Book buzz

August 31, 2006 | Uncategorized

Here are the results for this year’s ten out of from the top one hundred romance titles.

Not exactly buzz – huh? Nope lots of these have been around for awhile and still live in the reader’s mind.

After reading what I thought was lots of romance there are still lots of authors here I’ve never read. Three out of the top four are books I haven’t gotten to – more reading ahead.

1) Lord of Scoundrels by Lorretta Chase Category Eur Hist Romance – my grade unread

2) Flowers From the Storm by Laura Kinsale Category Eur Hist Romance – my grade unread

3) Welcome to Temptation by Jennifer Crusie Category Contemp Romance – my grade unread

4) As You Desire by Connie Brockway Category Hist Romance – my grade unread

5) Bet Me by Jennifer Crusie Category Contemp Romance – my grade B+

6) Dreaming of You by Lisa Kleypas Category Eur Hist Romance- my grade unread

7) Outlander by Diana Gabaldon Category Time Travel Romance – my grade C

8) Over the Edge by Suzanne Brockmann Category Contemp Romance – my grade B+

9) All Through the Night by Connie Brockway Category Eur Hist Romance – my grade unread

10) Sea Swept by Nora Roberts Category Contemp Romance – my grade B-

Here’s the link to the complete list – http://www.likesbooks.com/top1002004.html

Teaching to learn – Heroines to cheer for

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Story Essentials – Continued

Right after a strong opening hook on the editor’s wish list was a heroine the reader cheers for; she should be appealing and human.

Six examples of heroine introductions from the already read pile:

Across the small chamber, Rowena Belleme watched. She also was being held fast by two men-at-arms, the same two who had dragged her in here to witness her stepbrother’s brutality. Blood trickled down the center of her chin from biting her lips to keep from screaming. Tears fell copiously over ashen cheeks. But she had not been struck herself. Like as not it would come to that if she did not give in to her stepbrother’s demands after this demonstration of his seriousness., but while his patience held, he did not want to blacken her with bruises that would elicit comment at her wedding.

Lots of information packed into a paragraph. The author has wasted no words on hair color or any physical description. Her heroine is being forced to watch something (from the prior paragraph the reader knows a small woman is being beaten) upsetting by a cruel stepbrother. The stepbrother is likely demanding she marry someone odious.

The first paragraph discussed another woman. When the second paragraph also introduces a woman for a minute I struggle to figure out who’s who. Since the women are important to each other and both facing perils I read on and soon all becomes clear. But the story choice of opening with a secondary character does mean a shaking start for the romance reader who has been trained to look for the protagonists up front.

He never saw any pouty lips, just a smile tipped up at him natural as sunshine. He never saw a short skirt. He wished he did. He hoped the lady was at least wearing shorts, but he couldn’t be sure. She’d covered her upper torso with a voluminous wrinkled yellow shirt that flapped around her thighs, and her feet were as bear as her long, brown legs. Maybe she’d brushed her hair last night, and the scrubbed face had freckles.

She’s appealing, human and she scores a bonus for having surprised the hero. The story is just beginning, but the reader is off to good start. This story starts from the hero’s POV and lends weight to my theory books with a hefty percentage of hero’s POV are heroine centered stories.

The vision came without warning, a door bursting open in her mind.

What do we know so far? Our assumed heroine is a woman with a frightening problem caught by forces beyond her control – certainly an intriguing introduction.

What the hell am I doing here?

Janna Harris a nondescript pants suit, the type she’d adopted after her marriage. No more short skirts or cropped tops that bared skin. Professional, she’d insisted.

Being a patient reader I’ll read on. But all I’m getting out of this opening is this is a reunion romance. She’s a techno wiz who used to be more fun before her marriage. Has the author convince me her heroine is appealing? Not yet. She’s human, yes but not in an attractive or sympathetic way.

Christie sat in the far corner of her living room with her back jammed against the wall. Milo, her golden Lab, whined softly against her as she stared at the phone on the end table, willing the ringing to stop.

One short paragraph and I’m hooked. If I were critiquing I’d suggest crouched or else give her something to sit on – but as a reader I race on to the next paragraph to learn more already drawn into the heroine’s story. Why? She’s frightened. The phone has become an instrument of torture. She has a dog that loves her. A whole exciting situation is set up in a matter of a few short sentences.

Through the smoke his gaze narrowed, then settled, on a woman with a mass of auburn curls hanging halfway down her back. A breeze picked up her hair and lifted it about her shoulders. He didn’t need to see her face to know who stood in Ann Morrison Park stretching her arms upward like a goddess worshiping the grey sky.

Once again the heroine is introduced by the hero. His description, lean as it is makes her sound appealing. The unasked questions pile up. Why is he watching her? What’s she doing there? At this point in the story the reader knows the hero is a detective and she’s most likely a suspect. Since she’s the heroine she must be innocent and therefore is instantly sympathetic. Who has never been wrongly suspected?

Tapping into the reader’s own wellspring of human emotion is the key to building the special story bond between writer and reader.

Reading Report – All U Can Eat

August 29, 2006 | Uncategorized

Emma Holly brings an energetic and cheerful enthusiasm for sex to the story. Since I like an actual plot in all reading, yes even erotica, Emma is one of my favorites. She provides a blend of sweet and spicy which has built loyal fan base in one of the market’s hottest segments.

All U Can Eat combines a murder mystery with uninhibited enjoyment of mildly kinky sex. Fantasy writing (whether science fiction, paranormal, erotica or a combination) has tricky aspects. For one, the author takes on the task of more world building than a contemporary fiction work set in a real city. When the author succeeds as in the Harry Potter books the stories have the added attraction of a setting readers can’t wait to visit again.

The key to the believability of a story world is emotion and consistency. If the reader understand and empathizes with the emotions of the protagonist(s) and the fictional setting maintains its integrity the tale unfolds on firm ground.

By definition a fantasy world is unreal, but the feelings inside the world must feel genuine. All U Can Eat’s world wobbled on its story axis for me. I found it hard to buy the hero’s reaction to the heroine’s enjoyment of multiple partners. That said, Emma still tells one of the best steamy love stories around.

Writing Life

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This morning two of the blogs I read regularly had recycled posts. Nothing wrong with rerunning a worthy topic – there’s only so much wisdom on any given subject. A lot of writing advice is simply a new version of an old lesson. Not unlike plots.

Still, it disgruntled me to have to make my own inspiration. This is the nature of writing. Romance writers have wonderfully supportive groups, organizations, peers, friends and families. Somehow it still boils down to you and a blank screen or a screen full of words, which aren’t quite right.

Romance writers, published and aspiring, reach out to nurture and help their struggling peers with amazing generosity and lots of positive reinforcement. The discouraging statistics are largely ignored. Most women who attempt writing a romance never finish a book. Of those who complete and submit a book, only a frighteningly small number ever get published. Of those who achieve publication very few are able to support themselves and their families.

There are superstars whose titles glitter on the magical New York Times Best Seller list year after year. Those perennial favorites are the same percentage as the music artists who add to their platinum record collection or actors who need a trophy room for their awards or ball players who have agents negotiating their multi-million dollar sports contracts.

I’m not going to get published with positive thoughts and pats on the back. Success comes to those who take their raw talent and work their tails off.

Sample discussion

August 27, 2006 | Uncategorized

First problem with the unedited sample is it starts in the wrong place. I understand why. I’m in love the characters who’ve taken on life in my head . I’m anxious to share them with you and blurt out lots of irrelevant or misplaced details so you’ll love them and understand them the way I do. SAdly this fails miserably and the readers suffer from acute boredom.

Two paragraphs later Betsy is already remembering the past. She has still not uttered one word about her current problem. In fact, (cough cough) it’s chapters before her current troubles are explored. This story was written with no notion of craft or conventions. My sole qualification for writing was that I loved to read.

After reminiscing about Grandma our heroine recalls her first meeting the disturbing Edward. All of this is well and good, but I’m sure the poor reader is saying who cares? If she hasn’t sat the book down in favor of sorting socks and emptying the lint trap.

For the determined, and glassy eyed, who’ve stay the course eventually we get to Edward’s view. A sentence past the first of the hero’s paragraphs the POV slips into that of an omnipotent being. My only excuse for this was wanting to describe the dashing hero and being too ignorant to go back and do it right.

Thankfully, moving on to the edited version – our couple has undergone name changes all around. Betsy is now Bella and Edward had morphed into Eric. Along with her new identity Betsy has gained a sense of purpose. Her troubling problem gets the front line treatment it deserves. Backstory details are dispensed with except for those needed to understand current action and reaction. Eric has become more respectful and has the good sense to hint at his own problems.

The omnipotent being has been deservedly deleted.

Warning: for those who sold the first novel they penned and were born natural flawless writers, don’t bother commenting. I’m only interested in commiseration from fellow sufferers.

Sample as orginally written and submitted (blush)

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Betsy Williams felt the tears of joy pooling and blinked them rapidly away; nothing should mar this moment for Merci. All eyes were riveted on the newlyweds as Rod lifted Merci’s veil, leaning in to claim his first kiss as a married man.
The wedding, lavish and romantic was the fairy tale ending so many little girls dream of, with an elaborate white dress, a pretty church and, of course, a handsome groom pledging his eternal love. Betsy swallowed a sigh; it’d never been her dream.
As a child, she’d seen too much, to harbor romantic dreams about men. Her mother, Connie had been a beauty with her rich gold hair and hypnotic amber eyes. Her looks hadn’t drawn the men. Her sensuality drew them. A series of men came, city after city and night after night. The men left behind rancid smells, money and, a grumpy, unsatisfied Connie.
By age eleven, they were eyeing Betsy. The following year she ran away to her Grandma’s in Seattle.
Her Grandma welcomed her with open arms and sad eyes. “You’re just like her.”

Grandma had been even stricter with her than she’d been with Connie, grimly determined not to repeat the mistakes she’d made raising Connie. Betsy welcomed the discipline and loved the normalcy of life with her grandma. Where Connie felt smothered and rebelled Betsy felt loved. She loved coming home to the same house day after day. She loved the clean soft smell of lavendar that her grandma used in sachets, the cheery geraniums she planted in window boxes every spring, the smell of fresh bread baking on Saturday morning. Grandma celebrated her schoolgirl victories; she gave Betsy a foundation of love and trust.
Grandma always maintained, “The only thing men are good for is making babies.”
Now, grandma and Connie were both gone. Trying to distract herself and regain her composure she looked around the church. Edward Jamison, Rod’s best man drew her gaze with his intimidating presence. Taller than anyone, but Rod, Edward smoldered in easy grace, despite his formal wear.
Betsy remembered the first time they’d met, but she doubted he did. She’d been out with Merci at the La Plaza Rojo. Edward was dining with Rod. Merci introduced Rod and he’d introduced Edward to them. Rod and Merci only had eyes for each other. Edward looked bored and Betsy felt uncomfortable the way she always did around big aggressive men. Rod and Edward were both like that. Except, Rod didn’t make her nervous since he was so focused on Merci.
A tiny traitorous corner of her soul wished that she held that fascination for a man, but she wasn’t Merci. If she claimed her vixen heritage men responded, but their interest wasn’t romantic. Betsy didn’t confuse love and lust. She understood which one men felt for her.
Betsy darted another look at Edward. There was something compelling about him, if you went in for tall dark and dangerous, which she didn’t, she reminded herself. Attractive in kind of hard-edged way, but more than that – he seemed to ooze testosterone. Edward was the kind of man who made other men suck in their stomachs and stand a little taller and made women walk a little slower and smile a little wider.
His eyes met hers; his look held both a challenge and a promise. Betsy felt that look down to her toes. Like a calf catching a whiff of a tiger, she tensed. This man was a predator and she was fair game.
Men sometimes got the wrong impression about her. She’d inherited her mother’s striking coloring and her lush figure. Normally she dressed carefully to counteract the impression. Tonight Merci had picked her outfit and it reflected Merci’s style not her own. The dress was simplicity itself; a little nothing slip of peach silk that clung to every curve, the neckline a soft drape that gave a man hope.
If seduction had been her goal this would have been the dress to wear. The barely there nude bra with the front clasp and the matching thong made every curve appear flawless. Just the sort of thing that those big hands would enjoy undoing. Suddenly the church felt warm and Betsy felt herself starting to blush. The man had said nothing more to her than “How do you do” and “Pleased to meet you” and he had sounded completely bored. Here she was creating a whole fantasy starring a stranger.
Right then she was sure that what she had feared was true. She had inherited more than just her mother’s good looks; she had inherited her weakness for men too. Her blush grew deeper.
Edward watched as Betsy’s blush deepened another hue and raised an elegant brow in silent speculation. What is that enchanting creature thinking? Could she read his mind? Not likely, he chuckled inwardly. If she could read his mind she’d either be on her back or running depending on her reaction to his erotic thoughts about her.
None of these erotic thoughts showed on his face. Edward looked harsh, even his lips looked cruel, his face, like his body had no soft edges. His hair was thick black and slightly curly, his eyes so dark they seemed black, his skin tanned from days spent outdoors. Even though he was dressed in evening clothes, he looked as if he’d be equally at home in sweats or in nothing at all.
As he continued to watch Betsy he tried to analyze his feelings. He couldn’t remember ever having the reaction to a woman that he had to her. Sure, she was pretty in a doll like way, blonde ringlets cascaded from an upsweep, and her eyes were an unusual light brown with flecks of black, almost cat eyes. She had nice skin, creamy, a great foil for that delicate peachy blush. A killer body, a little too round to be fashionable, but lush breasts and curvy hips were exactly what a lot of men preferred. All and all a very nice package, she smelled good too, clean with a hint of something floral. But none of that explained his reaction to her. He had dated some spectacularly beautiful women and they hadn’t had the same impact as this round little peach.
It was the undercurrent of molten pleasure that she exuded that had him nearly inarticulate. He felt an urge to paw the ground, beat his chest and roar his desire. That would go over big..

Opening scene as currently edited

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Man is the head of the woman; only man is in the image and glory of God. The words on the note Bella Williams had hastily palmed when she’d spied it in her bride’s maid bouquet echoed in her head. The scrap of paper was one of half a dozen she’d found during the past few weeks. The first one was on her windshield. The second showed up few days later, slipped under the door at the shop. There’d been a few days of nothing then she’d found one on the driver’s seat inside her locked car. More days of nothing followed while she chided herself for being jumpy over biblical quotations. The notes qualified as strange – but threatening?
She dismissed them as nothing more than a bazaar form of proselytizing. She was turning into a nervous old maid – silly enough to be spooked by printed words. She tightened her stomach muscles and concentrated on the tender exchange of vows. The look on Merci’s face so radiant it banished all other thoughts.
Bella blinked fast to keep tears of joy from spilling and ruining the professional makeup Merci had insisted on. As the maid of honor it was her job to keep it together. She blinked harder. She was not going to spoil this moment for her best friend.
Her eyes were riveted on the newlyweds as Rod lifted Merci’s veil, leaning in to claim his first kiss as a married man. Bella let a small sigh escape. The wedding was all the more perfect ending because Merci and Rod had survived an emotional roller coaster ride to true love. The elaborate white satin dress, the pretty church and, of course, the handsome groom pledging his eternal love were all so wonderful, Bella blinked back more tears, disconcerted by feelings she didn’t understand. She was much too practical to indulge in fairy tale dreams.
Trying to regain her composure she looked around for a distraction. Her gaze was drawn Eric Jamison. She’d had a hard time not staring at him ever since she’d been introduced to him at the rehearsal dinner. Taller than everyone present, he’d naturally drew her eye. It was more than that. He embodied the lure of the forbidden with more than his fair share of masculine appeal.
His gaze locked with hers boldly. He smoldered with sexual energy. A traitorous corner of her heart wished she were the kind of woman, who could enchant him. She wasn’t. She looked away from those dark eyes. She was a realist. She was far too sensible to do anything as crazy as flirting with a known player. He had a mile long trail of discarded women.
Bella stared at her flowers to avoid looking at Eric. He wasn’t strictly handsome. Attractive, in kind of hard-edged way, he oozed wicked masculine appeal. He was compelling, if a woman went in for tall dark and dangerous. She shouldn’t – not if she had a lick of sense
She dared another glance and his gaze met hers. His eyes issued a challenge. Bella felt that look down to her toes. She tensed, recognizing him as a predator and her role as his natural game. She didn’t blame him for his blatant invitation. She looked the part he was casting her in. She’d inherited her mother’s striking coloring and voluptuous figure. Normally she dressed carefully to counteract the false impression of sensuality. Tonight, the bride had made the fashion choices. The dress Bella wore was pure simplicity. A little nothing slip of peach silk that clung to every curve with a soft draping neckline that gave a man hope.
If seduction were her goal it would’ve been the dress to wear. Underneath the barely there bra with the front clasp and its matching thong made her ample shape appear better than reality. All too easily, she pictured Eric undoing her lingerie, his big hands sure and skillful, knowing just where to touch to give pleasure. Bella blushed.
Eric had said nothing more to her than “How do you do” and “Pleased to meet you” and even then he had sounded completely bored. Here she was creating a whole seduction fantasy around one hot look. Alright, a couple of hot looks, but they meant nothing. For all she knew he was near sighted.
He deserved to star in some woman’s fantasy, maybe even hers. The ease with which she imagined him naked rocked everything she’d believed about herself. She worried she’d inherited more than from her mother than coloring. She might share her fatal weakness for men. Her cheeks burned hotter.
Eric watched Bella’s blush deepen and raised an elegant brow in silent speculation. What was she thinking? Could she read his mind? Not likely. If she could read his mind she’d be running as fast as those long legs could carry her, judging from her complexion.
He was famous for his unreadable face. None of the erotic images playing in his mind were reflected on his features. Doubt skittered along the edge of thoughts. Maybe something had leaked. He’d never has this strong a reaction to a woman. He tried to bring his cool analytical intellect to examine the problem of Bella.
She was pretty in a doll like way with blonde curls escaping from a topknot. Her eyes were an unusual golden brown, almost cat eyes. Nice skin, creamy, a great foil for her delicate peachy blush. A killer body, too round to be in style, but lush breasts and curvy hips were exactly what he preferred. Scent was a powerful aphrodisiac. She smelled good – a clean fragrance with a hint of something floral. All and all she made a very nice package.
None of her attributes explained the strength of his response to her. He’d dated some spectacularly beautiful women. None of them had the same impact as this round little peach. Instinctively he knew it was more than her looks. She had an electric undercurrent – the whispered promise of molten pleasure only she embodied. He’d felt it when they’d shook hands and a disproportionate power nearly sent him to his knees.
He felt it now, a primal urge to paw the ground, beat his chest and roar his desire. At the same time everything thing he knew about staying in control was threatened by her existence. To become involved with her would be professional and personal suicide.

Sample Saturday postponed

August 26, 2006 | Uncategorized

This week I hatched a grand plan to get more organized about blogging. Here’s the new and improved blogging plan:

• Mondays – Writing life
• Tuesdays – Reading report
• Wednesdays – Craft
• Thursdays – Buzz
• Fridays – Market report
• Saturdays – Sample

Want to guess where it fell apart? Right. Saturday sample. I dug out my first story with the intent of posting the first chapter and discussing the mistakes. Oh boy, it had way too many mistakes for a blog post.

I’m not easily discouraged (a trait also know as sheer stubborness). Thinking smaller, I cut and pasted the first scene. Still too many problems. There were three POV and one of them was an omnipotent deity. Picture me rolling my eyes. Undaunted, I begin to edit, deleting the supreme being’s observations for a start. Three hours later and the scene is still too messy for public viewing – even as an example of what not to do. I sent it off to my brilliant CP who graciously points out everything that troubles her.

Despite all the flaws, the story still lives in my head. I’m not sure I have the skill to do justice to it yet. The gap between what is on the page and the story in my head is still huge, but closing.

I’ve learned something from this exercise, I may never suceed in writing a category romance that is publishable. I’ve learned about romance writing and I enjoy reading romance, but that’s still a long ways from being marketable.

I’ve come full circle back to where I started, which was to write the best story I could and figure out where to market it later.

Finding your niche

August 25, 2006 | Uncategorized

Skimming around the blogasphere, (yes Virginia I know I have a problem) I ran across multiple discussions about what drives the market and the surprising tidbit that continuities are popular with readers. (To read for yourself start at Alison Kent’s Blog and follow the links.)

Not surprising? It was news to me. Though it shouldn’t have been. I considered the first three authors on my autobuy list – all three are writing series. What makes these so appealing? Good writing is number one, still and always. Characters I (and lots of other readers) fall in love with, a special world that feels real (more of that good writing thing), stories that have unresolved questions.

I read lots and widely, but even the omnivorous reader had favorites. Here are mine:

• To be swept away – Regency set romance with a suspense element
• To be thrilled – Romantic suspense, straight suspense
• To be entertained – Southern comfort
• To be cheered – Romantic comedy
• To be comforted – Something from the keeper shelf

There’s a class of reading that doesn’t have to be entertaining at all – non-fiction. If it’s well written, it’s a huge plus and much appreciated, but I’ll read dry as kindling books if I’m mining for information.

All of this relates to writing how? I only write in one of the genres I love to read. When I’m writing I try to not read that genre (romantic suspense for all those just stopping by). I don’t want to imitate even my most esteemed authors. I don’t want my story choices influenced by the current read, no matter how brilliant. The only product I have to sell are original stories.

Now if it turns out I should be writing dog detective mysteries – have I got some fun reading to look forward to . . .

Book buzz

August 24, 2006 | Uncategorized

Over at Romancing The Blog they’re discussing shrinking the TBR stacks. Hmmm, novel concept. Not gonna happen for me. Book lust is a consuming addiction. Even as the shelves groan with books awaiting lap time I count the days to the release of a favorite. I even pant over author’s I’ve never read.

What gets me excited about new author? Buzz is a factor if I read about an author on blogs, message boards, community forums, friends and trusted fellow readers all move me to want to read the book. Not a tough sell in my case, but I maintain some standards.

Actually, I’m a picky reader. I may sample lots of different books and genres but how many send me searching for an author’s backlist or scanning for news of her as of yet unreleased titles? Sadly, very few. In this I’m convinced I’m just like the average editor. She loves books, she looks forward to having an hour to read. She races through the opening lines hopes soaring to crash a few pages or chapters in.

I’m a patient reader. In general, I’ll give an author fifty pages to pull me into her story. I’ll overlook technical flaws, plot holes, repetition if I’m entertained or enlightened. Thrill, me chill me, teach me, tease me – make me want more. That’s the writer’s job.

I’ve made exceptions to the fifty page rule. First lets talk about why I sometimes give an author more leeway – it’s a classic, three trusted sources recommended it, I promised to critique it. In the last case I’ll read the whole thing. Now for the other exceptions the kind of stories I’ve cut off in the first twenty some pages – an ick factor so severe it made me gag, truly egregious writing with no redeeming factors or boredom, the most deadly of all the writer’s sins.

End of rant.

Who am I looking forward to reading that’s not even out yet? Karin Tabke’s Good Girl Gone Bad, this is one reader’s highly subjective opinion.

“IN HER SIZZLING DEBUT, KARIN TABKE SETS THE SCENE WITH HARD-HITTING COPS, A SCANDALOUS CRIME, AND UNINHIBITED PASSION THAT CAN’T BE DENIED….”

I’m so there, I may have to pre-order. There’s everything I want in a book, romantic suspense, scandal and passion. I really hope she can write. She’ll have fifty pages to hook me.

Link included just in case you’re led astray as easily as I am.