Falling in love with the hero...over and over again!

Susan’s blog about her love affair with books has had me thinking about my love affairs (yep, that IS plural) with heroes through the years. Whether it was Little Joe on that gorgeous black and white pinto pony in Bonanza or Mr. Spock on Star Trek, I went from one crush to another with every new TV star who came along. Of course, in Little Joe’s case, it was a toss up which one I wanted more—the horse or the man, but a young Michael Landon was the ultimate heart throb.

Once I discovered romances, though, my world of heroes truly opened up. I mentioned one of my favorite books when I left a comment on Susan’s post—Freckles, by Gene Stratton Porter. I loved Freckles—what wasn’t there to love in that scrappy Irish orphan with only one arm, up against thieves and bad guys while protecting the valuable timber in the Limberlost? I’ve lost track of the number of times I’ve read that book, and I fall for Freckles all over again, every time I read it. Another favorite is Simon Zebriskie in Anne Stuart’s 1988 Harlequin American, Cry For The Moon. Simon is the perfect tortured hero—too old, jaded and flawed for the heroine, which, of course, makes him perfect.

Noah Harper in Lori Foster’s Too Much Temptation is another guy who makes me sigh, but then Lori’s heroes are always just about perfect, mainly because they’re so often flawed and they make mistakes, but they always come through and prove themselves worthy of the women they love. That’s important to me in a hero—that no matter how flawed he might be, he’s got the personal integrity, the honor and the strength of character to do the right thing in the end.

I could go on for hours about favorite guys, but when I made the leap from reader to author, I learned something I never realized—that I’d fall in love with the heroes of my own creation, over and over again.

Anton Cheval, my uber-alpha shapeshifter from Wolf Tales is so real to me I find myself thinking of things I want to discuss with him about the books! I can see him as clearly as I can see my own spouse, but if my guy had dark hair instead of gray and shaved off the beard, he could easily be Anton. The build is right, the voice, and even a lot of the personality—definitely the sense of humor. I don’t think there’s anyone who can compare to Anton’s arrogance, but he’s still a hero I never grow tired of writing.

I just finished DemonFire, the first book in my Demon Slayers series. Generally I don’t need a photo to keep the hero in mind, but for this book, because I wrote a hero who was tall and muscular, not tall and lean like all my Chanku shapeshifters, I printed out a photo of a model who I think is the same guy who’s on my Sexy Beast V cover. He’s absolutely perfect for Dax, my demon turned hero. By the time I got near the end of the story, I realized I’d fallen head over heels for Dax—with this poor innocent model’s face filling my fantasies!

Wolf Tales IV was another book where I used a photo. Tinker McClintock was my first African American hero. I really got interested in him when he showed up in Wolf Tales II, and by the time he got this own book, I wanted more of this guy. I knew what he looked like—he was so clear to me I didn’t need a picture to see him as I wrote, but then one day I stumbled across a photo on the Internet, and it was, literally, the man of my dreams. I’d found Tinker! I printed the picture out and kept him by my computer while I finished the book. I have no idea what name he goes by, but I know he’s really Martin “Tinker” McClintock!

As romance readers, we all have something we look for in a hero. What is it you like?
Who’s your favorite? Is there one hero who stands out for you? A guy you compare other heroes by other authors to? Do you know what it is that makes him special? C’mon...here’s you chance to let six romance authors know exactly what it is that makes a hero memorable. We’re all waiting and watching to see what you have to say!

A love affair with books

I've been trying to remember a time when I wasn't enamored of reading, but I can't recall one. So many of my memories revolve around books. We always had shelves of them in the house where I grew up and I've had a library card card for so long I can't remember when I first got it. I do remember waiting with dwindling patience for the newest Beverly Cleary book to hit either the school or neighborhood library, though. And seriously envying Sue Miller who got to work in the library and therefore got her hands on them before I did.

Around the fifth grade I came across The Witch of Blackbird Pond and discovered my first non-fairytale historical. It knocked my socks off.

My oldest brother read the Edgar Rice Burroughs and Ian Fleming series, so I tried some of those as well. I liked them well enough, but I loved Lord of the Flies, which I read in the 6th grade. Unfortunately it was ruined for me in junior high school when we had to dissect the story to its most obscure bit of symbolism, which I bet Golding did not have in mind as he was writing the book. Does any thirteen year old actually care about that crap? All I cared about were the words woven in such a way as to impress themselves in my mind forever. ("Sucks to your Asmar, Piggy.")

For years my favorite book was Jubilee Trail by Gwen Bristol. I must have reread that book, all 700 pages of it, a dozen times.

Then I found Victoria Holt's Mistress of Mellyn, and developed a thirst for all the Gothics I could lay my hands on. If it had a cover with a woman in a nightie fleeing a dark castle with one light burning in its tower window, I was your girl.

Somewhere in that period, I was rummaging through my folks books and came across Mary Stewart's Madam, Will You Talk? And I dropped gothics like a hot spud and it was all Women in Jeopardy all the time. Mary was queen as far as I was concerned, but Charlotte Armstrong, Celia Fremlin and T.E. Huff ran close seconds. I loved those books to death, but did wish they had a leetle more hands-on romance and--dare I say it?--sex in them. I mean, please. Describe that kiss! And c'mon, c'mon, c'mon, would it kill ya to leave that bedroom door open a crack?

I read loads of Harlequin/Mills and Boon, but ultimately gave them up because I hated that the millionaire old guy treated the virginal 20 year old like crap right up until the final page, practically, when he suddenly declared his undying love. Huh? And I was supposed to believe this how when I was never in his point of view and there was certainly no showing his feelings that I could find.

Then in 1972 I picked up a little book called The Flame and The Flower.
And.
Oh.
My.
Gawd.
It had romance to burn. And the sexual tension? Lordy, Lordy, lemme tell you my sistahs (and brotha) it was thigh-clenching. Finally, FINALLY, here was a book that didn't slam the bedroom door in my face, yet it wasn't just about folks in heat, folks--but a man and a woman in love.
And it opened up a whole new world of reading to me, with authors like Jennifer Wilde (who was T.E. Huff, I believe) and Johanna Lindsey and Rosemary Rogers (who I had some issues with), then broadened my horizons even further by introducing me to the contemporaries of Stephanie James and Robin James and Elizabeth Lowell and oh, so many others.

I tend to read everything I can get my hands on, but romance remains my all time favorite genre to this day. Yet my very favorite book in the world? To Kill A Mockingbird. I remember when my Sweet Baby Boy was in high school and he came dragging home kvetching because he had to read it. He was into Stephen King and Nobody but Stephen King at the time. (sound like anyone else I've described???) I slapped my hand to my heart and said, "Oh! I looooove that book. It's got everything, kid: beautiful writing, wonderful characters and a story that will make you laugh and break your heart all at the same time."

I'm thrilled to report that he fell in love with it every bit as much as I did. But how 'bout you? What books rocked your world and stand out in your mind to this day?

Lemme know. Cuz I just might need to check them out to see what I've been missing.

JAYNE EXPLAINS HER THREE NAMES

Okay, I'll admit I'm new to the series concept. Sure, I've done a few trilogies over the years -- one of which, the Lavinia & Tobias series -- was not exactly supposed to stop at three books. But that's sort of what happens when no one buys the books. Publishers tend to lose interest. Ahem. That story, however, belongs in another blog, the one in which I discuss my numerous near-death experiences in the writing business.

As I was saying, I came late to the series thing. When I did decide to jump in, I chose a spectacularly awkward way in which to go about it. I opened up the Arcane Society series under two of my names Amanda Quick and Jayne Ann Krentz, and then, just to complicate my life, I decided to add my Jayne Castle world.

The most recent novel in my Arcane series, THE PERFECT POISON, is on sale now and I've been doing some local Seattle area signings. I'm getting hit with the same question, again and again. Why do you write Arcane under three names?

It's a logical question, of course. But I'm afraid the answer is complicated. The bottom line is that, by the time I arrived at this point in my career I had fired up three different writing landscapes: historical, contemporary and futuristic. In effect, I have established three different audiences. And until I created Arcane there was not much overlap. Giving up one of my names would have meant giving up an entire world and the readers who went with it.

Yes, if I had it to do it over again, I would have stuck with one name. But what's done is done. So I have concocted a brilliant rationale for my three names, one that makes it look like a shrewd, well-thought out career choice rather than the result of a lot of bumbling and pratfalls along the way.

My explanation for my three names: This way, when you pick up one of my books, you know immediately which world you'll get.

You see? In life it isn't the mistakes that matter, it's how you recover.

I will admit that it would be nice to know I'm not the only writer out there who wound up with three names. Can you think of anyone else you enjoy reading who struggled with the same situation?

Shocking, but fascinating

Hi everyone!

I hope you're all set for a great weekend. I started early - on Wednesday, we took off in the RV. Composing this blog while out and about is a challenge. I can't figure out how to resize the photos I brought with me. :-( 

I don't have all my handy saved stuff, or access to my library of info, and I'm not great at typing on the laptop, so bear with me okay?

I like RVing because I can get more writing done when I'm away from the house. And the place where we're at right now is beautiful. We're parked right next to a small pond that has a bridge leading into a much bigger lake. Fountains, noisy geese, fish jumping...

And that brings me to my shocking but fascinating topic. LOL

You know I love water - it's why I had a big pond put in as my house was being built 5 years ago. We stocked it with fish, but the goldfish that showed up came from somewhere else. And now they're in mega abundance! Goldfish outnumber the other fish 3 to 1.

Lately, even though a lot of the goldfish are swollen with babies already, they've been spawning. At least, I guess that's what they're doing. They end up on the shore, flipping and flopping around like mad. I looked out the window the other day and there must have been 20 goldfish on the shore. They always end up back in the water... but that didn't help one unlucky goldfish.

 You see, we have a lot of hawks too. I'm used to the kingfisher birds diving into the pond and coming up with frogs or fish. But this hawk... it was pretty magnificent.

 After seeing the goldfish on the shore, he launched out of the tree, dove straight down into the pond... and came up with a big one! You can't really tell from the photo, but that fish was bigger than him. AND STILL FLOPPING.

 My heart broke for the fish, but I couldn't look away.

When my son stepped off the deck to get a better picture, the hawk took his bird and flew away - I imagine to dine in peace. I love nature, but that was a bit much for me!

Back in February, I saw deer eating my trees. They really make it tough to grow things, but looking at them is pretty cool. They were bolting from my yard into the neighbor's yard when I got this pic.

There were a lot more of them, but I couldn't fit them all into the camera's view. When they're not eating the trees, they're rubbing their antlers against them and whittling them down to nothing. Beautiful, but so destructive. Still, I leave them be.

So what about you? Do you enjoy nature? Does it sometimes present you with stuff you'd rather not see or deal with?

I have birds that try to nest in my awning, and then they leave droppings EVERYWHERE.

Geese get on the dock and do the same thing. Very messy.

Raccoons get into the cat and fish food and tear up containers.

Coyotes chase (and usually catch) rabbits or squirrels.

And the feral cats bring me slaughtered rodents as gifts.

Do you have any nature stories to share?

Hugs to all!

LORI

www.LoriFoster.com

www.LLFoster.com

ELIZABETH MEETS THE DEVIL IN DETAILS

It all started out so innocently.

Just a simple thing. Really.

Because I travel a lot, I write with a laptop as my main computer. My first laptops came with a small screen, so I fixed that eye- and back-straining problem by having a second, larger screen.

When we started moving between winter and summer homes, I quickly decided that packing/hauling two second screens (my mate writes, too) was a bridge too far. Maybe two bridges. So I bought a second screen for me, Evan quickly followed, and we were back to just carrying our laptops back and forth.

Worked great, until my screen up north started going wonky on me. That's why this blog is in bold. No matter how I fiddle with the screen adjustments, anything else is too faint to read.

Eye-strain, anyone?

Okay, the screen is older than my grandchildren. It doesn't owe me a thing. So I'll just replace it.

Simple, right?

I can hear snickers and groans already.

When mixing/matching electronics, ain't nuffin' simple.

The screen I wanted isn't made any longer. The screen that replaced it has a different connection pattern than my laptop--mini or micro port, or some such nonsense. And no, no one has made a patch cord yet.

Okay, I'll buy a different screen.

Until my husband asks how old my laptop is. (Picture me hovering protectively over it whining mine mine mine.) He finally looks up the records. My laptop is almost three years old. I usually replace a laptop every three years. Along with auxiliary keyboards every year. Something odd about the hours I work and my electrical field--and really odd the way the techs look at me.

But I diverge. Um, that's digress.

So, now the choice is--do I buy a new screen for the old computer, which will probably paff in the next four months, at which point the new laptop won't mate with the new screen? Or do I swallow hard and buy a new laptop because my old auxiliary screen is dying?

*whimpers*

*thinks about how hard a laptop would be to replace while taking the boat up the Inside Passage*

*thinks about deadline*

*sucks it up*

So, around next Thursday I'll have a new laptop and a second screen guaranteed to break the bank and keep my eyesight and deadline intact.

Replacing a screen is such a simple thing.

Really.

When was the last time fixing a "simple thing" turned into a major money/time sink for you?

THE PLACES I'VE BEEN AND THE PEOPLE I'VE SEEN

Organization is a big, fat nuisance. Unfortunately, any campaign to get something done needs more than a bunch of disconnected ideas—which is probably why I'm late with this blog. Loads of ideas flying all over the place, but no organization:)

First, this was supposed to lead off somewhere along the lines of: A day in an island life. Or something like that. Maybe: Living the island life for a day. Then everything I was sort of ready to write about slopped over into two, then several days and my whole premise was blown.

Islands, especially small islands in the Pacific like Kauai, are famous for peace, soft breezes off the ocean that's never out of sight, sunshine, cleansing showers, smiling people and a slow pace of life. It's all true but there's a huge problem few people warn you about; choices. What to choose—now? The beach for a walk at the edge of the surf; a long, cold drink on the lanai; hours buried in the latest, great book; cook that mahi mahi fresh from the sea and given by a dear neighbor—together with garden fresh salad to finish off the meal; a few hours working on the mosaic birdbath with the world's ugliest cabbage-shaped teacup and saucer cemented in the middle (the cup is for the birdseed—sneaky, huh?)?
Or there's always work—hmmm.

I am busy writing OUT OF MIND, second book in the Court of Angels Series and I love it too much. Of course I'm meant to write paranormal stories—they rock! Poof, pow, zing and zap. Here this minute, gone that minute—and watch out for purple smoke.

I'm writing, but I'm also having a wonderful, renewing time. The folks of Hui Hula O Halele'a, Jill Marie Landis's hula group are pictured inside "The Wave" after performing at a pancake breakfast for local charity. That was this morning—just up the road to Ke'e, or wherever you have in mind to go when you travel that way. With one main road running around the edge of the island, you can only go two ways—for me that's right or left because I can't find north so . . .

The second photograph is of me with Jill. No, she's not standing in a hole and I'm not standing on a stepladder. There was a reason for the kids to call me Chile when I was in school. Even the boys were shorter than me—but they eventually grew:)

In the cafeteria at Hanalei School, pancakes, sausage, scrambled eggs, papaya and pineapple were served to sunny Sunday crush. And the people sang, and the dancers danced. I wish you could all see Jill and her friends dancing to "When you see Hanalei by moonlight, You will be in heaven by the bay." Of course there was a raffle and a silent (oh, right) auction. And the question isn't whether you'll have to sit alone and feel silly because you're a stranger, but how can you manage to talk to all the people who want to offer you a seat at their table?

What a busy morning, followed by, yes, the cabbage teacup (purple cabbage) attached to it's own green cabbage leaf saucer. I have adhesive and grout up to my elbows—it doesn't come off that easily—but my birdbath is turning into a thing of . . . interest. Thanks to Mel (who is an expert at this stuff), with advice from Jill and Mary, this creation is, without doubt, unique. Wait till my neighbors see it on my terrace and drool. "Death throes, not envy," you think? I've passed all my CPR courses. By the way—wait till I get the little mirrors on that birdbath, to attract as many birds as possible when the sun shines.

When I was exhausted from all that creativity I came back and spent several difficult hours listening to slack key guitar and ukulele music while I read. In fact, that's what I was doing before I sat here to talk to you. But I finished my book and knew I needed to share some of this hardship with you.

Yesterday I took part in a discussion on publishing at Borders in Lihue. I was there to sign copies of CYPRESS NIGHTS, visit with the wonderful people who work in the store and meet a great and interested group. Tammi and David are the kind of booksellers you dream about. They not only know about books, they love them and read them and can tell you why you should want to dive into a particular story. They made me so welcome, as did the people who came to chat and, very kindly, buy the book. One of the most wonderful things about a gathering like that is that I receive so much more than I give. Shared ideas, hopes, dreams and disappointments, too, make for a fulfilling afternoon.

I must mention meeting Red Wakefield, editor of a new and incredible magazine, THE PACIFIC JOURNAL. The journal echoes back to the era of fine, heavy paper, beautiful layout and editorial, and a sense of anticipation with the turn of each page. Here are photographs, articles, short stories, amazing old journal entries, and features from the entire Pacific. The 2008 edition is in another print run and the 2009 edition will go to press in a few months. Find these enthusiastic artists-with-a-cause at centralpacmedia@hotmail.com. Take a look at the magazine and see if you might have just that right piece to submit.

Enough from me. Wow, I seem to have a lot to write about. Did I tell you I got to paddle in an outrigger—probably, but forgive me because I'm still thinking about it.

There must be something I've forgotten—many things. Photo number 3 shows Jill Marie Landis with Kristin Hannah and moi having way too much fun at Tahiti Nui—a real South Seas bar that's been on that road to Ke'e for many decades. Laughing is so good for the soul.

Jill is going to write a blog for us in the next few weeks. Her new book THE ACCIDENTAL LAWMAN (I love that title) comes out toward the end of May and she has promised to come and tell us about the story. The cover is yummy.

My friends, it's good for us to get away from routine, not forever, but for long enough to recharge. I'm a tense soul and always on the lookout for disaster. I need peace like I need air and I've been blessed to find it in the past few weeks.

There's only one little drawback—I miss my kids, grandkids, Millie the dog and Mango the cat—sniff!

Aloha,
Stella

Q: What brings you the most happiness, the greatest sense of peace. Do you remember one particular day, or series of days in your life with more joy than any others?

Loving Chaos--or not!

This has been a totally weird few weeks for me. I was in New York for a conference and meeting with my agent and editor in the middle of March. I took my computer and actually managed to get some writing done on the first book in my new Demon Slayers series, which is due May 1. I got home to a kitchen that had been completely gutted in preparation for remodeling—only it was done a week ahead of schedule. No sink, no stove, no counters. Nothing. We were supposed to leave on a trip through the Southwest at the end of the week, but we left early because we couldn’t even make coffee! (Setting up Mr. Coffee in the bathroom somehow lacks the necessary ambiance for morning coffee...washing dishes in the same sink where you brush your teeth has a similar effect on the senses.)

Leaving early meant packing in a rush, which meant that once I got into the motorhome and we were on our way, I couldn’t find anything. That’s not all that big a deal, I guess, except the motorhome is ONLY twenty feet long—the size of your average club-cab pick up truck! There aren’t that many places to look, which meant I couldn’t find things because I FORGOT TO PACK THEM!

Whatever, we were on our way. At least I had my computer, so I sat in the back and wrote while my husband drove. I told him to take lots of pictures so I’d know where I’d been... The trip was wonderful in spite of my lack of preparation and I got to meet a lot of my readers at bookstores along the way. I don’t do regular signings, but instead set up “appointments” to meet readers I’ve met through my newsletter. I tell them where our trip will take us and they let me know if there are any bookstores along the way where we can meet. It works great and means I have time to sit and chat and actually get to know people. Since I don’t get out much, this is the best way in the world to actually have some semblance of a social life, and I have great readers. Every single person I’ve met this way is someone I’d call a friend under any circumstances. They’re great, but I digress...

When we got home, I still had both an unfinished manuscript and an unfinished kitchen, though within just a few days we had a sink and a stove, and then counter tops and floors and all the things that make up a workable room, and I’d managed many more pages on my book. On Tuesday the last worker left after finishing the last bit of trim and hanging the final cabinet doors, and I reached the point in my manuscript where I can start thinking about how the story will end.

And that’s when it hit me. As much as I grumble about deadlines and upheaval in my life and things not going according to plan, I love ever minute of the chaos! My kitchen is finished and it’s back to cooking and doing dishes and, while I love the new look and the wonderful appliances (A stove that actually works? Such a concept!) it’s now just a kitchen. But the book’s not done. I’m still searching for the perfect finish to a story that’s taken me places I had no idea I’d travel and I find myself writing until well after midnight and jumping out of bed at five in the morning, anxious to get started on the story once again.

This is why I love what I do—there’s a sense of wonder when the words come. There’s joy in the chaos of creation and exhausted exhilaration when the last few paragraphs finally come together ‘just so.’ And it made me wonder if I’m alone in loving all of this uncertainty, if I can even call it that. I have a schedule—that’s what deadlines are for—and while I bitch and moan about struggling to stay within that schedule, everything that happens between the lines is total anarchy, disorder and confusion, and I love it! The characters are in charge, which is like having the patients running the asylum, but then, somehow and some way, it all comes together at the end, and it gives me a great sense of joy.

So how do you work? Do you follow a recipe? Is your life organized and together, or do you throw it all into a big pot, stir to get the flavors mixed and then hope it turns into soup? And if it doesn’t and you end up with something else entirely, do you adjust or panic? And sorry about mixing the metaphors, but today is just that sort of day. I’ve had my seven year old grandson visiting, which means that, rather than Luca acting grown-up with his grandfather, Bompa is now acting seven and I’ve had two little kids underfoot. And a deadline. And as always, it’s all coming together in a wonderful, chaotic way.

Here’s the kitchen from start to finish:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=87458&id=617301038&l=e25810408c

I’ll post some of the new book next time I blog.

Will this winter never end?

According to the calendar, it's spring. Man, you wouldn't know it by the weather around here. Okay, we did have a partial week where the temps actually rose to 70 degrees, but it was a short-lived little tease and now it's blustery, cold and wet again.

My plum trees and crocus are in bloom, though. And my tulips are up, if not yet open. I heard on the news last night that the tulips fields up in the Skagit , which are a huge tourist draw, are way behind schedule and not yet in bloom like they usually are this time of year. The merchants up there depending on the busloads of people who come to see the flowers must be grinding their teeth to nubs.

One bright spot in my endless winter is my new cover for Bending The Rules. I may have shown this to you all already, and if so, I apologize. But it bears repeating--at least to me. Now, generally I prefer faceless covers because the models never look like the hero or heroine I envisioned when I wrote the book.

But then I got this one. The guy on Rules actually looks like Jase de Sanges. He did even more so in the first version they sent me because my Jase has a prominent nose and so does the model. That 's harder to tell in this version as Art made the cover couple a little larger which hides a greater portion of his face behind my name strip. But he's still the closest I have ever been to art that represents the vision in my head.

Which, okay, has nada to do with the weather. Still, it's my little ray of sunshine. What's the weather like in your neighborhood? Anyone have sun? Heat? Palm trees, maybe?

Inquiring minds wanna know.

JAYNE BRINGS YOU TERESA MEDEIROS

Jayne, here, to introduce my guest, TERESA MEDEIROS. Listen up all you historical romance fans who have begun to despair because it seems like every book in the romance genre now features a guy with fangs. I’ve got great news. Teresa’s new book, SOME LIKE IT WILD, is for those who are desperate for wonderfully entertaining, witty, sexy historical romance featuring a spirited heroine and an old-fashioned (read really, really big) kind of hero. Please welcome Teresa who is going to give us a taste of the story.

**********************************************************************************************

It's always a delight to blog with the Quills (even if they've never completely forgiven me for hanging around with those peckish chicks on Squawk Radio.)

One of the greatest joys of my job is falling in love with a gorgeous new man every year (and my husband doesn't even mind as long as those royalty checks keep coming!) I've noticed that my heroes seem to fall into two physical categories—the "broad-shouldered, lean-hipped, fill-out-a-pair-of-buff-breeches-or-faded-Levis-quite nicely" type of guy and the "towering, muscle-bound, warrior guy" who can lift you with one hand. In this scene from SOME LIKE IT WILD, Pamela witnesses Connor arguing with a French fencing master over the size of Connor's...sword. See if you can tell which hero type he is.

**********************************************************************************************

"Bloody hell, man, you don't honestly expect me to fight with that thing, do you?"
As that familiar roar reached Pamela's ears, she froze, cocking her head to listen.

"I might be able to darn my stockings with it but it's not good for much else. Unless, of course, you'd like me to shove it up your arrogant—"

As that threat met with a virulent outpouring in fluent French, Pamela lifted the hem of her gown and took off at a dead run. By the time she flung open the tall double doors at the end of the corridor, she was dangerously close to swooning—a condition aggravated by the sight that greeted her.

Connor stood at the center of the ballroom, facing a slender, effete Frenchmen who had a long, thin sword in his hand and a murderous gleam in his eye. The man was still spewing out a torrent of French, most of it mercifully incomprehensible to Pamela's ears.

Connor might have been unarmed, but he still towered over the sputtering Frenchman by half a foot. He was dressed as simply as a highwayman posing as a gentleman could be—in black trousers and a white lawn shirt with full sleeves and flared cuffs. He wore no waistcoat and his cravat was knotted in a simple loop at his throat. A black satin queue secured his gleaming hair at the nape.

It should have been illegal for a man to look so good without even trying, Pamela thought, biting her lip in consternation. Or at least immoral.

The enraged fencing master spotted her first. He spread his arms in a dramatic appeal, the waxed ends of his thin black mustache quivering with indignation. "Do you hear the words of this barbarian, mam'selle? He dares to insult the size of my sword!"

As he brandished the long, thin blade of the delicate epee at her, Pamela had to choke back a snort of laughter. It wasn't that difficult to imagine Connor darning his stockings with it.

"That is not a sword." Glowering at them both, Connor marched over to the wall and swept down one of the massive broadswords displayed next to an empty suit of armor. He strode back to the fencing master, wielding the enormous blade with one hand. "This is a sword!"

"Ha!" the Frenchman barked, dismissing the weapon with a flick of his hand. "Only if one has no skill! No grace! No honor! That blade is fit only for digging your grave after a French foil pierces your cowardly heart."

"Oh, really?" Connor took a step forward, the menacing gesture wiping the sneer right off the Frenchman's face. "Then perhaps you'd like to match your blade against mine and we'll just see whose grave we'll be digging come sunset."

As the fencing master lowered his sword and went skittering backward in alarm, Pamela boldly stepped between the two men.

She flattened her palm against Connor's chest, giving him a beseeching look. "Now, darling, you know I faint at the mere mention of blood, much less its sight. There's really no need for such posturing. I'm sure that everyone, including Monsieur Chevalier, would agree that your blade is superior." She drew even closer to Connor, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "As well as much larger."

Connor gazed down at her, his scowl slowly melting to an expression that was even more dangerous. At least to her.

He covered her small hand with his, binding them together so she could feel every powerful beat of his heart beneath the thin lawn of his shirt. "If you're so convinced my blade is superior, lass, then why don't you give me the chance to prove it?"

**********************************************************************************************

So how about YOU? Do you prefer your heroes (and your men) lean and mean or do you want a man with enough muscle to literally sweep you off your feet? When it comes to heroes, does size truly matter?

Funny Business

Hey Quillers!

I have a real treat today - super talented new author, Lisa Cooke!
I read Lisa's first book, TEXAS HOLD HIM, while out RVing and I couldn't put it down. It had EVERYTHING that I love in a good historical - a super sexy alpha male, a strong heroine, great dialogue and a lot of laugh-out-loud moments that kept me smiling throughout. I highly recommend it for anyone who enjoys light, fun historicals! I sure do.
So please give Lisa big Quill welcome!

Thanks Lori!

I'm so excited to get to blog with the Quills, and to talk about my first book release.

I have a lot of historical authors that I love. Julie Garwood, Amanda Quick, Julia Quinn, to name a few. And why do I love their work so much? Because they add humor to historical romance. I read an interview once where Julie Garwood said she was glad she knew nothing about the genre when she first started writing. She didn’t know historicals weren’t supposed to be funny. I’m glad she didn’t know that too! Her humorous words were the ones that made me want to become a writer.

Which brings me to the topic of this blog. Recently some friends and I were talking about humor in today’s market. A “big” uber agent recently said that no one wants to read humor when they are upset about life. I disagree. I think now more than ever readers are looking for a reason to laugh. I know I always look for authors that bring a grin to my lips if not a downright guffaw.

In my new release, TEXAS HOLD HIM, my hero agrees to teach my heroine how to play poker so she can win some much needed money. Think about it… a rather rakish riverboat gambler named Dyer Straights (Yes, my tongue is pretty much permanently imbedded in my cheek) and an impossibly proper southern belle who thinks card games and their rules are illogical. I had an enormous amount of fun writing those scenes, and luckily, found an editor who loved them. But now I wonder…am I a weirdo? Am I the only person out there who likes humor on the pages?

How about you? Do you prefer books that make you giggle, or do you want something tear jerkingly serious? Or does your taste vary according to your mood?

WARNING: TEXAS HOLD HIM has random moments of giggle dispersed without concern for life or limb. Read at your own risk.

Lisa Cooke
TEXAS HOLD HIM, Dorchester Publishing
http://www.lisahistoricals.com/

ELIZABETH MEETS ENERGY VAMPIRES

Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

Vampires exist.

Oh, not the old-fashioned blood-sucking kind. I haven't met any of those ... that I know of.

I'm talking about the vampires that smile at you and giggle and laugh and and hug you and suck every bit of energy out of you.

Even when they're related to you.

ESPECIALLY when they're related to you.

Good thing I love my little energy vampires. A whole lot. Could it be because they're also my grandkids?

I have just enough energy left to share a little bit about my newest book, the paperback of BLUE SMOKE AND MURDER:


Jill Breck was just doing her job as a river guide when she saved the life of Lane Faroe, son of two of St. Kilda Consulting's premier operators. But when a string of ominous events—including a mysterious fire that kills her great aunt and a furor in the Western art world raised by a dozen Breck family paintings—culminate in a threat to her life, Jill reluctantly calls in a favor....

Zach Balfour works part-time as a consultant for St. Kilda. His expertise is gathering and analyzing information from unlikely and often dangerous sources. Though he's got the skills to be a highly effective bodyguard, being a bullet catcher isn't his preferred way to spend time.

And here's a sneak peek to whet your appetite...

Manhattan: 1 A.M.

Dwayne Taylor picked up the "hot" phone before the first ring ended. "St. Kilda Consulting. Who or what do you need?"

"This is Jillian Breck. Joe Faroe told me to call this number if I was ever in trouble."

"Are you in danger at this moment?"

"My car is cut to pieces. Someone put a note under the windshield that said go away or die."

"Where are you now?" Dwayne asked.

"I’m in the Eureka Hotel, outside Mesquite, Nevada, in the casino. I figured it was safest here. Lots of guards."

"Do you have a room?"

"Yes."

"Number, please."

Jill hesitated.

Dwayne waited for her to realize the obvious—if she didn’t trust St. Kilda Consulting, why was she calling?

"Four-three-five," she said.

"Ask a guard to escort you to your room. Make sure the drapes are shut before he leaves. Lock the door, both deadbolt and chain. Joe Faroe will call you within fifteen minutes."

"Wait. I’m okay, just scared and mad. No need to wake him up. I’ll just—"

"Get escorted to your room," Dwayne cut in firmly. "Fifteen minutes, Ms. Breck. If your room phone doesn’t answer, Faroe will--" have a shit-fit "--be very concerned."

Silence.

"Ms. Breck? Are you all right?"

"I’m on my way to the elevator."

"With a guard?"

"A bellman. I waved a ten and he appeared."

Not used to following orders, Dwayne thought. Should make life interesting for whichever operative is assigned to her.

* * *

Zach Balfour knocked smartly on the door of 435, then stepped back so that he was clearly visible in the room door’s peephole. Not that a view of his four-day stubble would be reassuring, but he didn’t give a damn. He was supposed to be on vacation, not catching imaginary bullets for another bimbo.

"Who is it?" asked a woman.

The voice was low, slightly husky without being at all breathless.

"Zach Balfour, St. Kilda Consulting."

"Slide your card under the door."

It wasn’t a request.

His dark eyebrows climbed, but Zach dug out a St. Kilda card and pushed it as far as he could under the hotel room door.

A few moments later, the bolt clicked, the chain rattled, and the door opened. Zach stepped into the room and watched while Jillian Breck closed, bolted, and chained the door again.

She wasn’t what he’d expected. She wore jeans, a Ray Troll T-shirt, and beat-up river sandals. She had unpolished fingernails, minimal if any makeup, hair a casual auburn cap, nice breasts, trim butt, and a body that was both fit and unmistakably female. Pale green eyes, steady and clear.

Slowly Zach began to feel less homicidal toward St. Kilda Consulting. He held out his hand and said, "Pleased to meet you, Ms. Breck."

"Jill."

"Call me Zach. Have you had any more trouble since you first called St. Kilda?"

She blinked. "Well, that’s blunt."

"Saves time."

She tilted her head and looked up, then down the long, lean man who stood in front of her. She’d worked with enough men on the river not to underestimate the power in his rangy body and wide shoulders, or the penetrating intelligence of his whiskey-colored eyes.

A crop of black stubble did nothing to soften the hard planes of his face. He had equally black hair that was too rough to be well-groomed, and too clean to be a collar-length gesture of contempt aimed at the civilized world. His clothes looked like he’d slept in them after a long day of hiking. Maybe several days.

"You’re not what I expected," she said.

"No tuxedo, pistol, and martini, shaken not stirred?"

She smiled. "Sorry, I’m very new to this."

"Don’t feel bad. Damn few people are used to death threats."

Her smile vanished. Tight, pale lines appeared around the mouth that had been a soft, deep rose.

Nice going, Zach told himself with a sigh. Turn the client into a net of twanging nerves with a few badly chosen words.

*uh oh* The vampires are back.

*sneaks off to recharge with a nap or a book*

How do you recharge when the energy vampires strike?

CALLING ALL QUILLERS:)

If any of you will be in Kauai on Saturday, April 18 and are longing for fabulous company (mine) at 2 in the afternoon, please join me at Borders in Lihue!

There will be a chat about publishing today and my new paperback, CYPRESS NIGHTS, will be available for signing (by me:)


CYPRESS NIGHTS IS NOW ON SALE EVERYWHERE!

CYPRESS NIGHTS is one of those books I had to write. The hero, Roche, first appeared in the previous Bayou Book, A MARKED MAN, and the moment I met him I knew he needed a story of his own. How fortunate that the heroine of Cypress Nights, Bleu, came along just as I started the new book...

Roche is a psychiatrist who works primarily with patients recovering from surgery. His secret, and a personally dangerous one, is that he is a sex addict (say it ain’t so) and since he is an honorable man, he makes very sure to control the sensual side of his nature. He fears shocking any woman he comes to care about. He comes to care about Bleu; he falls in love with her.

Bleu is a teacher and fund-raiser. She is in Toussaint to help raise money for a school at St. Cecil’s. Having been married to an abusive man, Bleu, who was always shy, is now very hesitant around attractive men. She is instantly attracted to Roche–who wouldn’t be?–but falls into her customary habit of running in the opposite direction whenever he is near, and they are alone.

Silly girl!

Not everyone in Toussaint is pleased at the prospect of a new school. At least one person stands to lose a great deal if the school is built, but who is it? What would drive someone to murder in order to stop the project?

Both Roche and Bleu are deeply connected to both the attempts to build the school, and to the killings. And those involvements take them into dangerous and very scary territory.

Once more the folks of Toussaint, LA., on Bayou Teche, are faced with a dangerous riddle that draws in Father Cyrus, Madge, Sheriff Spike, and Jilly at All Tarted Up, The Flakiest Pastry Shop in Town. Of course, self-appointed local lady-of-all-trades, Wazoo, is quickly and completely wound into the mess. These are all good people to have on your side at crunch time.

Hmm–I wonder what it takes to get Bleu over that shyness. And it will be interesting to watch Roche balance his needs with his must-haves. But love, as we all know, is always the winner.

Happiness to each of you Quillers,

Stella

Q: We all read a variety of books. Sometimes I must have serious mystery, sometimes funny mystery. I like thrillers, family stories, paranormal books of all kinds. But all the books I read have elements in common. How about you? Can you pick out what must be in the stories you read?

Seeing the Great Southwest!

I’m posting from Camp Verde, Arizona, after an amazing trip through the Arizona desert. We started out in Las Vegas, Nevada a couple of days ago and made stops in Phoenix and Tucson to meet some of my readers before heading up the eastern side of the state toward Sedona. We decided to camp about forty miles short of our goal at a really nice RV park where we could catch up on laundry. I’ve spent the past couple hours watching clothes go ‘round and ‘round (Ah, the glamorous life of an author...) thinking about the cool stuff we did today

The neatest thing was a two hour hike through the Boyce Thompson Arboretum, which is an amazing cactus preserve outside of Superior, Arizona. Luckily, we went early, just before eight in the morning, and everything was fresh and cool. I imagine it turns into an absolute furnace by afternoon, but we saw some absolutely amazing cacti, and a lot of them were blooming.

The next really neat stop was near Lake Roosevelt where we hiked up a beautiful trail and saw Native American cliff dwellings. We couldn’t go inside them because they’re infested with bees! We were able to get really close and see how the dwellings were built.

The desert is still in bloom and the temperatures are warm but not too hot, so we’re having a great trip and seeing country that’s totally new to both of us. Plus, I’ve had terrific stops and visits with readers along the way at various bookstores, and there’s really nothing quite as much fun as putting a face with a name. I love being able to make this kind of connection.

You have to realize, my husband and I are mountain people. We’re used to life in a green forest of ponderosa pine and Douglas fir with lots of running water and an average yearly rainfall around 80-90 inches, so desert is totally new country for us. We’re having a great time, and can’t wait to see Sedona, our next stop along the way. That’s where I’m setting Hellfire, the second book in my Demon Slayers series, and I can’t wait to see the rock formations I’ve only seen photos of...which begs the question: what is your idea of the perfect vacation? I don’t think you can beat tooling along in a funky little motorhome, but that’s probably not for everyone. I’d love to hear what you enjoy the most.