It is my sincere pleasure to welcome fellow Escape artist Tara Chevrestt to my blog to share more about her new release, the contemporary romance Plotting to Win. I've seen romances set in all sorts of places and situations, but this one is brand new: writers competing in a reality TV show. It can't get better than that!
Blurb:
In New York City, seven
writers compete for a hundred thousand dollars, a publishing contract with
Bright House, and the title of the next bestseller. One is Felicity James. One
is Victor Guzman.
Drama, plagiarism, and
trash talk play out to enthralled audiences across the country as all seven
contestants compete against each other in a range of heated challenges, with
tensions reaching breaking point. As Felicity and Victor start up a show‐mance, their
relationship burns up the ratings.
Will this sizzling
fling escalate into a vicious battle for money and fame, or will these two
authors manage to write their own happy ending?
Excerpt:
“A head-hop is a sudden point of
view switch.”
“What?” Felicity glanced up from the
book she was reading — one of Nicole Roberts’s. She’d actually packed it,
having no foresight whatsoever that the woman she’d long admired was going to
be judging her.
Victor sat on the edge of her bed,
turning his body just enough to face her where she was propped against the
headboard. “Like, if you are in Mookie’s point of view and you’re telling us
how Mookie feels … that Mookie desires Dookie with a fierce passion he’s never
felt before and then you suddenly switch over and tell us what Dookie is
feeling … you’re switching POV. It can be jarring to a reader. Some publishers
allow it. Some don’t. It’s something to watch for in your genre of writing.” He
watched her intently as though waiting for her response.
Her book discarded in her lap,
Felicity didn’t know what to say. She was unnerved by his sudden kindness and
also by the fact he was on her bed, next to her, and he looked good enough to …
no, no.
He blinked at her and apparently
assumed she didn’t comprehend, because he continued, “Mookie and Dookie are …
are eating sandwiches. Mookie is thinking his salami tastes too peppery and
doesn’t Dookie look funny with her hair all messed up? And then suddenly Dookie
is thinking Mookie looks like he’s tasted something bad. Basically, you have to
choose one point of view, Mookie’s or Dookie’s, and stick with it. Say you
choose Mookie. If Mookie can’t see it, hear it, taste it, feel it, touch it, he
can’t tell us about it.”
Throughout his explanation, his
hands moved animatedly, pantomiming different things: eating a sandwich, having
messy hair, the act of hearing, but Felicity couldn’t get past one thing.
“Where the hell do you come up with
your character names?” She chortled with laughter. Her insides hurt she laughed
so hard, and her spirits lifted. Tears ran down her face. He looked bewildered
momentarily and soon joined in, his dimples flashing.
“I mean, those names are sooo unromantic. I have no words,” she
finally gasped out when she got control of her wits.
“Well, I don’t know. I’m a guy.” He
spread his hands out, palms up.
Felicity turned serious, thinking
about what he’d said. “So, the five senses? Like, if I’m narrating a scene and
you don’t convey something, I can’t know what you’re thinking, unless you say
it aloud or something in your body language tells me. I have to hear it or see
it myself to tell the reader about it.”
“Exactly.” And suddenly, before she
could react, he reached out and tenderly touched her cheek, brushing away an
escaped tear.
Felicity held her breath. His
touched burned a trail on her face. She fought the urge to close her eyes and
just savor it, this second of … of … whatever was between her and this guy. If
she could capture the moment and bottle it, she would. She’d dab the feeling
all over her body every day.
She cleared her throat as his finger
left her face. “Why are you helping me?”
“I don’t know.” His voice was
strained, tired. His expression was one of bewilderment. What was going on
behind the brown depths of his gaze? “But I’m not in cahoots with Tiffani. I
want to just get that out of your pretty head right now.”
He
thinks I’m pretty?
Aloud, she said, “Then what was that about? Yesterday? What Tiffani said?” She
crossed her arms over her chest, the only barrier she had at the moment, but
what was she protecting? Her pride? Her heart?
He sighed and stared at the floor
next to her bed. “I was a fool and ended up hurting myself more than you. The
extent of our corroboration is switching beds. I thought my nearness — yes,
arrogant ass, I know — would throw you off your game, ’cause, frankly, I see
you as the biggest threat.”
“Um…” He’d managed to insult her and
compliment her at the same time. Felicity couldn’t stop the wrinkle marring her
brow. “Okay, well, ‘thank you’ and ‘what the fuck’ both come to mind.” She
released an uncomfortable laugh and fingered the pages of her novel. They’d all
be dog-eared by the time she was done. Hopefully, Ms. Roberts wouldn’t see it.
He offered a sheepish grin.
“So you thought my game could be
thrown off as easily as that? I’m not some high school girl. I’m a grown-ass
thirty-year-old woman, and I’m not easily sidetracked.” Well … she bit her lips to stop the smile that threatened to
emerge.
His t-shirt pulled against taut
muscles as he pushed himself off the bed. The urge to reach out and grab him,
to pull him down until his long body covered hers almost overwhelmed her. Hot
fire built in her lower belly, and she was grateful for her dark skin. If she’d
been a pale woman, the heat and desire within her would be evident as it burned
through her flesh.
“I realize that now.” His voice was
low and husky. He had his hands in his pockets as he turned away from her bed.
“Wait,” she called after him. “How
did you end up hurting yourself?”
“You snore,” he said over his
shoulder. “I can’t sleep a wink with all that racket.”
“What?” Felicity gaped at his
retreating back and before he got too far away, she hefted her pillow and threw
it in his direction. It landed on the floor next to him, and he laughed all the
way out of the room, great, shoulder-moving gusts of laughter.
Author Biography:
Tara Chevrestt is a deaf woman, former aviation mechanic, dog
mom, writer, and editor. You’ll never see her without her Kindle or a book
within reach. As a child, she would often take a flashlight under the covers to
finish the recent Nancy Drew novel when she was supposed to be sleeping.
Tara is addicted to Law
& Order: SVU, has a crush on Cary Grant, laughs at her own jokes, and
is constantly modifying recipes and experimenting in the kitchen. Her
theme is Strong is Sexy. She writes
about strong women facing obstacles—in the military, with their handicaps, or
just learning to accept themselves. Her heroines can stand alone and take care
of themselves, but they often find love in the process.
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(From 
