WIP Wednesday

January 21, 2009 | WIP Wednesday

Each story I write goes through predictable stages. It took me a long time to catch onto the pattern…

There’s the initial excitement where what-ifs ping pong around inside my head and the story seed grows into a concept that is totally brilliant, but only in the inner vision.

Then there’s the compilation of characters, plot, images, and structure all of which adds up to many more questions than answers.

Here’s where the concept has a fifty-fifty survival rating. A fatal flaw may doom the unborn manuscript. Or it can be set aside a frozen embryo of a story. Or it survives to become a WIP and eventually a completed book.

When I first started writing with the dream of getting published, I leapt directly into the business of writing the manuscript, eager to capture the vision onto the hard drive.

Experience has convinced me of the value of story development before actual writing. But, there are many successful authors, who wing it every time. Each of us has to find the processes that works for us.

So what have you learned the hard way?

Teaser Tuesday

January 20, 2009 | Teaser Tuesday

When I was working on Dangerous Surrender Regan and Ian threatened to highjack the story. To keep the focus where it belonged I had to delete one of my favorite scenes. Since I hoard everything, including deleted scenes, here’s one for dangerously sexy fans.

Reagan heard the doorbell, and then glanced at the clock. That would be Ciara. She was early enough that they’d have time for coffee and an exchange of juicy tidbits before Reagan had to get dressed.

The second chime of the doorbell reminded her she’d never warned Zach that Ciara would be there. It’d be okay. Besides, he’d muttered something about work. He never showed for this kind of friends and family party.

“It’s open, come on in. I’m in the kitchen.”

Reagan poured two mugs of coffee and tried to extract the cream from a refrigerator crammed with food for the backyard party.

“Good morning.”

She heard the deep familiar voice and the bowl of nicely torn lettuce she’d been moving slipped from suddenly clumsy fingers. She whirled, finding a disgustingly dapper Ian McKnight standing too close.

Reagan was acutely aware that she was wearing only brief sleeping shorts, the thinnest camisole ever overcharged for, and that she’d been bending over. She fought the urge to crawl inside her still open refrigerator.

“What a surprise,” she said, intending to sound frosty, but her voice came out husky.

“You were expecting someone else,” Ian said with a frown.

Judging from his expression, he’d concluded that someone else was her lover.

As long as she got him out of here before Ciara showed up, he’d keep right on thinking that too. If she could convince him that she was taken then her troubles were over. Ian was way too upright to encroach on another man’s territory. Normally, she’d balk at that kind of deception, but right now, it struck her as a brilliant idea.

Reagan was so busy thinking about how to make the situation work to her advantage. She ignored the very large problem standing in her kitchen. She picked up the wayward lettuce shoved it back in the fridge, snagged the cream, and bumped the door closed. She turned and found herself trapped between Ian and the fridge.

“Who is he?” Ian loomed over her.

She really needed coffee before she dealt with this. Why hadn’t she thought ahead for even one question?

Is this how suspects felt when Ian got in their faces? He’d never hurt her. She knew he’d take a bullet for her in a heartbeat. Still, she was breathing too fast, her pulses raced, and her mouth was dry. She licked her lips with a nervous tongue. Tried to draw in a decent breath and bumped her breasts against a very solid male chest. She ached from the fleeting contact. What would it be like if he touched them?

His head lowered until his classic Roman nose touched hers. Her ability to form rational thought vanished. The seductive scent of him, warm clean man with a tang of citrus filled her next breath.
Something warm and hairy with leather straps nudged under the arch of her foot. She glanced down and saw she was standing on top of his feet. When had that happened? She opened her mouth to say something, but a little needy moan escaped instead. Before she had time to be embarrassed she was busy dealing with a hot forceful tongue bent on invading her mouth. At first, she pressed back against his assault, but that felt too good so she angled her head and surrendered to the kiss.

Mistake.

A big hand wrapped around her back, pulling her more completely against him. Wonderful blunt fingers brushed the side of her breast. She melted against him wanting more than his tongue. She tilted her hips.

Oh my god. Right there.

Ian pulled back, too late. Reagan had run out of breath and sense. A very faint voice in her head murmured about caution, work, and involvement. Nothing important. Boring stuff that had nothing to do with her or the smoking gun wedged in his shorts. Judging from the hungry look in his eyes – he was all for skipping further preliminaries. And getting down to it too. She reached out and fisted one hand in his tee shirt to keep him close while she nibbled her way up the side of his jaw.

“There’s no other guy is there?” His voice held definite notes of possessiveness.

Reagan stepped back so fast she damn near fell. Ian reached out steadying her. He watched her with the same kind of intense concentration she’d seen in the eyes of really big cats stalking their prey.

Once she’d put some distance between them, the faint voice in her head that had been murmuring about caution, turned up the volume.

“What guy are we talking about McKnight?”

He crossed his arms in front of his wide expanse of chest, making all those impressive muscles flex. She made herself turn away, picking up her cold coffee, and then taking a sip. She stared out her kitchen window. Willed her heart to slow, fought to control her breathing. She pretended there was nothing out of the ordinary about talking to her partner while barely dressed. Pretended there was nothing unusual about wrapping her body around him like stripes on a candy cane. Pretended there was nothing happening she couldn’t handle.

A warm hand clasped her shoulder. She jerked, sloshing what was left of her coffee on the spotless white tile counter. She got paper towels, mopped up the spill with hand that hardly trembled at all.

“You kissed me.” His words held accusation.

Reagan tossed the soggy paper towels into the garbage under the sink and leaned the back of her hips against the counter.

“So?” She shrugged. “Look, I’m having a party and I’ve got about a million things to do.” Starting with breaking your heart. And maybe mine. She glanced away from the raw hurt in his eyes. Damn him. He needed to toughen up.

“I’m sorry.” She swallowed and tried for something much calmer. “It shouldn’t have happened. You’re a very attractive man, but it would never work between us.” Reagan drew in another deep life-giving breath. “And since we have to work together it’ll be better if –“

“You aren’t giving us a chance.”

Reagan managed a credible laugh.

“It was just a kiss McKnight. Get over it.” She kept her voice cool and her eyes locked on his. It was a kiss like no other she’d ever had, but that wasn’t something she’d ever tell him.

He wasn’t backing off and he wasn’t buying it. Something had given him new confidence. A hint of a smile warmed his deep blue eyes.

Maybe she wasn’t masking her feelings as well as she thought.

She wasn’t buying it either and that was a much bigger problem. Her career depended on getting him to cool it. Being an officer meant everything to her.

Years ago, Reagan had accepted that marriage and kids weren’t going to be part of her life. The only family she had was Zach. He was a great brother, but she was lucky if she saw him once or twice a month. She had a few girl friends, but being a cop was what made getting up everyday worthwhile. Nothing else came close.

If Ian had been anyone other than her partner, and not into the whole wife and mommy thing, then she might’ve considered an affair. Oh hell, he’d have been on the floor getting his brains screwed out.

But he was her partner and she had to keep it together or they’d both get hurt.

Ian took a step closer, erasing the distance between them and her resistance. He reached out, tilting her chin. His gaze drifted down her face and locked on her lips. She needed to lick them. They were dry, bruised, and probably blistered from the first kiss. Her breath came in short little puffs.

Wrapping his arms around her, he held her gently. Then he brushed his mouth across hers. She could’ve resisted if he’d grabbed or thrust, but his tenderness unraveled all the needs swirling in her belly.

Reagan’s very bones softened in the heat of his embrace. He gave a deep groan and she answered in kind. It had been so long and she was already so close. She deserved an orgasm. She needed it. Her clenched thighs eased, the better to fit that marvelous hard length where she needed it. Her thin shorts weren’t all that much of a barrier. She wanted this now. They could get naked later, do it right, do it wrong, and do it all night long.

The doorbell rang.

They separated. A slight parting of their lips. Far enough for her to see determination etched into every chiseled line of Ian’s face, even his dimpled chin jutted. A new round of flutters started in Reagan’s stomach and moved lower.

Her cheeks warmed. Was this going to happen every time she looked at him? What had he done to her? She met his gaze, trying to keep her cool, and failed. She dropped her eyes and stared at the toes poking out of his sandals. They were so male. Even his toes were sexy. She was in big trouble. Felony level trouble. Grand lust trouble. Busted by a rookie.

Ian leaned down his lips brushing her ear. “We aren’t done.” His warm breath sent electric charges skittering down her spine.

While her bones liquefied from his whispered warning, he unwound his arms. Instead of releasing her, he put his hands on either side of her waist and lifted her to eye level. He held her there for a heartbeat, his eyes locked with hers. Finally, he lowered her in a slow slide down his hard body.

The doorbell rang. Again.

Let him deal with whoever was at the door. She bolted for her bedroom on shaky legs. It took her five minutes to get dressed. Two and half of those were spent holding a cold washcloth to her face. She’d planned to wear shorts, but yanked on a pair of faded jeans instead. What she really needed was body armor. No, what she needed was for Ian to be a couple of years older, off the Seattle Police force, and a whole lot less old-fashioned about love.

Reagan heard Ian and Ciara talking before she saw them. Pausing on the stairs, she eavesdropped shamelessly.

“What brought you by so early? Did Reagan rope you into helping set up?” Ciara’s warm friendly voice soothed Reagan’s jangled nerves.

“No, I found this in my rig.” He paused. “I thought it might be Reagan’s.”

“My favorite bracelet,” Ciara’s voice was rich with delight.

So he’d had an excuse. Sure, he had. Ian wouldn’t have crashed in here without one. He’d had no way of knowing she was having a party. She should’ve invited him from the start, but she hadn’t wanted him to read something into it. Now she had to include him. Damn, he’d figure out in about two seconds why she hadn’t done so before. He might be a couple of years younger, but he wasn’t stupid.

Music Monday

January 19, 2009 | Music Monday

Michael Buble’s Everything

More romantic music from the current playlist…

Sunday funnies

January 18, 2009 | Uncategorized

Mildred, the church gossip, and self-appointed monitor of the church’s morals, kept sticking her nose into other people’s business.

Several members did not approve of her extra curricular activities, but feared her enough that none of them confronted her.

She made a mistake when she accused George, a new member, of being an alcoholic after she saw his old pickup parked in front of the town’s only bar one afternoon. She emphatically told George and several others that everyone seeing it there would know what he was doing.

George, a man of few words, stared at her for a moment before he turned his back on her backbiting and walked away. He didn’t explain, defend, or deny. He said nothing.

Later that evening, George quietly parked his pickup in front of Mildred’s house, walked home, and left it there all night.

Don’t you just love old George?

Six-pack Saturday

January 17, 2009 | Six-Pack Saturday

Six entertaining blogs–

This is one of those random blogs that has stayed with me If you’re not already reading Tess, you’re in for a treat.

After reading this particular entry, I’ve come to the conclusion that she must be a very tidy person. I need to change my clothes regularly to avoid attracting flies and offending those with sensitive noses.

An industry site just in case you need to know the latest scoop going on with epublishers.

A peek into the mind of a gifted writer she often tosses in lovely digressions about writing craft.

Newbies Guide to Publishing is informative and addictive–start anywhere and don’t forget to read the comments. Though, you might want to bookmark and come back now and then–there’s a lot of information crammed into this blog.

Stacy Kane’s blog varies, which is part of the charm. At her best, she’s a fount of good writerly type advice

A real agents blog –editors blog too, you might learn more than you wanted to know about your dream editor by following her blog.

Tell me about your favorite blogs….

Fan Girl Friday

January 16, 2009 | Fan Girl Friday

I discovered romance via romantic suspense. Julie Garwood was the first pure romance author I found. I’d read her debut romantic suspense title and eagerly sought her backlist. When I found she’s written only romances, I was mightily disappointed. But, having enjoyed her story I decided to give her other work a try. She charmed me into reading a great many of her historical titles.

When I ran out of Garwoods and began looking around for more romances, I found a sea of books and little in the way of guidance. As with any of my fiction reading, it’s been hit and miss.

Over the years, I’ve tried a number of different systems to winnow out the good from the mediocre. I’ve had decent luck with Stephen King’s reading list. For me, he’s a iffy author–a matter of story choices more than writing. I always enjoy his writing, just not always his subject matter. In the back of his book, On Writing was a list of recent reads. I was surprised by the number of titles we had in common. Encouraged by this sign of similar taste, I’ve been sampling the new-to-me names on the list.

Working alphabetically, so far I’ve enjoyed Peter Abrahams, and Richard Bausch. Sadly, Mr. King doesn’t seem to read much romance. I know Nora Roberts reads him….

Life in the secret garden

January 15, 2009 | Life in the secret garden

Makes me cold just to look at this picture. And yet, it’s lovely. I think birches are at their best when viewed from below. The camera never completely captures what my eye sees, but this one is close.

WIP Wednesday

January 14, 2009 | WIP Wednesday

In December, Seattle had a rare winter storm lasting for more than a week. Snowbound! I was fortunate to have electricity and plenty of dog food–the true essentials of life.

Naturally, the storm made me think about stranding a story couple somewhere. Tricky though, places that routinely get lots of snow are set up to cope with the white stuff. While places that don’t get severe snow storms, like Seattle, are a great deal less plausible.

Sadly, fiction has to make sense, unlike real life.

I like the idea of stranding couples on a tropical island, trapping them in an elevator, or forcing them to rely only each other. All of these have been done, but there’s always fresh twists. Tell me about your favorite pressure-cooker situations…

Teaser Tuesday

January 13, 2009 | Teaser Tuesday

The third dangerous book, Dangerous Secrets is coming soon (I hope, keep your fingers crossed). For now, here’s an unedited peek strictly for Dangerously Sexy fans.

When Karina woke, it was almost dark. Her mouth was dry, her cheek creased from sleeping with her face mashed into the corded trim of the pillow sham, and she didn’t know where she was. Slowly, the memories of Lenny’s betrayal, her slamming out of the condo, and then arriving in Jamaica returned. She needed a drink of water, a clock, and a phone.

The soft shuffling of papers caught her attention, freezing her. Maybe Todd had come home, but she didn’t think so. Whoever was rifling through her brother’s things was being much too quiet to have any legitimate reason for being there.

Adrenalin rushed through her body, sharpening her senses. She strained to hear anything more from inside the main cabin as she felt for the release button to one of the hidden compartments, which Todd had showed her the first time he brought her aboard the boat. The mechanism clicked, allowing her to slide the secret panel soundlessly open. Her palm settled comfortably over the handgun’s scored rosewood grip.

Quietly she withdrew the weapon, closed the compartment, and checked the gun’s chamber. It was fully loaded–ready to fire. An unholy thrill raced through her veins.

She climbed the three steps to the salon. A man sat with his back to her as he clicked the mouse engrossed in reading the familiar word processing screen.

Assuming the two handed shooter’s stance her brother had drilled into her, she yelled at him. “Nice and slow now, put your hands on your head.”

He complied with her order. “If you hold on a minute, I can explain.”

Ignoring his offer, she issued another demand. “Get up.”

Again, the man moved slowly, but he obeyed her orders. This was good, because she didn’t want to shoot him. A gunfight could damage the boat’s interior. “Start talking.”

“I’m a friend of Todd’s–may I turn around?”

She thought about it for a moment. She wasn’t really dressed to entertain. But, she wanted a look at him. “Okay, but real slow.”

The stranger met her gaze with dark eyes that seemed to burn right through her skin to her very soul. She shivered with an awareness that raised goosebumps everywhere that his eyes caressed her body.

“I don’t know you,” she said flatly. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

“Sam Moreno, I’m a friend of Todd’s. He asked me to resolve a couple of system problems for him. That’s all I was doing.”

“I’ll bet,” she muttered rudely to mask her inexplicable reaction to him. “Do you always snoop through your friends’ emails while you’re helping them out?”

He ignored her question, lowering his hands without permission. “It’s your turn, who are you and what are you doing here?”

Briefly, she reconsidered shooting him somewhere non-critical–as a warning. It would put a fast end to the seductive challenge in his eyes. She decided against it. Just possibly, he really was one of her brother’s friends. Besides, she would be the one stuck cleaning up the resulting mess and she was in no mood for swabbing the deck.

Her decision for leniency had nothing whatsoever to do with his broad shoulders or brooding glances. Even tired and cranky, she had still noticed his incredible eyes, black curls, sensual mouth, and powerful forearms dusted with black hair.

The loose fitting shirt and slacks only served to make her more aware of the hard body underneath the casual island clothes. This was so out of character for her she knew she must have passed tired and moved into delusional territory.

“Hands back on your head,” she snapped at him, more cross with herself for imagining him naked than truly upset with his failure to follow her directions. She waved the gun, emphasizing her point.


He complied much too reluctantly.

“I’m Todd’s sister, Karina,” she said crossly, finally answering his question. Then she tried to focus, growing crankier by the minute. “Did you find whatever you were looking for?”

“Not yet,” his voice was cool and controlled–a deep male sound that called to feminine instincts she’d believed dormant or missing–his gaze raked over her barely covered body, sizzling with unmistakable lust.

It wasn’t as if he were the first guy to notice she was female. There was nothing unusual about his frank appraisal, except she’d responded in kind. Heat raced up her neck flushing her cheeks with rosy color, a band of excitement constricted her breathing, her heartbeat accelerated like she’d been working out, and her feminine parts surged to life.

Of course, her previously non-existent sex drive had picked the worst possible moment to wake up and smell the testosterone. Worse, she couldn’t control her arousal any more than she could command the tides. The ice princess had melted.

She stared at the stranger, who’d set fire to her body. What had he told her his name was? Sam. This was crazy. She was running on fumes and needed to lay down for another couple of hours. Attraction, or not–and she wasn’t kidding herself about the strength of the heat arcing between them.

But, she wasn’t so far gone that she was ready to buy his story. So much for her plan to be a wild woman.

Music Monday

January 12, 2009 | Music Monday

Nickelback\'s Gotta Be Somebody

I love this for the meeting of a pair of future lovers. Another song from the current work in progress playlist.