Plot Monkeys

Note - I wrote this blog last week, before Julie’s week of excerpts. Now the title seems like it should be FINALLY It’s All About Me - just kidding! I loved Julie’s story as much as the rest of you and what really thrilled me was your reaction to it! Julie has a winner on her hands!
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NOW back to me!

I’ve been going through a rough patch. I didn’t realize it for awhile. I knew I wasn’t writing at the pace I wanted. I wasn’t as “up” as I wanted to be. I couldn’t put my finger on what I was feeling or why. A friend mentioned some things she was going through and I was able to relate enough to make some personal changes in my life too. Among those changes was to try to think more about ME.

On the one hand, this seemed odd. I mean, don’t I always think about me? Well yes in between thinking about everyone else in the family. Don’t I always put my writing first? That’s the thing – I always THINK about writing. Doesn’t mean I’m always writing. And I decided that the reason I’m falling behind on the writing is because I’m thinking more about things than doing them. So I decided to put some things into action.

1. I’m eating better.
2. I joined a gym with my sixteen year old daughter and we are going to motivate each other. We will go after school or early evenings, so I will no longer feel like I have no time to exercise because I could use the time writing. I never write during these hours because I’m carpooling and then the kids are home … so now we make better use of our after school time.
3. I’m getting weekly manicures – this makes Mom happy (seriously!) and makes me feel better about ME.
4. I bought a new desk chair and I’m having someone come into the house to make my keyboard tray and mouse tray more ergonomically fit to alleviate the back and shoulder pain. (which has me in physical therapy 2 – 3 times week and takes up way too much time!) I’m hoping to have the set up in place next week.
5. I saw my doctor and tweaked some things that needed tweaking!

As a result of focusing more on me, I’m hearing the voices again! Not schizophrenic voices but a writer’s voices. The characters are starting to talk to me again, slowly but surely and that to me is key. So for anyone who feels blah or lost, I highly suggest you take some time to be selfish. Make your life more about you – you’ll be happier and more productive and everyone around you will thank you for it in the end.
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NOTE again - FRIDAY I am off to Arizona for the Desert Dreams Conference where I’ll be their luncheon speaker and where I am also doing a workshop on The Writing Process. If you live in Arizona, there is also a huge booksigning open to the public:
Saturday, April 5
5:30 - 7 p.m.
Crowne Plaza San Marcos Golf Resort & Hotel
One San Marcos Place
Chandler, Arizona
Santan Room/San Marcos Ballroom
I hope some of you are in the area and will stop by and say hi!!!!

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LAST BUT NOT LEAST - coming next week … HOT PROPERTY NEWS!

Ha…Julie here…Carly THINKS today is all about her…but I still have one last winner to announce.

Thanks everyone for following the excerpts all week (Did you miss them? Start here) AND for showering me with reports of PHANTOM PLEASURES sightings and purchases! Keep ‘em coming!

This is it. The last day! But NOT the last excerpt. See the bottom of this post for more information.

But the burning question has to be…where do I buy this book? (I hope that’s the burning question or else my experiment in posting all these excerpts has not worked, LOL!) The book will be at Barnes & Noble and Borders for sure. In fact, I’ve gotten reports that Borders has started selling the book in earnest yesterday. As for Walmart and Target…I don’t think you’ll be able to find it there, unfortunately. If those are your go-to places for book buying, you might want to order from one of the online stores like Amazon or Barnes & Noble.

This is the last day to enter the contest for the $20 Amazon gift card. Just post a comment! The winner will be posted tomorrow with Carly’s blog.

-6-

Alexa hardly knew what had come over her.

Okay, that was a bald-faced lie. Lust had come over her. Years and years of fantasizing about a mysterious, ghostly stranger fading into her room late at night and introducing her to decadent pleasures of the flesh. Hot dreams. Wet dreams. Dreams that had haunted her with particular vigor since her month long stay in the hospital, when she’d had little to do but sleep and surrender to the medications coursing through her body.

But now, she was healthy. She could have exactly what she wanted with a lover who wasn’t completely real–if only she took the leap.

The room darkened around her. She leaned away from Damon and watched candles and torches in iron sconces and elaborate candelabras materialize all around them. Silk draperies and tapestries unfurled from the stones on the wall. In seconds, the landing was transformed into a sensual hideaway, with the cushioned chaise as the centerpiece.

“You’re getting the hang of using the magic,” she whispered, awed by the finery glowing around her.

“Wondrous what a man can do when properly motivated,” he replied.

Before you click…please realize that the rest of this chapter is rated R. You have been warned!

(more…

Hello, everyone! If you haven’t been visiting Plotmonkeys this week, you might not know that I’ve been running a series of excerpts from my book, PHANTOM PLEASURES, which will be released on TUESDAY, APRIL 1. If this is your first visit, you can catch up by reading here.

Enjoy today’s excerpt. I have a special treat at the bottom of this post, along with the winner of yesterday’s contest. Don’t forget to click the cover if you want to preorder from Amazon!
——————-
-5-

“Clearly, you’re a man who likes a challenge,” she assessed. “Should make life in this little dream world of yours very interesting.”

His chuckle echoed off the bare stone all around them, then injected directly under her skin. The sound skirted the edge between sinister and genuine mirth. Perhaps she should have heeded both Cat and Jacob’s warnings for caution. Maybe–just maybe–for the first time in her life, she was in over her head.

“I assure you, Miss Chandler–”

“–Alexa,” she corrected, ignoring the sudden acceleration of her heartbeat.

“Yes, of course. Alexa.”

He exploited every vowel, his accent emphasizing the keen feminine sound of her name even as he stepped an inch or so closer. Her instincts battled between running like hell and leaning in those last few inches, to see if his skin was indeed as warm and his muscles as hard as she imagined.

“I assure you that this dream world, as you call it, can be very real if you so wish.”

She locked her feet in place, determined to remain unaffected by his proximity. And yet, anticipation thrilled through her, electrifying the space between them with a raw, natural magic that she understood very, very well–even if she hadn’t experienced it firsthand for a long time.

To cover her attraction, she eyed him with as much skepticism as she could muster. “A moment ago you told me you didn’t know how the magic worked here.”

“’Tis true,” he said, “but I did not say I would not attempt to manipulate the magic to my advantage.”

(more…

Welcome back! to anyone who is here for the first time, welcome! Normally, on Jungle Madness Friday, one of the Plotmonkeys posts a fabulous contest. This week, however, I’m continuing my series of excerpts from my upcoming paranormal romance, Phantom Pleasures and today, we’re on Chapter Four! If you’d like to start from the beginning, click here!

But there’s still a contest! If you post a comment, you’re eligible to win a $20 gift card from Amazon.com. The winner from yesterday is posted at the end of this chapter. Enjoy!

-4-

This time, the awakening came slowly.

No rush of air.

No blinding light.

Just the gradual saturation of life into his body, the gentle peeling of his skin away from the moist oil and canvas that had held him captive for what he guessed must have been centuries. The moment his boot hit stone, his vision cleared. The red-headed woman was sprawled on the ground at his feet.

He hoped she wasn’t dead. Pity if such an enchanting female perished only to initiate his freedom.

On bended knee, he reached to touch her, but stopped before his fingers made contact with her alabaster cheek. Her auburn hair, pulled back tightly from her face, gave him pause. How many centuries had elapsed since the gypsy woman had warned him that a woman with flames in her hair would be the instrument of his destiny? Her predictions, thus far, had proved ominous. He’d married his wife, Anne, partially because of her station and dowry, and partially because her burnished tresses garnered renown among the whole of King George’s court. He’d been so curious if the gypsy’s prediction would prove true, he’d sacrificed his bachelorhood.

Yet despite the fire in her hair, Anne had proved cold as the Thames in winter. He’d then found himself with Renata, his mistress, drawn by her passionate mien and crimson curls. Too late he’d learned she used henna the first night they’d met and changed her hair color on whims of fancy. Sweet-natured and warm, Renata had been a welcome distraction during his sojourns to London, but she had not affected his destiny in any way.

Except on the night of his imprisonment, when he’d thought–for a brief, insane instant–that Rogan had trapped her in a painting.

He glanced from the woman on the floor to the portrait on the wall, now devoid of a subject. On the night of his sister’s disappearance, there had been a redhead in the portrait. In a corner shadow. In a doorway that did not exist. She’d lured him and therefore, had yanked him out of his time and in to this new world where machines flew in the sky and women, like the one now crumbled on the floor, ordered men in uniform about as if she were queen.

At that thought, he touched her. A lock of hair had escaped the severe queue she’d tied at the nape of her shapely neck, so he merely brushed the hair aside. She moved, made a sound quite like a cat’s mewling.

(more…

Okay, now we’re getting down to business. I loved yesterday’s chapter because so much happened…but today’s is crucial to the story arc in so many ways. Enjoy!

If you’re just joining us…welcome! The excerpts started on Monday, so if you click here, you’ll be able to start from the beginning and work your way back here for the latest installment. And don’t forget to comment in today’s thread for your chance to win a $20 gift card from Amazon.com!

-3-

“There’s no one here, ma’am.”

Alexa glanced over her shoulder, her lips pursed and her jaw tight as the Coast Guard seaman shifted from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable with breaking the news. The discovery wasn’t unexpected. The minute she’d squeezed through a crack in the wall, broken through the sixty-year-old padlock on the front door and witnessed six decades worth of dust and sand on the cracked, stone floors of the castle, Alexa had known no one had been inside.

No one corporeal, at least.

At Jacob’s insistence, she’d allowed the crew of the closest Coast Guard UTB to escort the boat they’d chartered to the island and search for possible trespassers. Now that they’d completed their mission, she wanted them gone. She had exploring of her own to do, starting with the lone furnishing–a painting hanging alone on the landing above the grand staircase.

A painting that had captured her interest as if the man in the portrait had reached out from the canvas and was even now, curling his fingers in a silent, rhythmic beckoning.

She gave the seaman a curt nod and returned her gaze to the portrait. Despite the dust and the cobwebs, the man in the oil on canvas was nothing short of magnificent. Piercing eyes the color of a storm-tossed ocean–a swirling mix of green and gray–stared straight into her. His hair, long and deep chocolate brown, seemed to have caught an unexplainable wind in a drawing room decorated with candle and torchlight. As if wet, his stark white shirt and scarlet waistcoat molded to his skin. A single droplet of water slid down his square jaw, threatening to splash down at any moment.

The artist’s realism stunned her. The plush face of the cat on his lap. The velvety folds of the cloak tossed carelessly across the back of an ornate chair. Even the fired tips of the candles in the sconces blurred as if photographed rather than painted. The fact that the portrait was the only furnishing in the castle further piqued her interest. Had the mysterious builder in the forties reconstruct the abandoned German castle simply to house a single piece of artwork that no one would see?

“Time to go, Alexa,” Jacob announced after the rest of the Coast Guard contingent congregated in the foyer.

“No,” she said.
(more…

First things first…congratulations to Plotmonkey, Leslie Kelly, for finaling in this year’s RITA awards!! SHE’S NO ANGEL has been nominated for Best Single Title Contemporary Romance! Yeah, Leslie! We’re so proud of you! And I’m proud of you, roomie!

Now, if you’re just joining us, taking a moment to catch up by clicking the Prologue and then Chapter One. Then come back here to enjoy Chapter Two!

-2-

Air rushed into Damon’s lungs, nearly choking him. His eyes flew open and he was partially blinded by the sudden light. Had it happened? Had he finally crossed over from the plane of his punishment into hell, where he belonged?

A soft mewling at his ankles convinced him he still was not dead. At least, not entirely. And he couldn’t suppress a wave of disappointment, an undercurrent against his natural instinct to survive.

He looked down, not surprised to see a long-haired, black cat swirling around his ankles. He kicked out, but the animal merely burst into a cloud of smoke and seconds later, reformed into the crafty feline he was.

“Away, beast.”

The cat stared at him with amber eyes flecked with gold, eyes that, perhaps, didn’t look so evil after all these centuries.

Damon bent down. The cat disappeared. A split-second later, he felt a warm, furry weight in his arms.

“You enjoy taunting me,” Damon said to the cat.

The creature replied by purring and rubbing its flattened face against the bulge of his arm.

The cat’s rumbling vibrations brought Damon a peace he did not deserve. He preferred the state of dormancy he fell into every hundred years or so. Drowsy. Still. Forgetful. Dead, and yet…not. A phantom, unable to escape from a prison of his own making.

For long periods of time, he couldn’t remember exactly what or who he was, why he was trapped in a world that consisted of little more than a drawing room, a doorway that led to nowhere and a window that looked out on nothing. Somewhere in the far reaches of his mind, he remembered a time when he’d been whole. Virile. Strong. Solid.

And ultimately, cursed.

He remembered a sorcerer. A missing sister. Brothers dispersed into a storm in search of their wayward sibling. A storm. And magic most evil.

But beyond that, his brain felt too taxed to work out the details. How could the particulars matter after all this time?

And yet…

What was the smell suddenly invading his nostrils? He breathed in deeply. The cat meowed. Sea salt? He closed his eyes and focused on the sounds teasing the edge of his consciousness. Waves? How could that be? There was no ocean in Valoren. Had he transported back to his beloved England? Or was he somewhere new?

Another sound sent him bolt upright and after a moment, his surroundings solidified. The brush strokes faded and the furnishings in the room sharpened. He could feel the carpet beneath his boots, smell the smoke from the torch in the sconce and the melting wax from the candle above the unlit fireplace. The atmosphere became suddenly dank and cloying, causing his linen stock to chafe against his neck. He reached around and undid the ties, his hand brushing against his long hair, bound with a black ribbon. Was it his imagination, or was he still damp from his ride in the storm?

A loud chopping noise drew his attention away from the state of his body and clothes. Despite the cat growling in his arms, Damon stalked to the window. He tore aside the heavy drapery, shocked that the view outside was no longer blank canvas. Below, angry waves crashed against a shore of sharp boulders at the base of the castle. Blue skies, devoid of clouds, gleamed all around him. And then swooping in from above him, something hovered in the sky. The sun glanced off the monstrosity, forcing Damon to look away. The cat scrambled out of his arms, arching and hissing, its claws sharp through his sleeves.

Damon froze, enthralled. The metallic bird turned and through what looked like glass, he saw a woman trapped inside the belly of the beast. He reached out to brace himself on the window, but his hand slipped straight through.

Yet no glass shattered.

Damon jerked away from the window, his breath sapped and his eyes, clearly, deceiving him.

“Where am I?”

He shouted his question, but just like every other demand he’d made since his entrapment, no one replied.

(more…

Well, yesterday was SO exciting! So many of you came by to read…I hope just as many come by today. If you missed yesterday’s entry, click here!

Today, you meet the heroine and her best friend. Hope you enjoy them! Remember, post comments or questions in the thread below and you’re registered to possibly win another $20 gift card from Amazon/Borders.com!

St. Augustine, Florida
April 2008

-1-

“What are you doing?”

From behind her, manicured hands coiled around Alexa Chandler’s face and pressed gently against her temples. Even without turning around, she knew who’d come up behind her. Catalina Reyes’s scent always gave her away. Spicy. Rich. Exotic. Alexa had tried wearing the same fragrance and had come off smelling like a proverbial French whore. On Cat, however, the scent reminded Alexa of pure freedom–of the wild life she could be living if she used her money for evil rather than good.

If simply making more money qualified as “good,” of course.

“What do you think I’m doing?” Cat replied.

Alexa sighed. They’d played this game before. “Trying to read my mind.”

Cat chuckled softly.

“Only trouble is,” Alexa continued, “you don’t read minds.”

“Says you,” Cat countered.

“Oh, yeah?” Alexa said, sounding much more confident than her previous experiences with Cat should warrant. “What am I thinking?”

Alexa clutched the railing on the hotel suite’s balcony tighter and focused on the horizon, on the tiny sliver of land far in the distance, where, with any luck, she’d be exploring sometime in the next few hours.

“You’re thinking about how much money you’re going to make if that abandoned old castle on that barren little island your father left you is the cash cow in disguise that you think it is,” Cat replied.

Alexa turned abruptly, breaking Cat’s contact with her skin.

“How’d you know that?”
(more…

Hello, Plotmonkey readers! And to all the new readers linking here from the sites and blogs of my generous friends, WELCOME! It’s a party in the jungle!

So today, I’m posting the Prologue. Don’t forget to click the “More” button to get the rest! Enjoy!

Austin, Texas
April 2008

His hand shaking, as much from age as from fear, Paschal Rousseau, noted Romani scholar, shut the door to his study and said a silent prayer for more time. He’d once thought he’d had more of that commodity than he could stand, but not any longer. His enemies were closing in on him. Of this, he was sure. He wouldn’t go without a fight, of course, but despite his best efforts to remain in good shape, ninety years did take its toll on a man. In the meantime, he had to bolster his arsenal with as much information as he could gather in the quickest, if most draining, way he knew how.

To that end, he had to act. He had to push through the final barrier of his mind and connect with the past.

Not his past. He knew his own history, his own wild tale that had led him here to the States to seek the objects he needed to counter the gypsy curse. No, tonight he had to attempt something more dangerous. He had to seek a path into the distant past–into memories that were not his.

Flicking on the lamp on his desk, he stared at the oil painting he’d propped onto the blotter, knowing it had been the artist’s last work. The purplish clouds scuttling across the top of the canvas raged with rain. The white-capped waves beneath the listing schooner sparked with anger and turmoil. Paschal had searched for this stormy seascape for years, learning more about the intricacies of art dealing than he’d ever intended. But he’d found the piece and now, it was time to use his so-called gift to take the final step.

He sat. Clutching the curved armrest of his chair with one hand, he reached out with the other and gingerly, traced the name of the artist, rendered in bold strokes across the bottom of the canvas. Damon. He concentrated on everything he knew about the man, closed his eyes and painted his own picture of the artist in his mind. The only other rendering of the man existed in a place Pascal could no longer reach. Luckily, though he’d lived a somewhat unnaturally long life, his memory remained strong and reliable.

Once he saw Damon’s dark hair, steely eyes and rigid jaw in his mind’s eye, Paschal spread his fingers and palm over the center of the painting. At first, he felt nothing but cool canvas and the stiff texture of dried enamels. But then, slowly, his hand seemed to meld into the painting. His flesh transparent. His mind transported.

The connection made, he pulled his mind’s eye out of the schooner in the gyrating ocean and concentrated on the night, over two hundred and sixty years ago, when the artist and his entire band of brothers disappeared forever.

(more…

Emma (Comment #35)

CONGRATULATIONS! Please contact me at janelledenison @ sbcglobal.net with your mailing address and your choice of book from my backlist so I can mail out your prize package!

SUNDAY FUNNY (I couldn’t find an Easter joke, but this one is pretty darn funny!):

A woman went to her doctor. The doctor, after an examination, sighed and said, “I’ve some bad news. You have cancer, and you had best put your affairs in order.”

The woman was shocked, but managed to compose herself and walk into the waiting room where her daughter had been waiting. “Well daughter, we women celebrate when things are good, and we celebrate when things do not go so well. In this case, things are not well. I have cancer. Let’s head to the club and have a martini.”

After 3 or 4 martinis, the two were feeling a little less somber. There were some laughs and more martinis. They were eventually approached by some of the woman’s old friends, who were curious as to what the two were celebrating.

The woman told her friends they were drinking to her impending end. “I’ve been diagnosed with AIDS,” she told them. The friends were aghast and gave the woman their condolences.

After the friends left, the woman’s daughter leaned over and whispered, “Momma, I thought you said you were dying of cancer, and you just told your friends you were dying of AIDS.”

The woman said, “I don’t want any of those bitches sleeping with your father after I’m gone.”

Now that’s putting your affairs in order.

I’m always excited when a Temptress is in the house! Please welcome Wendy Etherington to the jungle, one of the warmest, wittiest women in publishing. I’ve known Wendy for quite a while and she’s always fun to be around. She’s got a great blog for us today…and she has a GREAT book out in stores RIGHT NOW!—————-

Hi, all! The gals at Plot Monkeys invited me to guest blog today, so instead of their brilliance, you’ve got me.

But, hey, I brought along some really cute guys.

I’m going to keep things fairly short and hit three main points, then I’ll answer any questions you have. My disclaimer is simply this—the following are my opinions only. You may have heard different advice that works for you. If so, go with it. One of my writing strengths is my heroes, so I’ll attempt to explain my thoughts when creating them.

#1 – Be true to your characters.

Your hero belongs to your heroine. He should be her specific match. He’s not right for her best friend, or the heroine in your last story or anyone else any of your characters know. He’s her hero. So make him perfect for her. That doesn’t always mean giving her what she wants, or what she thinks she wants. For example, if your heroine considers herself plain, she might be intimidated by a gorgeous man. Your hero can still be a gorgeous man—one who can show her he’s different from the men in her past and one who certainly doesn’t see her as plain.

He can be just as Beta as she is, just as Alpha or any combination of the two. (Personally, I think the best heroes are Alpha on the outside and Beta in their deep down gushy parts. Roarke is the prime example. And if you don’t know who Roarke is, then get yourself to the bookstore ASAP and find J.D. Robb’s latest. THAT, people, is a hero. I could give examples for hours, go on and on about his amazingness..)

However—as I clear my throat—due to time and space constraints, I won’t.

Whoever your hero is, he should either compliment or contrast with your heroine, but once the story ends and all the conflicts resolved, it should be obvious to the reader that he’s the only man for her. The one, she now realizes, is perfect.

It’s a simple concept in many way. Not that it’s by any means easy.

**A note about conflict and a problem that a lot of beginning writers tend to have: don’t mistake meanness for conflict. The hero and heroine have conflicts with each other. There’s a problem, a reason they can’t be together. Each of them can have issues, stuff in their past or present that isn’t all pretty or wonderful. But don’t make your hero an ass who treats the heroine like crap because a) his mama was mean to him, b) his last girlfriend ran off with his best friend or c) his dog just died. He’s the hero.

#2 – Be good to your reader.

She’s spent five to eight hard-working bucks on your story. Your book is her entertainment choice. And romance novels—just like movies, plays and musicals—is fantasy escapism. It’s supposed to take you to another world (sometimes literally).

To me, the fantasy is key. Of course some realism is needed (though with the booming paranormal market out there that’s debatable). But on some level the hero is the ideal man, the ultimate in sweep-me-away-and-love-me-forever perfection. Sure, he needs flaws, issues and conflicts. But don’t get so caught up in them that you forget to make him extraordinary. Why can’t he be rich, confident, gorgeous and understanding? Give him traits that stand out—his face, his brains, his body, his tender heart, his generous spirit. Even the darkest hero, in the darkest story has a flicker of light, that one little something that makes the heroine fall in love.

Simply put: give your reader a hero she wants to spend 300-400 pages with.

#3 – Be yourself.

Listen to your Muse. Find your voice as a writer. Everyone’s voice unique, just as everyone’s vision of the idea hero is special. Don’t try to mold yourself into your favorite writer or chase the latest trend. Write about the kind of man you fantasize about, or maybe the one you sleep by every night. Or any combination.

Think about what you like as a reader. For me, I already mentioned I like Alpha heroes with a Beta heart. I also like them tough and smart. I like them unusual or extraordinary in some way. I like them hot-bodied and gorgeous. I like them rich. (Hey, there’s plenty of financial crisis around. When I’m in fantasy entertainment mode, I’d rather leave that behind.) I like action and mysteries, so my heroes generally have some related profession or personality trait. I’m not big on small-town, boy-next-door types. I’m not big on the Super Beta guy (though I bow to the greatest of Vicki Lewis Thompson and her Nerds series.)

There are plenty of other details that I won’t bore you with, but these are things I’ve thought about before I ever write the first word. Really examine your own preferences. Write them. There’s an excellent chance other readers will feel the same.

Besides, if you’re passionate about your hero—and would really rather have him yourself than turn him over to the heroine—then that love will come through in your story.

Stories you’re passionate about, will be ones readers enjoy.

So, there it is—all my wisdom in a nutshell. (My wisdom probably could fit in a nutshell, come to think of it.) But then I never claimed to be super smart. I’m just passionate about what I do, and I hope I’ve shared a little insight for you in your own writing journey.

Best,
Wendy
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Don’t forget to come back on Monday for a VERY special week here at Plotmonkeys with a giveaway EVERY day!