Category: Novel

Saying I Do to the Scoundrel

12/7/2019

Perhaps choosing a man who falls asleep in the tavern isn't the first choice for a business partner, but in Saying I Do to the Scoundrel, it was the right business partner.

Even though this story is mostly set in the London countryside in the early 1800's, I feel it has a touch of the American west in it.

Excerpt:

He moved his head sideways, but his eyes remained on her. He stated, ‘You’re kidnapping yourself for the money?’

He saw the prim set of her shoulders. The clothing she wore, too much warmth for the weather, hadn’t been cobbled together by a person saving on expense. The ridiculous lace around the edge of her cloak and her ribbons didn’t come without a price.

‘Yes. It’s only a pittance of what I should have. My stepfather’s taken it all.’

‘You believe he’ll pay the ransom?’ He was more than curious. He was interested.

‘Yes. He wants me to marry his nephew, Fillmore.’ She leaned closer. ‘My stepfather does just as his nephew says. They are closer than a father and a son.’ She waved her gloved hand.

She shook her head. ‘Fillmore believes I should be his bride. I cannot take a step when he is in the house without watching for him and he is getting more and more determined every day. Rooms are being painted for him and furniture reupholstered. When that is finished next month, he is planning to move into the house—as my husband. I must be gone before then.’

He eyed the chit. ‘All I need to do is kidnap you—but you will be willingly kidnapped. Secure the ransom. Take my half and we part friends."

Taking Turns for Happiness

11/23/2019

In It's Marriage or Ruin, the character Emilie had no plans for marriage until she felt forced into it by her mother. I suspect, in real life, another Emily, Emily Bronte, felt pressured to marry when she did.

But, from one of the letters she'd written after the marriage, her husband treated her well, and she was thrilled that she'd made the decision.

Unfortunately, due to her health, the marriage wasn't a tremendously long one, but I'm pleased she found happiness.

EXCERPT:

‘It’s the two of us now, Emilie, for the rest of our lives.’ Marcus stood in front of her.

‘Us?’ She rubbed one side of her neck, then the other. Then her shoulders wavered. ‘Us? Just us?’ She turned away, but kept her gaze on him. ‘You make that sound like a rather seriously long period.’

He put both hands out to hold her steady. ‘I fear it will be. I hope it will be.’

‘Us and art.’

Marcus remained silent.

‘But you have no trouble with my painting?’

‘None whatsoever.’ He thrust away the unspoken concerns that flared inside him.

Her chest expanded as she inhaled. Tendrils of hair hung loose. ‘Marcus, you are the best husband I could ever aspire to. But, I wonder if you can be happy?’

He touched a kiss on her forehead. ‘I fear only one of us can be at a time.’

‘I’m not very good at taking turns,’ she said.

‘Neither am I.’

‘I’m not worried about it. You are the absolute most perfect husband for me, Marcus. I know that. So far, I have found marriage to be all I expected.’ Emilie wriggled as if trying to squirm out from her uncomfortable dress.

‘It would not take much for it to be all I expected.’

Marcus, Lord Grayson

9/14/2019

In my area, the peerage is as common as unicorns, hobbits, and Cujo. Except, on occasion it does seem an occasional Cujo might sneak in.

So, it would stand to reason that I would avoid writing about characters who are of the peerage. After all, there is that adage, write what you know.

But, I believe people are basically the same. As one of the female aristocratic types in one of my books said, "We put on our bejeweled slippers the same as anyone else."

The hero in It's Marriage or Ruin is Marcus, Lord Grayson.

Excerpt:

Lord Grayson remained perfectly still for several moments before he moved. He rearranged the hem of his sleeve and his eyes fell over Emilie, making the air she swallowed fill her with a fresh warmth. ‘We meet again.’

‘You knew I was out here,’ she said.

‘Whether I did or not, it doesn’t matter.’

Even in the darkness, Emilie could imagine him plainly. Nature had sculpted a visage which could have inspired Michelangelo to do better work.

Her hand wanted to caress, to run over the planes of his cheek so she could experience him with the feeling of touch as well as sight.

Inwardly, she berated her traitorous thoughts. She pulled herself from the momentary stupor, blaming it on her fascination with form.

How unfair that someone such as Lord Grayson, a man who said he liked frivolities, would have such a pleasing appearance. Her mother had been so wrong about which of Avondale’s sons had been graced with handsomeness.
The humour on his lips faded. ‘Miss Catesby, you are an accident waiting to happen.’

She tossed the words out. ‘Accidents do happen and I am not the cause of any of them.’

‘You cause things to happen on purpose.’

‘Occasionally.’

Miss Emilie Catesby

9/8/2019

When I saw my first book pop up on a website, I was thrilled. But it was so alone. Just one book. Now, my tenth one has been published.

When I'm writing, I can feel the characters' thoughts, but rarely imagine their faces. Then, when a cover arrives, I soon begin to see the characters as the exact image that is portrayed.

An excerpt from It's Marriage or Ruin that tells a bit about Emilie:

‘Miss Catesby. Stay away from my brother. He would ruin you.’

She touched the light wool of his waistcoat, letting her fingers flatten against him. Leaves rustled again as the wind touched them. The breeze strengthened, and the air tingled her cheeks. ‘I would say it’s not your concern.’

‘Miss Catesby. You’re an innocent.’ His fingers pressed into the fabric at her waist and he moved back a whisper.

She trailed her fingers up the waistcoat, touching the cravat, the edge of his jaw, the curve of his lips. She could have been touching a Michelangelo when she felt his face. This was something she’d never imagined before. Her heart pounded from the merest touch of his skin.

To feel a true masterpiece overwhelmed her. She dropped her hand and clenched it, keeping it at her side. She could hardly wait to capture in paint a masculine jawline. One with a hint of darkness in it. In shadows. Such a challenge. To put this image on canvas. A man in the shadows. Darkened features. She could never call it The Dark Angel. Her mother would destroy it. She would call it A Saint In Repose.

She could not calm her heartbeats, but inspiration came at the strangest moments, and one should relish them, hold them close, hug them to one’s heart.

But she could not touch him again. He was the forbidden fruit. The crevasse that could swallow the as-yet-unmade creations that were inside her and turn her into nothingness.

‘Art is my passion.’

His mouth parted. ‘You could have more than one passion, perhaps.’

‘I do. Oils, then watercolours.’

I just had an idea but I lost it under the dust..

10/12/2014

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One day, I decided to start an "idea" file in my computer. It's literally named "Idea."

Through three or four computers, I've kept that file. Lost a lot of other ones, but that one I've uploaded, backed-up and generally saved. The file is a security blanket for me so if the light bulb doesn't come on above my head--if it's covered in dust--I can still have a story idea.

I just didn't realize how big the file would get.

At the beginning I have a short section of names I wrote down so that I could go back and have a bit of an unusual name for a character. Names like Jolley.

It's a quick scroll to the next section of the file. This contains the beginnings of historical romances. One scene after another. I wrote some of them in the same way an artist might doodle on a sketch pad. Sort of a way to relax, or a way to hold on to a thought and see if I like it later.

If I click the key to go to the end of the file, I can scroll up and see the beginnings of contemporary novel ideas.

Sometimes after I see the ideas, I know I don't want to write that story--ever. But sometimes I see the words and I think I really, really want to write that story some day.

I know I'll never ever write probably one half of a per cent of the stories in that file. It's 90,000 words long. My sketch pad.

(The photo above is from the abandoned barn near my house.)

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Stubby

9/26/2014

Stubby is the high-spirited cabin boy in the first two books of my trilogy. He was pivotal in both stories. In the first book, he was vital to the plot. But in A Captain and a Rogue, he was more important to me. I deleted most of his scenes after I finished the manuscript but I saved them in a file.

In that deleted file, I tell of his life on shore and how he'd once discovered that women would notice him if he stood, bedraggled, in front of a confectionary shop. He would end up with more food than he could eat. The shop owner wouldn't scare the boy away because the lad was good for business.

I also had to delete how the captain was a bit envious of the heroine's attention to the cabin boy. Stubby asked the heroine to marry him, but she refused. And because he was not a faint-hearted lad, he then asked the other sister if she might marry him. Since he thought she was a mermaid, Stubby planned to build her a house by the sea. He said he would bring her minnows on a regular basis. But she refused him too.

At almost the last minute of the edits, I left the cabin boy character in England while the ship he'd worked on sailed away. I did that so I could possibly work him into another story, and he could be reunited with the mother who'd had to give him away so he could have a better life.

His character helped me enjoy writing A Captain and a Rogue.

Reading Again and Again...

8/16/2014

When my novel went on Amazon, I put a mini-bio on their website. I'd rather write ten thousand words of fiction than 75 words of bio.

I went back to the bio page recently to check it--which put me back on my book's Amazon page. And then I discovered I could buy a used copy of Safe In The Earl's Arms.

They say what goes around...you know, haunts you. I've bought my share of used books. I think twenty was the most I ever bought at once, and it was a terrible mistake. The lady had more books than that and I didn't get all of them. I started reading the novels, and I realized this was her "keeper" books. Each book was a tremendous story. Among others, I read Flowers in the Storm by Laura Kinsale and Once a Knight by Christina Dodd. Dodd's knight has sobriety issues--and the Kinsale book, well, after reading it four times, I don't know if I'll read it again. I'm not going to tell you what the hero's problem is. And the back of the book blurb doesn't mention it. It's one you have to read to understand in my opinion, and Laura Kinsale did an amazing job.

Once though—before Kindle—after reading a few free books by an author, I had to go to the bookstore (which had new books) and try to find another book by her. While in the bookstore, I noticed she had three more books on the shelves, but I only purchased one.

After I finished the new book, I had to go back for one more. I came out of the store with both her other books--not even discounted. I enjoyed the Bridgerton series. Historical Romance fans will probably know exactly which author wrote that one.

ALSO:
The bio I struggled with is at: http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss_1?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=liz+tyner
NOTE: The yarn hanging from the books below is planned. I have two skeins and a pair of scissors handy. When a piece of the fuzzy brown yarn is put in a book I've finished--it's the same as a five star rating and I know I might need to read that book again.

The Bird Seed Thief

8/13/2014

Watching the animals outside is not helping my writing, but it's enjoyable.
I really don't know what the squirrel was looking at. He probably just didn't want to pose. But he'd been staring at me until I took his photo.

A Mississippi Kite, a hawk, once nested near the backyard and decided she didn't like me. It's not fun stepping out of your backdoor and looking up to see a bird sitting in a tree, watching for you to get away from the door so she can dive at you. She did chase me back in the house once, and another time I turned around to see her coming straight at me from behind and the look on her face and the clench in her claws concerned me. She won that round too. I started wearing a hat when I went outside and that helped. I was relieved when she left.

But this weekend, indoors or out, I will be spending time with my manuscript.

Writing to Keep From Writing

8/10/2014

My computer has a half written story that is not going away until it's finished.

But tonight, that half written story is sitting there with a deadline lurking in the shadows. Imagine a jack-o-lantern smile on a dark hooded shape, and that's what the deadline is in my imagination. I have to keep on top of the story so that little grinning face is tiny enough it won't overpower me.

So, I checked to see if I have any emails, and started a blog post. I like to write. So, often my form of procrastination is to sit at the keyboard and write--something--anything--other than my next book.

The photo to the left is what I see when I am in my room and raise my eyes from the keyboard and look straight ahead. I might need to replace it with a poster that says Think Deadline.

So I sit here imagining how I'd make a poster that says Think Deadline. Or maybe I should make one that says Procrastination Expert. But perhaps I should put that off for a bit.

"Hummingbird"

8/7/2014

Someone asked me my favorite romance novel, and I have a lot of them. But I realized I have three copies of one book, Hummingbird. The first copy I bought new after a recommendation. The copy got tattered, so I needed a replacement. And then I saw another one at a used bookstore.

I have two copies another book that I enjoyed. After I'd read the story, I met the author at a book signing. and asked her to sign a new copy for me. I told her I would give my first copy away--(I haven't yet), and then I told her I had read the story twice. She looked shocked. "It's a good book," I told her.

It is a good book, and I'm watching for her at conferences. If I meet her again, I hope I have a chance to explain to her how well the author did.

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