December 07, 2010

Day 7: Cooking with Louisa Edwards

The holidays are about many things: family, friendship, faith . . . and of course, food! For me, the traditional dishes I make every year encompass all those other aspects of the season—they’re my family’s favorites that I cook for dinner with friends, and they remind me of my aunt and grandmothers and great-grandmothers who are no longer with us, but who left behind their wonderful, hand-written recipes as a legacy.

This is also a beautiful time of year for romance, to snuggle up by a roaring fire with a mug of hot chocolate, dazzle each other with thoughtful, meaningful gifts, and sneak in a couple of kisses under the mistletoe! And speaking of gifts, books make great presents. Especially complete trilogies like my three contemporary romances, Can't Stand The Heat, On the Steamy Side, and Just One Taste, which follow the culinary and romantic adventures of a kitchen crew at a trendy Manhattan restaurant! And if they don’t suit anyone on your shopping list but sound like fun to you, remember it’s not healthy to be totally selfless.

I’m just saying.

My gift to you this year is this recipe for Fresh Apple Cake (warm comfort food from my grandmother and perfect for fighting off winter’s chill). Have a delicious holiday season. And if you have a book you like to read each holiday season, please share!

Fresh Apple Cake

1 cup vegetable or other neutral oil
2 cups granulated sugar
1 tablespoon vanilla extract
1 teaspoon baking soda
3 heaping cups Granny Smith, Gala, or Pink Lady apples, peeled and chopped
2 large eggs
3 cups all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
½ teaspoon salt
1 cup pecans or walnuts, chopped (optional)

Preheat oven to 350˚ F. Prepare a tube pan by covering the inner surface with a thin layer of butter or shortening, then dusting enough flour to coat the interior of the pan. Knock pan against counter and shake to remove excess flour.

Cream oil, sugar, eggs, and vanilla in a medium bowl. Sift together soda, salt, cinnamon, and flour. Add to the creamed mixture, stirring several times to combine. Then add the apples and nuts, mixing well. Pour batter evenly into prepared pan.

Bake for 50-60 minutes, until a toothpick inserted in the center of the cake comes out clean. Enjoy with whipped cream (you could add a little Calvados for an adult treat) or ice cream!

To learn more about Louisa Edwards and her books, visit her at http://www.louisaedwards.com/.

December 06, 2010

Day 6: The Goddess of Fried Okra

Today we welcome Jean Brashear to Romancing the Book...

Sometimes life gives us gifts of pure grace; one such for me has been meeting Eudora "Pea" O'Brien, the protagonist of The Goddess Of Fried Okra. She began as an exercise in sheer fun—sitting on my deck in a wicker rocker, taking a few weeks off from my contracted writing to see if, after several years as a working writer, I still remembered how to play, how to write for the simple pleasure of it, a joy too easily lost under the pressure of deadlines and expectations.

I knew nothing about Pea, even her name at first—only that a psychic had sent this woman on the road to search for the reincarnated soul of the sister she desperately missed. It all seemed like a lark those first few days, sipping Mexican iced coffee while listening to birdsong under my live oaks...and seeing where Pea would take me next.

When it was time to get back to my deadlines, Pea was never far from me, and over the next few years I returned to her often, letting the flight of fancy take me away whenever I could scrape up a day here or there. The adventure is one I'll never forget—here's a description of the story that evolved:

Every life has signposts.
Every traveler has a history.
Sometimes a detour is the only way home.
Grief. Hope. Love. Sword fights. And the crisp glory of fried okra.

Ex-cocktail waitress and convenience store professional Eudora "Pea" O'Brien is filled with grief and regret, low on cash and all alone. Headed down the hot, dusty back roads of central Texas, Pea is convinced she'll find a sign leading her to the reincarnated soul of the sister who raised her. A sign that she's found her place in the world of the living again.

At least that's what the psychic promised.

In an unforgettably funny and poignant journey, Pea collects an unlikely family of strays—a starving kitten, a pregnant teenager, a sexy con man trying to go straight and a ferocious gun dealer named Glory, who introduces Pea to the amazing, sword-wielding warrior goddesses of Texas author Robert E. Howard—creator of the Conan the Barbarian novels—and celebrated in festival every year. Six foot tall, red-headed Pea looks good with a sword in her hand.

Glory, the goddesses and a grandmotherly cafĂ© owner become Pea's unlikely gurus as she struggles to learn swordplay and the art of perfect friend okra. She'll have to master both if she's going to find what matters most—her own lost soul.


This book probably sounds a wee bit quirky—and, okay, it is—but I think I became the truest me as a writer I've ever experienced in the process of writing it. I went through a lot of agonizing and reworking and second-guessing myself (to say nothing of all the other people who second-guessed me) but in the end, I zigzagged and wrung my hands and got as stubborn as I was scared until I listened enough to my gut to unearth the version that I hoped like the dickens the amazing Debs of BelleBooks would "get" because I just felt in my heart that they would do right by the story.

Well, they did get it—and liked it enough to buy it, these women I have so admired for years—which made every low point worth it, every moment of trying to hold onto my faith and keep going. And since then, I've experienced the enormous pleasure of spending several months playing with these fascinating and brilliant women in the most author-friendly environment I can imagine. To then also have some fabulous writers love it enough to give me killer quotes, to receive so many glowing reviews ("Eudora Welty meets Sue Monk Kidd and they lunch with Fannie Flagg"...be still, my heart!) and deeply meaningful reader letters, much less have it become an Amazon Kindle bestseller, well...as a writer, I don't know how life gets any better than this.

Mission accomplished. Joy rediscovered.

* * * * *

The Goddess Of Fried Okra, published by Bell Bridge Books, is available in both print and e-book from all major outlets, including Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Fictionwise and independent booksellers. USAToday-bestselling author Jean Brashear's website is www.jeanbrashear.com.

Readers, Jean is giving away an ecopy of The Goddess Of Fried Okra to one lucky winner. To enter the drawing, just leave a question or comment for Jean and include your email address in your comment. The winner will be announced on Wednesday, December 8.

December 05, 2010

Day 5: "Things I Wish I'd Known"

Our guest today is Tanya Hanson.

Today I’ll be drawing names from commenters for e-copies of my current releases. One is nominee for Best Book of 2010 at Love Western Romances, and the other, a Christmas antho, is a good cyber-stocking stuffer! More Details at the end of the post.

I write Western historical romance for The White Rose Press, and Western contemporary inspirationals for White Rose Publishing, and I have learned quite a few things over the years.

If I could go back in time to before I was first published . . . I’d definitely not wait until my kids went off to college to write and submit. Saying I was “too busy” was just an excuse and, I suppose, a fear of failure. Well, I learned a bunch of things, mainly that I could get published and that I could survive rejection!

Some other things I learned:

1. Check your pen name early on. I didn’t and now share cyberspace with a porn star of the same name. (Ah well. At least it drives traffic to my website LOL.)

2. Remember that nobody dies from rejection. Gnash your teeth for a day, then move on.

3. Write what you love, not what’s trendy at the moment. If you don’t, writing’s a chore and what’s the point?

4. Enter contests. It’s such a feel-good thing when you do well, and the comments are helpful if you don’t. It might open some doors. And practically speaking, having to follow directions and prepare a perfect manuscript is great training.

One of my recent releases, Marrying Minda, placed first in two RWA chapter fiction contests.

Best of all, my entry in the Hearts Crossing Contest at White Rose Publishing a year ago has led to an eight-book “Hearts Crossing Ranch” series contract! And I was just the runner-up! Hearts Crossing Ranch and Redeeming Daisy are already available, with stories about their six siblings due through 2011.

5. Ease up on e-loops, mySpace, Facebook, and twitter. All that can really get in the way of writing time. My editor encourages two full hours of writing before going online, although I must confess I’m not there yet.

6. Read! I got a recumbent bike both for exercise and for a dedicated time for reading. And a Kindle! I have a book in hand almost anytime, anywhere. Reading good literature helps with such things as varying sentence beginnings and structures, increasing vocabulary, and improving your own grammar skills when you see our language done well. Can you tell I taught high school English forever?

7. Take advantage of workshops and online classes. Marrying Mattie, my recent release, took an unexpected turn thanks to a plotting class I took while I was writing it.

8. And last but not least, forget about your mom and Great Aunt Edna reading your books when you write love scenes.

All that said, I hope you’ll comment today and leave an e-mail address. First name I draw out of the Stetson gets an e-copy of my full-length novel, Marrying Mattie, second in the Paradise Brides series and up for Best Book of 2010 at www.lovewesternromances.com. Here, hottie horse doctor Call Hackett is a virgin marrying beautiful Mattie Carter in 1880 Nebraska. She’s a woman who’s been married before, but inexperience is the least of Call’s problems when her evil ex shows up to break up their wedding vows.

Second name drawn gets a copy of our awesome Christmas anthology, Lawmen and Outlaws, from The Wild Rose Press featuring four Western authors. Oooh-la-la, I picked a good-hearted bad guy to write about in Christmas for Ransom. Jack Ransom has decided to honor his gram-maw’s last request and give up his evil ways and learn to read. But the woman he hires to teach him turns out to be the woman whose very granny he robbed…

Hope to hear from you, hope you might vote for Marrying Mattie, and most of all, Merry Christmas from my homestead to yours!

Here's a few places I can be found online:
http://www.thewildrosepress.com/lawmen-and-outlaws-christmas-anthology-paperback-p-4323.html
http://www.lovewesternromances.com/

http://www.thewildrosepress.com/marrying-mattie-paperback-p-4204.html

http://www.whiterosepublishing.com/Redeeming-Daisy
http://www.whiterosepublishing.com/Hearts-Crossing-Ranch
www.tanyahanson.com
www.petticoatsandpistols.com

To enter the contests, you first need to leave a comment or question for Tanya. Then to finish your entry, you must leave your email address in your comment. The two winners will be chosen on Tuesday, December 7.

Excerpt from "Marrying Mattie" by Tanya Hanson

Her voice had grown deeply serious, too serious, and her glorious eyes clouded over.

Not sure what to say, he fiddled with the cushions. The high-backed bench wasn’t the most comfortable thing, but piled with pillows, it served well enough. Soon as he could afford it, he’d order her something soft and upholstered.

Call couldn’t wait to get close to her, to let her warmth and scent cover him. Kiss her. He’d done that plenty of times and his technique seemed to please her. Maybe the rest of it would go all right. But right now, she seemed stiff, not quite welcoming, and his heart began to thump with dread.

“What’s wrong, Mattie?” He had to know.

Her forehead crinkled even more. “What’s wrong? We’re meant to be together, Caldwell Hackett. I wore this dress tonight to remind you of that day we met. I knew from that moment on my heart was yours. My soul, too.”

Despite the sticky summer evening, she wore the exquisite dark green velvet gown he’d remember until the end of his days. A pretty sheen of moisture glazed her upper lip and made it more kissable.

He shrugged against the hard back. “I knew it, too.”

“Then what’s changed? Something’s different these last few days.” Mattie’s voice trembled. “Caldwell, are you having second thoughts?” She grasped both his hands, tight, and her despair broke his heart.

“Oh, no. No, my dearest darlin.’” He draw her close like he’d never let her go. Even through her thick velvet, her breasts merged with his chest, and his manhood raged. His stomach churned the same time as his heart pumped wildly. His bridal night couldn’t come soon enough yet he wanted it to hold off. What if he ruined everything?

She pulled back from him a little. Seeing her eyes misting, Call took a deep breath. To ease her fears, he needed to let it out now. But he had to look away for her troubled gaze.

“I want tomorrow night to be perfect,” he said, low. “But I fear I’ll disappoint you.”

“Disappoint me? We discussed this, love. I don’t want a fancy hotel room. I want our wedding night to be right here. In our very own house.”

He fidgeted against her, but it had nothing to do with the hard wooden bench. “Mattie, I’ve never…I’ve never had a woman. It’ll be my first time.”

For a while she was quiet, dead quiet, then she smiled. “Is that all? Sweetheart, it’ll be my first time, too.”

“What?”

She cuddled closer than ever “With you.”

“But…”

“No buts,” Mattie insisted. “My…my other life was long ago.”

A peaceable feeling lay on him, warm as sunshine. She was loving and understanding, hadn’t gasped or looked at him as if he were a zoo animal. Still…

“Caldwell, my life with Woodrow was very brief. I’ve blocked most of it from my mind. And I haven’t been with a man for two years. He never truly loved me. You do. Now, stop your fretting.”

In spite of their close embrace, she shoved him off and stood up suddenly. “I debated whether to wear this dress tonight. But it’s such a sultry evening. I’m quite uncomfortable.”

A thought crept into his mind, a dream that would come true tomorrow night. Seeing her wearing nothing, nothing at all. The heat in the crotch of his trousers grew to boiling.

As if reading his thoughts, she smiled, coy, eyes half-lidded. Even in his virginal state, he understood the look completely. “All these buttons. The ties, the boning. Thank God I have a landlady close by. Women just simply cannot easily dress themselves. Or…” she turned her back to display the row of carved fasteners up her spine and tossed back over her shoulder, “Or undress themselves.”

He stood up promptly, front against her back, bending his head with his lips at her ear. “Just what are you saying, Mattie?”

“The bridal bed is a nerve-wracking place, Caldwell.”

He swallowed so hard he was sure she could hear.

She turned to face him, her arms right around his neck. “Most cultures hold the promise of betrothal to be as binding as the wedding vow.” Stepping back, she began a slow unbuttoning of his shirt. Then she looked him straight in the eye with a dare. “I happen to share that conviction.” 

Excerpt from "Christmas for Ransom" by Tanya Hanson

Pinching herself, Eliza lost interest in everything except seeing what the stranger looked like in the lantern light. Brawny stalwart men were nothing new in a railroad town or on the ranch, but she never minded a good view.

Her breath caught so hard her sore rib tweaked. He was magnificent. The big-brimmed hat and flowing duster reckoned him a wrangler of some sort coming in from the range. Although he needed a bath and truly looked the worse for wear, she didn’t mind one single bit. The scruffy cheeks, the long rag-taggle coat, even the scent of masculine sweat were far more her style than the slick-haired dandies and overdressed fops she’d met at Boston cotillions.

“This here’s Ransom,” Ben said helpfully.

As the stranger moved closer, he removed his hat and tucked it under his arm with a polite half-nod. For a long luscious moment, eyes the color of manly liquor covered her with a mouth-watering gaze. Golden-brown hair touched the mountains of his shoulders like sunlight at dawn across the Guadalupe Mountains.

Air left her lungs. A slow burn started at the top of her spine, her flesh desperate for the days’ worth of roughness adorning cheekbones carved like crags and valleys. She had to hold her hand still to keep her fingers from caressing the deep etches of his face.

Eliza couldn’t move as she stared up at him, aching and eager. Oh, she was no stranger to fine-looking cowpokes and no simpering virgin to boot. Twice, to spite Granny, she’d lain with a hearty, handsome ‘hand from Desolation, but found the first time dreadful. So dreadful truth to tell, she’d been persuaded to try again a month later after she hadn’t turned up with child. Again, not so good. So what had brought on this urgent longing for a man she didn’t know?

Not knowing what else to do, she held out her hand, organizing her trembling lips. “How do you do, Mr. Ransom.”

“No mister, ma’am. Ransom’ll do.”

“Here’s Miz Eliza,” Ben said. “Our schoolmarm.”

Eliza silently thanked Ben for letting Ransom know she was unattached. Married women didn’t teach school.

Slowly he removed his gloves and pocketed them, his gaze never leaving her face. In spite of the cold, heat rushed down from her head to weaken her knees. When their fingers met, her toes exploded. “Where are you from, Ransom?” she managed.

“Sweetcream,” he said without hesitation, his voice low, mysterious, barely hearable. She liked it.

“Why, I’ve got kin there. Luetta Lodge.”

He stiffened at her words, from the cold most likely, and put his hat back on. “Good night now, Miz Eliza.”

The way he said her name, slow, low…why, she’d not be able to sleep well tonight.

If at all.

Some of it might be jitters due to the school’s Christmas pageant, but more was the skittering up and down her spine brought on by his gaze wafting over her like a velvet hand. Her breasts tingled as she imagined his fingers caressing them.

He tipped his hat. From the outdoors look of him, he was likely a wrangler or a drover. Maybe a bounty hunter. No. The strong chin bespoke the law. She reckoned him a Marshal or a Ranger. Someday soon she’d know for sure.

“’Night, Ransom.”

December 04, 2010

Day 4: "Vampires, Vikings, And Romance, Oh My!"

Please help us welcome Faith V. Smith to the blog...

These are a few of my favorite things when it comes to romance and the paranormal. Since I picked up my first romantic read decades ago, I have been mesmerized by the romance genre. The more I read, the more I wanted to delve into worlds unknown. Time travels quickly became one of my favorites, as did historical romance, and then I found the world of vampires.

I’m such a chicken, I won’t watch scary stuff on television, so I wasn’t sure if I could get into a world of fangs, but I did. Not only did I enjoy reading about vampires, I decided to write a vampire romance myself. No, it did not sell at first, but I was still intrigued by the possibility of hot men, paranormal abilities, and the soul mate bond.

The bond is something for me that has to be present in every form of romance. I don’t care how many times the guy loses the girl; I want them to overcome all obstacles in the name of love. Life can be hinky, and when I read as well as write, I want to see the happy ever after come shining through the pages. To be taken away from everyday trials and troubles.

Life is uncertain and that is why I love to move characters around on pages—at least when they allow me to, sometimes they have a mind of their own.

Just remember your heart can be an open book just like a romance novel. We can dream, hope, love, and ultimately live our lives. Romance writers and readers have the best of both worlds. We can explore what we haven’t seen, visit places we dream of, and experience romance as it should be. Just saying…lol.

My next two releases "Gideon's Heart" & "Semper Fi Magick" will be released from The Wild Rose Press in early 2011.

www.faithvsmith.com
www.faithvsmith.blogspot.com

Twitter me or face book me also!

Readers, Faith is giving away an ecopy of Viking, Go Home to one lucky commenter. To enter the drawing, you need to leave a comment or question in this post and include your email address. The winner will be chosen on Monday, December 6.

December 03, 2010

Day 3: Interview with Barbara Brink

Jen: Today our guest is Barbara Brink. Barbara, will you please share a short bio with us?
Barbara: I’m a freelance writer and novelist, supported financially by a loving husband who just happens to have a much better paying job.

Entangled (then called, “Time in a Bottle”), was selected as a finalist in the Pacific Northwest Writer’s Association 2006 contest and my suspense novel, “Sense of Danger,” was a finalist in 2007. I’ve had many of my short stories and articles published in various magazines and periodicals.

I grew up on a small farm in Washington State, but now live in the mean “burbs” of Minnesota with my husband and our mixed mutts, Rugby & Willow. With our kids now pushed out of the nest and encouraged to fly, I spend much time writing, motorcycling with my husband in the summer, and hiking through snow with the dogs in the winter.

Jen: Tell us about Entangled and where it's available.
Barbara: What if you inherited a California winery, fully equip with a house, vineyards, and a sexy blonde lawyer, and not only does it reawaken your worst childhood memories and give you recurring nightmares, but your mother decides you need her and moves in with you indefinitely?

Entangled is told in the voice of Billie Fredrickson, a twenty-eight-year-old cynical divorce attorney from Minneapolis who inherits a winery and must decide whether to stay and run it as her uncle wished, or sell out and return home. Billie has every intention to cut and run, but her return to the winery after an absence of twenty years opens up more than the reading of her uncle's will. Childhood memories, long-buried, begin to surface, prompting more questions than anyone is able or willing to answer.

A late night prowler, a break-in at the winery, and an unearthed box of shocking photographs is someone's way of pulling the Welcome mat out from under Billie's feet, but it only makes her dig her heels in deeper.

More secrets lie buried beneath Fredrickson Winery's innocent facade and Billie intends to get to the root. In her search for the truth, Billie unintentionally lays bare painful secrets in her mother’s past as well. Can she live with the consequences of full disclosure?

Along the way, Billie’s love of winemaking is awakened, as is an attraction to her uncle’s attorney. But before she can pursue these options, she must learn to see past hurt and regret to hope of the future, like a good wine that stands the test of time.

Great wine evokes a sense of place, a connection to our heritage, much as a good story. Billie’s story is about finding that connection, that sense of belonging.

Entangled was just released as an ebook through Smashwords in August. It is available at Smashwords, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Sony Reader, Apple, and Diesel online stores. It will soon be available in paperback sometime in December.

Jen: At what age did you discover writing and when were you first published? Tell us your call story.
Barbara: I loved books at an early age and began making up my own stories as well; stories that usually involved crazy monsters, talking animals, or magical worlds. As a teen I think my stories morphed into sappy romances. But I didn’t seriously pursue writing as a career until about eleven years ago. My kids were young teenagers by then and didn’t need me in the same way anymore, so I decided to write the novel that was begging to get out. That led to another and another and so on. If you’re a writer, the yearning to write doesn’t stop after one story. For me, it’s kind of like eating potato chips.

The first time I was accepted for publication was in a literary magazine called, THEMA. I was so excited my short story was going to be published in their next issue that I called everyone I knew, but later I found that my publishing career was on hold, indefinitely. The publisher was based in a suburb of New Orleans where a well-known storm called, Katrina, blew through. THEMA’s printing equipment and everything was swamped and it was at least six months before they were up and running again. So, despite feeling bad for all the people affected by the storm, I felt a tad sorry for myself as well. But eventually my story was published in a very nice paperback issue and I bought extra copies to give to friends and family.

Jen: Describe your writing in three words.
Barbara: Suspenseful, Humorous, Unexpected

Jen: Do you have a writing routine?
Barbara: I try to write in the mornings and afternoons when the house is quiet and there are no interruptions. I get my email, blogging, and other things out of the way first and then settle in to work on my current book. I usually have a very sketchy story plan in my head and just start writing. I’m not much of an outline person, but I do use a whiteboard to keep track of names, timelines, etc.

Jen: What kind of research did you do for this book?
Barbara: I was visiting relatives in Washington State and noticed how wineries and vineyards had popped up across the countryside. I’d read a number of articles about how popular wine tasting rooms had become in numerous states and wondered what it would be like to own and operate a place like that. I also wanted to deal with repressed memories. I spent much of my childhood in Washington but my memories aren’t so good. Not that they’re repressed, just poor. I found that memories were often jogged through things like the smell of apricots ripening on a tree, tumbleweeds blowing in the wind, or the sound of frogs croaking in unison down by the creek. It set my mind spinning this story.

I happily visited a winery or two—just to get the feel for such a place of course. I also had a critique partner who kindly handed over a pile of research she’d done on wineries while living in California. For other aspects of the story I visited the local library and a few interesting winery websites.

Jen: Do you feel as if the characters live with you as you write? Do they haunt your dreams?
Barbara: It depends on the novel I’m writing. I wrote a time travel story that wouldn’t get out of my head until the day I typed “the end.” I would get stuck in a scene and that night I would dream the solution and where to go from there. It was crazy! Other times I’ve wished I would dream about my characters, but never do. Entangled was a thoroughly satisfying story to write. I easily got into Billie’s head and saw things through her eyes. She materialized into a real person for me more easily than any I’ve written before.

Jen: Is there a genre that you’d like to write? Is there a genre you’ll probably stay away from and why?
Barbara: Entangled is women’s fiction/mystery with a side of romance. I like to write in most genres but I enjoy writing suspense/thrillers most. I probably will stay away from Sci-fi/Fantasy, because making up strange worlds where everyone dresses in grey vinyl robes with swords on their backs, travel in giant mind-moving bubbles, and have names like Kwderqus or Pnessixr is too hard for me to imagine.

Jen: Who has inspired you as an author?
Barbara: I was recently inspired by Belva Plain’s personal story. She didn’t start writing until her children were raised and she was a grandmother. Her first book was published when she was 59. She wrote over twenty novels and most of them were on the New York Times Best Seller list. She just died in October at the age of 95 after completing one last novel, a sequel to Evergreen--her first published book.

Coming into the writing game a bit late myself, I hope that I will have as much stamina, perseverance, and imagination as Belva did.

Jen: If Entangled was made into a movie, which actors would you choose to play the main characters?
Barbara: I think Yvonne Strahovski (Sarah on the TV series Chuck) would make a great Billie. And Billie’s mother would most definitely have to be played by Sela Ward. I imagine Billie’s love interest as being someone like Paul Walker or Simon Baker—a blonde, blue-eyed hunk.

Jen: Most people only dream of becoming a published writer. Now that you’ve accomplished that goal, is there anything else you dream of doing?
Barbara: Yes. I think it might be nice to get on the New York Times bestseller list.

Jen: What do you do in your free time?
Barbara: In my free time I go out with friends, ride motorcycles, read other people’s books, go to the movies, walk the dogs, and hang out with my husband—just like a “regular” person.

Jen: What's next for you?
Barbara: I’ve thought of writing a memoir but I don’t know if I’ve lived as full of a life as Justin Bieber and therefore would have nothing to write about that would interest the You Tube generation. So, I’ll just continue to write suspense and live vicariously through my characters. I’m currently working on another novel set at the Fredrickson Winery, and I am looking for an agent to represent me for a suspense/thriller I finished this past year.

Jen: Where can you be found on the web?
Barbara: Webpage: http://www.barbaraellenbrink.com
Blog: http://www.barbarasthinline.blogspot.com
Author Page: http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/barbaraellenbrink

Jen: Is there anything you’d like to ask our readers?
Barbara: I would like to ask your readers to take a chance on a new author and go download the FREE sample of Entangled. I guarantee you’ll enjoy it and get entangled in the mystery. And if you don’t, you’re just not the readers I imagine you to be.

Jen: Are we holding a contest?
Barbara: I’m giving away a free download of Entangled to one lucky reader. Just leave a comment & include your email to be entered in the drawing. Don’t worry—ebooks come in many different formats. If you have a blackberry, iphone, PC, Mac, or ebook reader, you will be able to find the right one for you. The winner will be chosen on Sunday, December 5.

Excerpt from "Entangled" by Barbara Brink

Dreams of shadows hovering over me stole the restfulness from my sleep, and I woke still tired and irritable. I got up and moved about the room, admiring the view from my window, and taking a closer look at the artwork on the walls. In here too was an assortment of paintings, abstract and bold in composition, frightening in intensity. I didn't like them and blamed the room's heightened atmosphere for my less than adequate nap. I promised myself that I would take them down and store them in the back of the closet before I slept in here again.

I stole into my mother's room and saw that she was still sleeping, a little mascara smudged beneath her eyes, but her hair quite perfect in its protective shell of spray. Mother was one of those people who always woke fresh as a spring flower, happy and talkative. When I woke, no matter how long I slept or how still I lay, I always looked like Attila the Hun after a night of pillaging and mayhem.

The sound of a child singing wafted through the open window, and I tiptoed past the bed where Mother slept to lift a slat of the closed blinds and peer out. Our rooms were situated at the back of the house where the view of the vineyards was obscured by dozens of full-grown oak, redwood, and eucalyptus trees.

A small boy of about six was sitting in a tire swing, suspended from the branch of a tall oak. He pushed his bare feet against the ground for momentum as he sang at the top of his voice.

"Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys..."

I watched him for a moment, a smile on my lips, as he swung higher and higher, his voice floating up into the branches of the trees. Suddenly I felt a shiver run down my spine as the scene changed and I imagined myself as a little girl sitting in that tire, swinging back and forth, back and forth, like the pendulum on a clock, unable to stop or get off.

I closed my eyes and swallowed hard. What was wrong with me? I wasn't remembering this place, that swing, the week I spent here as a child. I blew out a breath of exasperation, realizing my imagination was working overtime. My father had hung a tire from a large maple tree in our yard in Minneapolis when I was seven. That's what I remembered. I'd fallen out of the thing one time and broke my arm. I turned away from the window and silently exited into the hall, closing the door behind me.

Exploring the house alone was like rummaging through a stranger's underwear drawer. I felt strangely voyeuristic. I knew it would all belong to me eventually, once the paperwork went through, but I didn't necessarily relish the idea. Inheriting "holdings" was one thing, but becoming the proud owner of someone else's toilet brush, kitchenware, and music collection was quite another. I made a mental note to schedule a yard sale as soon as possible.

The kitchen door opened into the backyard, and I went out in search of the boy. Was he one of the field worker's sons or a neighbor child wandering aimlessly, looking for entertainment in the long afternoon? I followed a path of stepping-stones through the trees to the back section of the house where I'd seen him swinging. The tire hung empty now, but still moved gently with the breeze as though a ghostly hand were in control. I stood there a moment, straining for the sound of his voice in the distance, but there was nothing but the creak of the branches above me and the rattle of leaves in the wind.

December 02, 2010

Day 2: "Making Time to Write During the Holidays"

Kemberlee Shortland enjoys hearing from her readers. Drop over to her website at http://www.kemberlee.com to learn more about her work and to leave her a message.

Also, don't miss Kemberlee's articles blog, Hearticles: Articles with Heart, http://www.kemberleeshortland.blogspot.com

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When we think about the holidays, it's usually the time around Christmas. But really, and especially in America, it's the last three months of the year. Halloween begins with kids wanting the perfect costume for school events, and maybe a different costume for trick or treating with their friends. And while we might have a short lull before Thanksgiving, we're still consciously thinking about all the dishes needing preparation before the big day.

Come Black Friday — that day after Thanksgiving Day when we all realize there's just four weeks until Christmas — utter panic sets in. We have to shop for gifts, post holiday cards, put up decorations, make sure the dinner invites have been sent, and we can't forget to order The Bird, shop for food, then start cooking.

There's no time to sit on our laurels, as the after-Christmas sales start on the 26th. Then comes New Years Eve and Day — another day of too much food and drink, and if you like to go out that night, add in all-night dancing.

By January, once all the holiday excitement has passed, we're left wondering why our current work in progress is still on the same page where we left it before the holidays. I won't even mention NaNoWriMo — the November month long writing burst to write a novel in a month. Anyone who can complete that in the middle of the holidays is a saint in my eyes! But for the rest of us who just want to get in some writing when we have time, how do we make the time?

It's called DELEGATION. A lot of writers are control freaks. If we weren't, we wouldn't love creating characters and new worlds where WE controlled everything. We can write tales of men who listen to us when we talk and really understand what's in our hearts. We can write tales of children who keep their rooms tidy and get good grades. We can write about dogs with incredible intelligence, cars that drive themselves, and anything else that allows us to exhibit our controlling nature.

In reality, control isn't so easy. The pressure of the holidays can really weigh us down. As control freaks, we want to do everything so the end result is exactly how we want it. We're afraid if we let someone else do something that it won't be perfect. But what's perfect anyway? Is perfection 'our way'? As in, it won't be perfect unless *I* do it?

Get over it. The holidays are about being together with family and friends, not how much food you've made, how many decorations you've put up, how many people you got around your table...

Delegation is the only way to survive the holidays.

If you have kids, give them chores. My husband's family did that, and their holidays, while pressured, created many happy memories. There are four siblings, and when they all lived at home, they each had a chore. My husband's was to ferry the grandparents between their homes to his home for the big day. His brother's chore was to help clear up after dinner. Of the two sisters, one was to decorate the tree, and the other set the table. Four really important jobs that mother would have had to do without the help. The father's job? Stay out of mother's way! Seriously, he did most of the job-jobs, such as pulling the tree out of the attic and setting it up, making sure there were enough chairs brought down from spare rooms upstairs for everyone to sit on, fixing the odd things that are bound to break just when you need them, or even run to the shops for something forgotten on a shopping list. All that was left to do was the cooking — mother's domain.

When I came into the household I'd come from a family who, to some extent, all chipped in with cooking duties. After asking if there was anything I could do to help, my mother-in-law laughed and said, "Yes, you can get out of my kitchen." And it's been that way ever since. However, my 'job' soon became to supply the 'afters'... dessert.

For my first Christmas in Ireland I brought with me three pies — deep dish apple, pecan and pumpkin. Apple tarts and pies are a staple on most dessert menus all over the country, so mine was nothing new. The pecan was intriguing though, but it was the pumpkin pie that's been the one demanded every year. Forget that pumpkin puree is almost impossible to get in Ireland and I import it via wonderful family members. But it's nice that I have something to contribute to the day that makes my mother-in-law's cooking job lighter.

By everyone chipping in, it makes the control freaks . . . I mean the cooks . . . job easier. By allowing people to help with holiday preparation you shold find some spare time to get in some writing.

And if it doesn't, you can always get devious! This takes a little prep, too, but the results will be rewarding. The essential thing to remember is that you must have either a pad of paper and pencil, a recording device, or a small laptop which is easily concealable.

1) First, hide your evaporated milk in the back of the cupboard, and under the pretense of going to the supermarket, head out with your purse (with your essential writing aids, as above) to the local coffee shop. You're not stopping longer then to grab a cup. If you stay in the shop you run the risk of running into someone you know and will lose your time talking rather than writing. So, take yourself somewhere scenic and quiet. And write. Give yourself a time limit. It can be anything from 30 minutes to an hour. Remember, you only went to the supermarket.

2) If your family is savvy to this antic, take frequent potty breaks. It's an unwritten rule in our house that when you're in the bathroom, people leave you alone. There's almost nothing worse than someone trying to carry on a conversation with you through the door. They might as well be in there with you, right? And who can do their business with someone watching! Take a pad of paper and a pencil with you. If you have to, stuff it in the middle of a magazine and tell your family you'll be a while. Hey, we all read in the bathroom. There's no use denying it. Swap reading time for writing time.

3) Take a bath. We all need 'down time' from the holidays or when we're stressed. A bath is always relaxing. You can use this personal time for plotting. Have a pad of paper nearby you can jot down a few notes.

4) Can't get peace in the bathroom? Go for a walk. Use a tape recorder or the recording option on your cell phone and do some plotting. Or if you prefer, keep a pocket-size notebook in your jacket with a pencil. Use a retractable pencil so you don't mark up the fabric.

5) There's always the option to get up earlier in the morning, when the rest of the house is still sleeping, or stay up a little later. I'm not a morning person, but for people who are, an extra half hour in the morning could be just the thing you need. Or if you're a night owl, the nighttime peace and quiet could be your Rx.

6) Alternatively, schedule your day. Set aside a block of time and tell your family you're going to write, and unless someone is bleeding or unconscious, you don't want to be disturbed for that block of time. Put and 'out of order' sign on the door, close it behind you, and flip on your computer. Watch the clock though, because your family will be, too.

And frankly, taking chunks of time off, especially around Christmas, is wholly acceptable, so don't feel guilty if you decide to do this. January isn't too far off and I have no doubt that all the ideas and notes you may have had or made will flow out so quickly it will give you the energy you need to let the words fly through your fingers. I love it when that happens. It's as if my characters have taken over and are channeling their stories through my hands.

The main thing is to not let trying to find writing time stress you out, too. Whatever you do to make time to write, have fun with it.

Happy holidays!!

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Readers, Kemberlee is giving away ecopies of "A Piece of My Heart" and "Constant Craving" to two lucky winners. To enter the contest, you need to leave a comment or question for Kemberlee. Then to finish your entry, leave your email address in your comment. The winners will be chosen on Saturday, December 4.

Excerpt from "A Piece of My Heart" by Kemberlee Shortland

Solicitor’s office, Galway City
September

“What are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you too, Mick.” She opened one eye to look at him.

He stood just inside the solicitor’s office door. He’d expected Kate at the funeral service yesterday, but he couldn’t see any reason for her to be here today.

He scowled in her direction, then strode to reception. The clerk behind the desk turned a harried glance his way, continuing to sort folders beside her computer. “Can I help you?” she asked, not bothering to stop what she was doing.

“Michael Spillane to see Tighe Lynch,” he grumbled.

Finally looking up, the clerk said, “He’s expecting you. I’ll let him know you’re here.”

As the clerk reached for the intercom, he turned back to Kate. If this hadn’t been his father’s solicitor’s office and if today hadn’t been the reading of his father’s will, he would have appreciated the sight of her in her smart dark blue suit, white blouse with the Irish lace trim, and matching blue pumps. She sat calmly, her head against the wall behind her, eyes closed. She bent her shapely legs under her and crossed them at the ankle, her hands folded in her lap.

Her emerald eyes hid beneath lids edged with thick dark lashes. He knew the exact shade of them since he’d looked into them so often in the past. They were eyes no man could forget.

Her normally unruly black hair was pulled back in a twist and away from her heart shaped face.

When they were kids he used to love it when she left her hair down. The tight curls of it bounced over her shoulders like springs when she ran. He’d seen her like that once last year when he’d been home for a couple days during Christmas. They’d been invited to join the Conneelys, but he’d convinced his father not to go. He couldn’t bear being in the same room with her for so long, but she’d delivered food and he’d suffered anyway.

He recalled how he’d stiffened just watching her walk across the farmyard. As he did now. He mentally shook himself. This wasn’t the time or place to get an erection. The business at hand was the will and what she was doing here now. Not the fact that just looking at her could make him stiff.

Clearing his throat, he repeated, “You didn’t answer my question. What are you doing here?”

Her eyes fluttered open. The look she gave him made his heart skip a beat. His groin tightened again watching her tongue smooth its way over her lips. She had no idea just how erotic that simple act was. She was about to speak when a door opened behind him. Both of them spun to face Tighe Lynch.

“Mickleen,” Tighe exclaimed, using the common endearment and thrusting his hand into his. “Welcome home, lad. I just wish it were under different circumstances. I can’t tell you how much Donal will be missed.”

Mick could only tip his head at the man’s kindness. Words were still too hard to come by.

Tighe grasped Kate by her shoulders as she stood to greet him and kissed her on both cheeks. “Kate. Lovely as ever. Won’t you both step into my office?”

Not one to stand on ceremony, Mick strode through the door ahead of Kate and Tighe and went right into the solicitor’s office. He knew where it was. Was it really only a little more than two years ago he’d been here to discuss his mother’s will?

His scowl deepened when Kate walked through the office door ahead of Tighe. He got the perfect look at her shapely bum as she was forced to step between him and the desk to the seat beside him. He shifted in his seat, crossing his legs and pulling his coat around him to hide his erection. He kept his mind on wondering why she was at the reading of his father’s will to keep his libido under control.

Surely, she’d earned a regular wage for the time she spent cleaning his father’s house and cooking his meals. She was hired help and would have been paid accordingly. So there should be no reason why she should be here today. Unless there was something the solicitor knew and wasn’t telling them. Yet.

“I thought this was just a formality, Tighe. Why is she here?” He couldn’t even use her name. Just the feel of it in his mouth would leave him tongue-tied.

Tighe stopped him with an upheld hand. “If you’ll both bear with me, I will explain.” The solicitor turned to a folder on his desk and opened it, extracting two documents. Holding one before him, he said, “This is your father’s will, Michael. It’s all very straight forward. In it, the farm, the stock, the land—almost everything is left to you.”

“Almost?”

“We’ll get to that, lad,” Tighe said.

Tighe looked at Kate and held up the second document. “This is the addendum to the will."

December 01, 2010

Day 1: A visit from Christine DePetrillo

Christine DePetrillo spends her days teaching children to love reading and writing and her nights writing about happily ever afters. She fell in love with writing the first time she held a crayon in her hand and realized the blank wall in her bedroom was full of possibilities. Since then, she has been mystified by the magic of words and enjoys playing with them every chance she gets.

About LAZULI MOON:

Three people search for the legendary Lazuli Moon in the Valdivian Rainforest. Two of them will find a treasure they never expected.
One won’t live to see another day.

Archaeologist and professor Dr. Nivia Charu can’t let the Lazuli Moon remain hidden forever. With her teaching position threatened and no funds for an expedition, Nivia fears the blue diamond fabled to have healing powers will never be unearthed.

Physician Dr. Benjamin Forrester wants to cure his uncle’s cancer. His attempts at manufacturing a remedy, however, have failed. Desperate and out of options, Ben needs a miracle, and Nivia may just hold the key.

Up against a crazed boat captain and ancient curses, Ben and Nivia join forces to seek the Lazuli Moon. What waits for them in the depths of the rainforest will either make them famous or kill them.

LAZULI MOON is part of TWRP's Jewel of the Night Series in which all stories involve a blue diamond in some way. I found this story particularly fun to write. It's got an Indiana Jones feel to it with the female character, Dr. Nivia Charu, being the adventurer.

All of my stories involve nature. That's why this one takes place in the Valdivian Rainforest in Chile. I had an absolute blast researching what it is like there. I learned so much about the kinds of trees and creatures found there. One species of tree, olivillo, is only found in Chile. No where else in the world. They can grow up to 65 feet and live for more than 400 years.

LAZULI MOON has action, romance, suspense, humor, and a setting that will really make you feel as if you've traveled the world. Visit me at www.christinedepetrillo.blogspot.com to download your copy! Also available at http://www.thewildrosepress.com/lazuli-moon-p-4331.html.

In the mood for a holiday read? I've got two of those for you. Midnight Mistletoe is the story of Melina Fairlee, art professor, and Diego Ramos, dance instructor, and what can happen on a snow-dusted Christmas Eve in Spain. IN THE NICK OF TIME involves electrician, Ivy Garrow, and canoe builder, Nick Huntley, and a Hawaiian wedding neither of them wants to be at. Both available from Whispers Publishing on my website.

Happy Holidays!

One lucky commenter is going to win a free copy of any of my ebooks. To enter all you need to do is leave a comment on this blog post. You must leave your email address in your comment so I can contact you about your prize. I'll pick a name on Friday, December 3.