the reader laugh is different from old fashioned boy meets girl.

Thank you, Gabriel. I'm sure readers will love your new book.
Barbara

Reviews:

The Novgorod diary, a piquant, science fiction spoof of the sacred cows of the twenty-first century from Wings ePress “I am particularly pleased to have this story published,” Gabriel said. “I wanted to write a book about the society of the twenty-first century. As I am not trained in sociology, to avoid the wrath of the professionals I resorted to sci-fi and humor.

“As someone tries stealing 350 million high quality Russian souls from Hades Limited, by electing the wrong man to the Kremlin, Luce (Lucifer), the Hades Limited CEO in the netherworld sends the soul of George Pike, a Newfoundland lawyer to Earth to protect the firm's interests by fixing the Russian elections.”

“NOVGOROD DIARY is an enchanting tongue-in-cheek tale using adult humor that kept me amused and chuckling from beginning to end. It is definitely the kind of book you’d need on a dismal rainy day to brighten your mood and make you giggle,” wrote JoEllen Conger, author of the Queen of Candelore.

Excerpt
~ Novgorod Diary ~by Gabriel Timar
As far as terrestrials are concerned, I am dead. My grateful ex-wife, after collecting my life insurance and taking possession of my assets, had an elegant black, marble headstone erected for me in Mount Pearl Cemetery, near the City of St. John’s in Newfoundland. Anyway, this was the least she could have done for me.
How did my ex-wife get hold of my fortune? It was easy. As a lawyer, I always advised my clients to review their last will the moment their divorce becomes final. Yes, you guessed right; I forgot to check my last will. It did not matter anyway, because my father was well off and had no need of the money, and I had no other relatives.
The events leading to my death were quite interesting. I hate to admit it: I made a stupid mistake.
The mistake was Lynn, a girl with the most beautiful derriere I’ve ever seen on a woman. She was an air hostess, and I did not realize that in addition to yours truly she regularly entertained Randy Bertozzi, the local representative of the Mafia in St. John’s. Although Randy claimed to be monogamous, he treated Lynn and about five other air hostesses as his private property. Under the circumstances, he figured I was an intruder, and in his world, trespassers were shot.
The last things I remember about my life on Earth are the suntanned, streamlined, naked body of Lynn, the report of a gun, the bullet hole in the wood paneling, and my blood spilling on the white carpet next to the black towel. I did not see the shooter.
I slowly started slipping into oblivion. I don’t know what part of my body or intellect staged the fight for survival. Was it a motor reflex, the nervous system, or perhaps an automatic reaction of my mind? Could it have been my immortal spirit wanting to hang on to its shell? I don’t know, and possibly nobody knows.
I was completely immersed in the fight to regain my faculties, and for the time being, I was winning, stopping at the opaque brink of consciousness. It took all my strength to maintain the status quo. I did not dare use any of my energies for thinking, because if I diverted even an infinitesimally small portion of my powers to reasoning, I would slip into the dark hole of oblivion from where, I was sure, there was no return.
Just as an arm-wrestler gives way when overpowered by the strength of a vastly superior opponent, I was pushed over the brink by a great surge of power, and suddenly a piercing beam of white light painfully penetrated my field of perception. It was mercifully short, and my marginal existence in the opaque world exploded into a kaleidoscope of pleasing colors. There was no need to fight, think, or resist. My exhausted spirit relaxed. I was curiously satisfied, even though I knew I had died.
Suddenly, my miserable existence changed again; someone started playing games with me. The sharp boundaries of the lively colors slowly faded into pastel washes, like a comforting cloak covering my field of perception. My mind broke free, and I could think again!
At this point, I realized my ex-wife, Joan, would claim my investment account in addition to the half-a-million-dollar life insurance. As I could not take any money with me wherever I was headed, I did not really care. The only thing bothering me was the thought of having to pass up a date with Helen Cooper, the singer pianist at the Starlight Club and the most beautiful--and least approachable woman I’ve ever encountered. It took me a long time to persuade her to date me. Now, I realized that I’d wasted a lot of money and energy chasing her.
Well, George, I thought, you win some and lose most. As you don’t have anything little Helen would appreciate, it doesn’t matter.
Unexpectedly, I sensed a presence of someone trying to talk to me!
There is a woman in the vicinity, I thought.
I knew I was very perceptive when it came to the fair sex. Although my miserable body had died, my immortal spirit, my soul, was alive and well. Apparently, all my instincts had stayed with me after death. I sensed the nearness of a feminine being trying to talk to me. I don’t know if it was vocal communication or a telepathic link, but the message was coming in loud and clear. Honestly, it was weird. “Welcome to the Third Dimension, Mr. Pike,” she said, sounding like an air hostess welcoming the passengers on board.
“I can’t say it is a pleasure being here, Mademoiselle,” I replied, “but I appreciate the management sending a beautiful young lady to welcome me.”
I did not know what she looked like, but even if she had the face of the devil and the shape of a pumpkin, most women appreciate compliments. I figured her goodwill might shave a few thousand years off my stay in Purgatory.
“Sir, this is your moment of truth,” she continued, disregarding the compliment. “As your soul has been graded at one-hundred and sixty Bertons, you must decide who should represent your immortal spirit in the future. Several corporations eagerly await your call.”
“Is this the final judgment?” I asked. “Are you going to decide whether I’m going to Heaven or Hell?”
“Not really,” she replied. “You should make the decision based on the influences of a lifetime. According to the rules, the souls rated one hundred Bertons or higher should select a compatible management firm to represent them. For the lower-rated souls coming in as part of the slush, the Board automatically selects a firm having the same ideology as what the soul developed during its stay in the First Dimension. We call them the soul-slush, as they have no right of immediate selection, but later can ask for a Board of Trade review. However, highly rated souls like yours must make the choice for themselves.”
“Are you just tormenting me? The wise people in school and church taught me to be a nice fellow, because after death, my fate would be decided according to the balance of my sins and good deeds.”
“That was the illicit advertising of some unscrupulous soul management corporation operating in the First Dimension without a proper license,” came the message from my distant lady friend. “I represent the Board of Trade, Mr. Pike. It is my responsibility to make sure that your decision is your own, made without undue pressure or interference.”
“I appreciate it. May I ask what my choices are?”
“I can give you the names of the corporations, their place on the ideological spectrum in a manner similar to terrestrial political parties in the First Dimension, and a short statement about each of them. This seems to be the most practical approach when it comes to souls from planet Earth.”
“What happens after I make my choice?”
“At first, you will be pleasantly stimulated, and sooner or later the representative of the firm you have chosen will contact you. They normally have something to offer to a soul of your caliber.”
“Shit,” I growled, “this is beginning to sound like a goddamned election!”
“Although I resent your crude terminology, Mr. Pike,” came the prompt reply, “you are right, it is just like a goddamned election.”
“Okay,” I said, amused, “let me have the list of the candidates.”
“Reading your orientation index, I doubt you would be interested in Red Star Company Limited. They are on the extreme left,” she started.
“Skip them. I don’t like the Commies’ egalitarian philosophy. According to them, one must do his best to have his needs satisfied. We call them Marxists on Earth,” I remarked.
“Nirvana Corporation is left of the center. They are non-violent, relaxed, but meditate a lot.”
“I never enjoyed meditation. I pass.”
“Near the center, a little to the right, is Heaven Inc.”
“Now you’re talking,” I said, interrupting. “Tell me more.”
“Every terrestrial shows interest in them,” she replied and continued. “We know they have perhaps the most extensive illegal advertising network on planet Earth. Very few souls understand the strict dogmatic philosophy of Heaven Inc. They demand unquestioning faith, discipline, and obedience. They do not value creativity.”
“Disappointing,” I remarked. “I was always an independent spirit. As far as my faith in others is concerned...”
“Yes or no, Mr. Pike?” she asked impatiently.
“Check, but reserve the right to examine this option further at a later date,” I replied.
“Very well.” She sighed. “The next, still a centrist organization, is Hades Limited.”
“I don’t like the name. It is synonymous with Hell.”
“I’ve heard it too. However, their main characteristics are discussion, thriving on controversy, and claiming creativity the most important quality of a soul.”
“Interesting,” I said. “They just became a distinct possibility. What else?”
“I doubt you would like the last major firm, Seventh Paradise Inc., on the extreme right,” she continued.
“Forget them. I assume they also demand high standards of discipline.”
“They do, and at the same time demand the display of hostility against all other soul managers.”
“No, it’s not me,” I concluded. “Anything else?”
“If you are not satisfied with these, I have a few specialist firms, subsidiaries of the big ones. If you want one of them, I will arrange another selection session with the small firms’ representative. Can you make up your mind now, sir?”
“Let me think, my dear,” I remarked. “Clearly the choice is between Hades and Heaven. If I elected Heaven Inc., Father Golding’s soul would likely accompany mine for an eternity. That would be hard to bear, as he would always force me think big, clean thoughts, talk about church, donations, and no booze. Hades Limited cannot possibly be so bad. Therefore, my dear, they are going to be stuck with me.”
“So, if I understand you correctly, your pick is Hades Limited?” she asked.
“I’m afraid it is.” I sighed.
“Thank you, Mr. Pike.”

Keeping up

2008-08-20T12:53:00.002-04:00

It’d not easy to write a blog. I’m a writer. It should be easy, but like writing a novel it takes persistence and patience. I might be persistent (another word for stubborn), but I have little patience. I want everything done right now!
So how do I keep my blog current? Good question. Last week my computer gave a twitch, curled up into a fetal position and stated gasping. I forgot about blogging while doing CPR, but it finally gave up and died. I had to shop for a new machine, get my files transfered, and (most dreaded of all) learn how to use a new format. To give a hint--it took me three years to lear windows 98, two years to learn XP, and I expect vista to be another long leaning curve.
I'm finally back on track.
I like to think my words are gold and a wide audience is waiting breathlessly to pluck up every one. Sigh. I am not delusional. It takes a long time to find interested readers. I like to talk about writing. A blog is one way to interest people in the way I write. Hopefully, they’ll go on to buy my books and tell others to read them, too.

The writer’s curse is a sagging middle

2008-08-08T11:20:00.000-04:00

Not your stomach. It’s the middle of your manuscript dragging into oblivion. Classic advice says ‘kill someone’. A dead body injects life. I’ve killed a few characters. Then found a reason why. Who is the ‘real killer’? Can’t have a fake killer, can we? Red herrings abound. Threads weave another layer to the plot.
Or it is a murder the death of the story?
At one RWA conference an editor stated she hated to find a dead body at midpoint in a comedy. I rewrote that one and found the story went no-where. Its still waiting under my bed for inspiration to strike.
An extra dead body is a clue that your story isn’t alive. Every action must have a cause. Tossing a corpse off the roof might not do anything but make the editor toss your book.
Back to my middle. I’m a by-the-seat-of-my-pants writer. I learn my characters as I go. I plot day by day. I’m constantly surprise by what happens. A murder? Sometimes an earthquake, a riot, a hurricane or a love scene fits better.
Be creative. It’s your job.

Diagrams, outlines, graphs and time-wasters

2008-08-08T11:14:00.001-04:00

At a recent chapter meeting another speaker advised using an outline. Yuck. I actually hate outlining. So many authors have these cute little charts and graphs to get their story together. I do envy their organizational skill. I have tried. Honest. I tried Deb Dixon’s outline for goal, conflict, and resolution. Remember the Wizard of Oz example? Boy, I grabbed that like a lifeline to a drowning sailor. Too bad the graph defeated me. Did this fact go here? Or here?
I’ve used the character question forms. His name, her name, mother’s name, listed like a genealogy. Who gives a rat’s butt what the hero’s mother’s maiden name was?
After years of searching for what works for me, I’m finally doing my own thing.
I have a book bible for each manuscript.
In it is a timeline- day, night, moon phase, whatever is relevant to when.
When I add a character, I copy the description, adding details as they appear.
This is part of my first draft process. I do a simple edit on the previous day’s work, put items in the bible and start the flow for today’s pages. Works for me.

Are you doing the Writer’s Waltz?

2008-07-29T13:34:00.001-04:00

I love to dance, but not when I’m writing.I didn’t know there was a name for the steps I repeated as I played the same tune over and over in my head.
Write chapter one, chapter two, chapter three. There’s a great contest with the final judge from the publishing house I want to submit to.
Rewrite chapter one, chapter two, chapter three. Make it perfect.
Ooops, didn’t finish first. Rewrite one, two, three.
No grammatical errors, the plot moves, characters reveal their conflicts and goals. Another contest, so rewrite one, two, three.
It's so good, an editor requests the manuscript.
Only you’ve been so busy doing the one, two, three steps, the rest didn’t get finished.
Ask any editor and she’ll tell you how many manuscripts have chapters one two three polished like diamonds, but the remainder is poorly done.
The secret is to finish that first draft before doing those rewrites and edits.
Hard? Sure. I know that waltz very well. I did it for years.
Did I learn anything?
Yes. Not to listen to the pretty music.

I wasn’t invited to the celebration, but I’ll raise my glass anyway

2008-07-27T16:04:00.001-04:00

Breast cancer is no joke. It’s a fear every woman lives with her entire adult life.
I religiously do a self-exam and have my scheduled mammogram even though none of my family has suffered with it. So, I want to tell you about a woman I know who I’ll call Rita.
She has a mother and sister who had breast cancer, so she does everything right. When she had a pain in her breast that didn’t fade, she had a mammogram and a sonogram. Nothing showed, but when her sister mentioned it to her oncologist she recommended an MRI because of the family history.
Rita had the MRI and they found a small tumor behind the muscle in the other breast. Who would suspect? It was cancer. She’s had radiation and chemo.
The treatments worked.
She celebrated Friday night with a few close friends.
I wasn’t invited, but I celebrate for her. Here’s to you, Rita. Long life and Good Health.

Keeping up with the Jones’

2008-07-22T14:03:00.001-04:00

My parents had a color television. They were proud to say it was the first on our block. We weren’t rich by any means. Ordinary people living ordinary lives. My Dad was working class, making his way into management. My Mom stayed at home and volunteered. In many ways, they were caught in the Jones’ race. My brother had to go to college. My sister and I had the latest fashions.
I didn’t go to college until I was thirty-five. Years later I realized that it was my parents’ dream I was still chasing. Those Jones’ again. Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad I went. I enjoy saying master’s degree on my resume although that seems like a land far, far away.
My dream was and always had been to tell my stories.
So here I am. Not so famous author of romances with a website, a blog, an email address that uses my pen name and four books contracted for publication.
I'm still trying to keep up with the neighbors. Have you seen all those author interviews? Read all the wonderful critiques? Checked all those lovely covers? Written and contracted four books this year with a major house? On and On I race.
So far, the Jones’ are in the lead.
Barbara

Delete that sucker!

2008-07-18T08:11:00.002-04:00

Boy, do I understand about the email addiction. When I was seriously trying to finish my manuscript, I set everything to no-mail or digest. And checked every other day. Gosh did I have jittery fits wondering what I was missing, but it was really freeing. Then reality set in. I have an ebook to sell. I have to be on the web.
The break did allow me to do some rethinking. Many posts from similar interest loops are repeats-delete. Personal messages-after a congratulations-delete, good review-ditto, new grandbaby- delete, signing off or on- delete, pictures of the cat, dog, baby-delete.
You get the idea.
My delete key has the writing worn off, but its cut my time on email in half.
I love the contact with that big world. People are the source of so much information, support or help. Deleting has to do with priorities.
My writing must come first, then selling my books. I didn't 'get' that message for years. I bet most successful authors have.

Why didn’t anyone give me a magical roadmap?

2008-07-18T08:08:00.000-04:00

Daily entries sounded so easy. Find an interesting topic. Jot a few paragraphs. Post and wait to answer all the comments. Hah. First, the list of things to do every day grows like Jack’s beanstalk. And I’m not Jack climbing ambitiously, I’m the cow being lead down a sidepath.
Do me a favor. Tell me the secret formula. You know the one. How do you do it? I want to be Superwoman, although Wonder Woman will do. Click those magic bracelets together and alakazam. Yikees.
Where is my brain? It doesn’t happen that way. Not in my world. In my world the magic is a good scene written, a plot snag resolved, a nice word from my editor. All so small in the overall scheme of things, but like shiny pebbles are so pretty when collected.

So you write those trashy bodice-rippers

2008-07-15T08:01:00.000-04:00

Yes! After years of mumbling a reply when asked what I write, I lift my head and square my shoulders. I’m proud to say ‘Romance’.
Why? Romance novels are a powerful societal force. They show ordinary men and women working through problems, overcoming obstacles, finding love, and overcoming evil.
Romance novelists show social problems and how people react to them. A prime example is Kathleen Eagle. She writes of the difficulties of the American Indian in a heart-warming manner that can be related to many readers.
The first novel I ever read about rape was the first romance book printed by Meteor Publishing. It dealt with the difficult emotional recovery of a woman and the man who stood by her. Literacy, alcoholism, homelessness, single motherhood, adoption and the search for roots have all been done in a number of sympathetic ways.
Not every book takes on the deep subjects. Some are for fun. Or erotic. Or inspirational. I love it when a taboo subject is exposed. And I applaud the writers who venture into areas like mastectomy, blindness, handicapped individuals of any kind, and show us that love is never limited to the perfect few.
Have you found that author who stirred your heart? Do you write something that grabs a reader, makes her laugh or cry?