Developing character

One of my favorite jobs as an author is to tease out who my characters are. I mean, they're so busy yammering at me that it makes sense that I should get to know them. Sometimes this process is easy, other times it's like pulling teeth. And sometimes I want to get a different view of the character because I know the truth may not be fully there.

Sebastian and Sláine from Prince of Earth and Ice, the sequel of Prince of Air and Darkness, are two such characters. Sebastian is a prodigal Seelie prince and Sláine is the Unseelie high prince who defected and became a traitor to his people. Neither of them is good at letting down their guards; if they did, survival would be impossible. Writing their love story is a true challenge and I'm enjoying myself immensely.

One of my favorite ways to tease out more meaning behind characters is to draw them a quick tarot spread. It's only three cards -- past, present, and future -- and recognizing threads throughout the cards often gives me great ideas of what to enfold later in the manuscript.

The deck I used for these spreads (and my favorite deck in general) is the Llewellyn deck. The focus on Welsh mythology and the soft and detailed watercolor designs are perfect for a story of warring faerie courts and the political intrigue and romance that come with them.

SEBASTIAN'S SPREAD

Seb's spread was drawn first.

• Ace of Wands - A perfect card to suit Seb, the ace of wands is about rising to a challenge, becoming self-reliant, and learning to use reasoning and ideas to their fullest. The ace of any suit indicates the start of a journey; Seb's past, which comes back to haunt him in PEI, followed the call of this card and that adventure made him strong enough to face the events of the story I'm writing for him.
• Six of Swords - The suit of swords is a natural fit for the present. It's the suit of action, where good and bad can balance on the edge of a blade and a person's actions determine the course of the future. I love the ambiguity of the six of swords. A card indicating movement or a journey, it can also be interpreted as a declaration of love. Knowing where Seb starts and where he ends, I smiled as soon as this one made its appearance. 
• Ten of Cups - As a romance writer, any time the suit of cups appears I know that I need to delve deeper into the emotions of my character. In this case, the ten of cups is one of the sweetest and most rewarding cards to have appear. The symbolism of a full life, of true love, of emotional fulfillment...This card is a happily ever after and knowing that Seb will journey there gives me even greater joy when writing his story.

SLÁINE'S SPREAD

Sláine's spread was drawn second.

• Four of Wands - To see Sláine's past as this card of peace and balance was painful. He's a wounded man and the reminder of how much he's lost was perfect as I plot out how to show that part of his life. In order for anyone to fall to their lowest point, they must start at great heights and Sláine is no different.
• Three of Swords - Every time I draw this card I'm instantly on guard. Traditionally, the three of swords is a card associated with loss and sorrow. For Sláine, there are few cards in the deck that could better sum up his life at the present. But this suffering and misery is necessary for him to find his way out of hell. 
• Queen of Pentacles - I didn't expect this card to show up for Sláine, but the longer I thought about it, the more it seemed to fit. His story is about the struggle of being an unwanted prince and his rash actions early on need to mature in order for his story to come to balance. The card was a reminder to me that no matter how far he seems to have fallen, in the end he will emerge calm, steady, and secure.

While the process of drawing a simple spread is fun for me, it also helps me better understand my characters. Bits and pieces of this spread will probably show up in PEI, so now you know what to watch for when it comes out!

Do you have any other methods you enjoy using for writing out characters. If you enjoy tarot, are there any particular spreads you enjoy using that I should learn more about?

The Chin Lift

When I was preparing to go to San Diego, I commissioned an art piece for Prince of Air and Darkness from a graphic designer I found through DeviantArt. After giving her a brief description of Finny and Roark, this is what she produced:

Yes, I am in love.

Cut to this month. The fangirl-worthy Kelsey (a.k.a. Hootsweets) has done it again! This time around, I gave her the snippet of Prince of Air and Darkness I've included below and she gave me another lovely commission in exchange.

* * * * *
I glance behind me, adjusting my speed so the ball will land just over my shoulder. It hits my hands and I clutch it to my side, spinning around another guy and heading at a diagonal toward the end zone. Gumba thunders toward me, but I may be just able to beat him there—

A familiar form, partially obscured by the sun’s beams, walks by the sideline. I stumble a bit when I recognize the laconic gait.

That was a bad idea.

Gumba takes me down on the sideline. Even he’s surprised by how hard the hit was. He pokes my ribs and I make a noise to let him know I’m alive. It’s easiest to hand over the ball so the next play can start. I groan a little when I shift my head, spitting out grass and dirt. Right onto a shining pair of Oxfords mere inches from my face.

My eyes travel up from the shoes to the straight, pressed lines of the wool slacks. The thin leather belt I could never afford. The buttons of the dress shirt. And there, like a freaking cherry on an evil sundae, the sharp twist of the lips that’s the closest he ever gets to smiling. Apparently, super-powered magickal villains don’t need to smile.

“Wool in this weather, Roark? Isn’t that a bit douchey, even for you?” I snark.

He looks like crap. His cheeks are hollowed, the hint of dark circles under his eyes. He’s always been pale, but this time there’s an edge of sickness to it, like he hasn’t seen the sun all summer. Although … Unseelie court. Not sure if they’re allowed aboveground.

The toe of his Oxford stretches out and presses against the underside of my jaw, tilting my face up just enough for my eyes to meet his.

Roark’s eyes are the freakiest thing I’ve ever seen. Ice blue, pale as fuck. Thanks to his dark, nearly black hair, they appear even lighter. Worse, he never glamours them. Which pisses me off to no end, since my own eyes are some muddy, unremarkable blue.

Girls swoon over Roark’s eyes. They don’t swoon over mine.

Right now, that glacial gaze skims over me, dissecting me with the brisk efficiency wealthy aristocrats seem born to use against their underlings.

“Farmer’s tan and athletic shorts.” The edges of his mouth tighten. “Some things never change.”
* * * * *
As you can see, she outdid herself again.

Next month I'll post whatever my next commission from her is. In the meantime though, if you're interested in seeing more of Kelsey's work, you can find her through these sites:

http://hexcomic.com/ - Her original webcomic

http://www.patreon.com/hootsweets - Pledge page for updates on in-progress work and commissions

http://hootsweets.deviantart.com/ - DeviantArt collection

http://hootsweets.tumblr.com/ - Tumblr collection

Courage

F. Scott Fitzgerald once said, "Never confuse a single defeat with a final defeat."

Sometimes I forget that. It's easy in today's world, with how closely connected we all are and how easy it is for jealousy to take us when we witness others' successes. It takes effort to practice gratitude and it's a battle I've constantly fought since my first book was published.

There's always another author who's made it big, who's a best-seller now, who got optioned for film, who is smarter and more beautiful and more talented and generally damn better than you. And comparing yourself to others and their success only destroys your own sense of worth.

So I avoid social media often. I keep a small company of good, devoted, hard working friends who focus on bolstering each other instead of tearing each other down. I work my ass off and pray every night that God will give me a chance to get a little better.

Because that is my greatest fear. That one day the words will peter out and I'll be left with blank pages, or worse, pages filled with something akin to vomit.

Don't get me wrong; I still pray for bigger deals, for landing an agent, for my friends to get big deals or important agents, for some actor to read my book and decide it must become a movie (hear that Luke Evans, Benedict Cumberbatch, Tom Hiddleston, Tom Hardy, or anyone else on my Pinterest boards???), and for me to someday be good enough at this writing gig that I can do it full time.

But most of all, I pray that this strange ability to string words together into a shifting tale doesn't go away. I don't know if I could survive that.

Sometimes, in the midst of the fear and panic and general anarchy that makes up a writer's life, courage makes an appearance. It's rare and I've found that it often doesn't come in the guise we expect. Courage has never shown up on my doorstep with a battle axe and plate armor, roaring about quests and grabbing the balls of life, while quaffing mead. In my experience, courage is the tiny voice whispering right behind my shoulder when I'm exhausted and sleep-deprived and emotionally drained and ready to call it quits forever because surely, quitting would be easier than experiencing the misery and self-loathing of missing my daily word count or not getting my phrasing correct or putzing 8 of my 12 work hours away on the Internet.

My courage is shy. It's no bigger than a thimble and often gives the same illusion of solidness. My courage only comes out when I forget about it. It's never around when I desperately need it, no matter how hard I look, how loudly I cajole, how furiously I threaten.

My courage believes in karma and divine justice. It has an unhealthy devotion to the concept that if you are a good person who works hard, you will be rewarded. It's never been wrong about that, so I can't really argue the point, no matter how often I grumble about it.

It likes to peek its head around corners and inspect the situation before giving in to peer pressure, although it sometimes caves and skips along for a while before figuring out that it's made a horrible, terrible, no good, very bad mistake. It prefers to make choices about which loose leaf tea I'll drink than which direction my life is taking (although I suppose tea choices are important life decisions). It agonizes over whether I want to buy the 12 pack or 24 pack of colored pencils and then parades around with its chest puffed out over that extra $0.70 I spent to get the fancy set. It considers anything but clear nail polish to be a coup; it collapses in exhaustion after I get a pedicure. It sometimes scrapes together $5 so I can buy a bargain bouquet of flowers at the store simply because they'll look pretty on my kitchen table.

I'm blessed with the Ferdinand of courage.

From the ashes

It's been a hard past few months. Burnout on multiple fronts left me reeling and I'm only just starting to pull myself back together. Fortunately, the love and care of many incredible people has helped get me on my feet and put my head back where it needs to be ... my stories.

Yeah, if you thought I was going to say my other job, you'd be a smidge incorrect. But I'm finally accepting that it's okay to feel that way; it won't make me perform any worse to understand that I'm working toward a bigger goal.

Speaking of which ... [insert poor segue to shameless self-promo here]

First is coming out on January 15th!!! [unleash kazoo fanfare here]

This duology was a bit like Jekyll and Hyde. Dally and Cat's story came together easy-peasy-lemon-squeezy while Jake and Maya's ... did not.

Regardless, it's out in the world with ARC reviewers and I'm mostly thrilled that this strange little story is meeting with some kind comments and constructive criticism.

To celebrate my return to the land of the living writers, I've put together some of my favorite moments from the story into these little pics to share with all of you.

Thank you all for your support, even though I'm horrible at updating this blog, and know that I'm still getting those stories down.

The Power of Touch

I just wrote a scene in The Wastes where the hero and heroine have to make a difficult good-bye. My inner debate began when I had to decide how they'd each say goodbye to her as she left on a mission she may not come back from. And that led me to thinking about just how important those non-sexual touches can be, especially in a romance.

The value of contact can't be ignored, especially in tense emotional scenes. As Mad Dog, Jenks, Tane, and James make their goodbyes to Talia, each uses a different form of physical contact to get their point across. Cade, on the other hand, avoids that contact.

It's not just an arbitrary choice for me. I realize that some writers may choose to have this be the big moment when he makes a passionate overture or does something that will leave her memory lingering on his touch as she disappears into the night. But I believe that sometimes there is more power in restraint.

One of my all time favorite films is M. Night Shyamalan's The Village. One of the most beautiful and heartbreaking parts of the film is the attention drawn to touch, even the most platonic kind. Both Edward Walker and Lucius Hunt channel immense restraint to not touch those they love.

In Edward's case, it's an admirable decision since he is happily married and unwilling to risk the temptation which could be caused by touching another woman he cares for deeply.

Lucius fights his feelings for Ivy for the first half of the film. The moment when their hands meet is one of the most emotional scenes from the entire film and I get goosebumps every time I watch it.

If you want to see a lovely, gentle romance play out on screen, watch this movie. Forget the suspense, forget the plot twists, watch it for the romance alone.

I hope that I can do Cade's emotions justice through use of this kind of restraint. I have to try.

The Wastes teasers

I have been hard at work on The Wastes, the prequel/companion novel to Nov. 2013 Lace & Lead, and I have to say, I am in love with this story. It's taken me completely by surprise (again).

I'm at 44K words and climbing, with no real end in sight. And I've been so happy with this that I'm gushing about it.

Hence my pretty pictures below...I figured it's time to share!

Excerpt from "The Wastes"

One of my current WIPs is the prequel/companion novel to Lace & Lead, the SFR novella that was released last November. For now, the working title of this full length novel is The Wastes, and it's a blast to write.

The story centers around Alexander Cade, a lieutenant with the Lawmen, and his small team of elite soldiers. When he was training to be an officer, Cade had freed a Northern Wastes labor camp from the rebel army; one of the prisoners was Natalia Volkova, Talia for short. Years later when Cade returns to the Wastes (the most dangerous and uncivilized part of the Republic) with his team, she's working as a Lawmen scout and the fascination between them grows into something much stronger.

Inspiration for Cade

Inspiration for Talia

Yesterday on my Facebook page, I asked whether it was better to continue to write the story in order, a new method I've been trying to see if it increases my writing quality and quantity, or whether I should go ahead and write a fun scene that was out of order.

Comments instantly reminded me that life is too short to not get to the good stuff, which is why this snippet exists. Here's my out-of-order scene from The Wastes for your reading pleasure...

“She thinks I’m handsome–?”

Talia laughed. “No. She’s saying...she means...your strength...your–” She placed a hand on his chest. “Your soul...comes through your eyes.” She looked up, swallowed. “You have nice eyes.” She stepped back. “That’s what she means.”

“That’s what she means?” Cade asked, his lilt teasing out the emphasis.

“Of course.”

He took a step closer to her, eyes focused on her lips. “And what about you?”

“What about me, Lieutenant Cade?”

His eyes flicked up to hers. “Alex,” he ordered.

His command danced over her skin, sending out goosebumps that had nothing to do with the cool night breeze. Something shifted between them, and the teasing was gone now, leaving a crackling awareness in its wake.

“What did you say when you were answering her? I saw how you looked at me, Talia. I’m willing to feign indifference to a point, but not with that look–”

She didn't realize he’d been forcing her backward until her back hit the cold stone of the abandoned building. “What look?” she asked, confused.

“The one that says you think I could be a hero.” One hand went up against the wall near her face. He leaned into her, his face lowering so they were cheek to cheek. She closed her eyes and bit her lip, refusing to moan from the scent of sweat and sulfur and dirt that clung to him.

“I’m not a hero,” he whispered. “And I don’t want to be.”

“What do you want, Alex?”

“You.”

She tilted her head to see him better. She could see the lust warring with confusion in his eyes, knew that he was just as torn over this...thing that existed between them. “You said you can’t have me.”

“I can’t.”

“The boys–”

“I won’t put your safety over theirs.”

“I wouldn't ask you to.”

“Then tell me what you said to her.”

“It was private.”

“Not anymore.”

“She asked if you were passionate,” Talia said, wishing her cheeks weren't burning.

“Passionate?”

“When we’re...together...”

A lazy smile was spreading. “You’re telling me the tribal elder, who is well over eighty years old, asked you about your sex life?”

“She can still appreciate a handsome man. And women here aren't as prudish as your blue-bloods.”

“Agreed,” he murmured, his other hand playing with the slit of her skirt. “So what did you tell her?”

Talia shifted against the wall and she saw Cade’s jaw tighten as her hip accidentally brushed against his. When had the night become so warm? And why didn't she have more than a thin layer of fabric between her and his touch?

“I told her I didn't know yet.”

A dark, primal hunger sharpened his face and she could hear as his fingers curled and dug harder against the building stone. “Yet.”

“Yet,” she whispered, unable to look away from his mouth.

“But you told her we were together. Is that why no other women gave me a second glance tonight?”

She kept her chin up, refusing to feel embarrassed over the claim she’d put on him. “Perhaps.”

He chuckled at her answer.

“Are you angry that you weren't fawned over like Jenks or Tane?”

“Not at all. Just amused at how alike we are.”

“Oh, are we?”

“I wanted to kill that man who danced with you.” His tone was light, but she heard the steel beneath his words. “And if you’d left the celebration with him, I would have.”

“I wouldn't have left with him.”

“But you left with me.”

“Yes.”

“A poor decision, really.”

“Only if you keep talking.”

His expression became serious. “They can’t know.”

She knew who he meant. “They won’t.”

“If I have to choose, I’ll choose them.”

“Every time.”

They stared at each other for a moment and she murmured, “You can still walk away, Lieutenant.”

“Like hell,” he growled. And he was kissing her.

#TemptedToWrite

A few weeks ago, Mills & Boon (the UK Harlequin) announced through Twitter that it was throwing a contest targeting its Modern Tempted line. Here in the USA we know Modern Tempted as KISS, a fun, flirty, contemporary line that's put out a ton of great books. Two of my writing friends have just signed contracts with KISS and I've been looking forward to reading their incredible debuts since they announced the news.

The #TemptedToWrite contest has two parts: a writing preparatory course that runs for ten days and the actual contest. The writing prep is the real reason I decided to participate. Over the course of ten business days, Mills & Boon will ask questions designed to help you understand your characters, their motivations, plot points, and other aspects of writing that are targeted toward the Modern Tempted/KISS line. Each day participants can post excerpts of their story in answer to the given question to a Facebook page. A panel of judges (made up of editors and M&B authors) pick their favorite entries and provide feedback and prizes; a top blogger also goes through and picks her favorite answer of the day, comparing it to elements found in Modern Tempted/KISS books, and also offering some awesome prizes. Basically, it's one of those rare opportunities to receive feedback from professionals who can help you learn how to make your writing even better. And since I know very little about the line other than the fact that I like the stories, I thought it would be worth it.

I have been surprisingly successful so far, with two of my answers being picked as winners (one from each set of judges), but more importantly, I've been able to view others' work and takes on the same themes. I've been able to examine other winners' answers and break down why their answer was so successful. It's an incredible opportunity and despite all the other work and stress I'm dealing with, it's been worth every moment.

I think the best thing I'm getting from this experience though is a sense of hope. My stories have always been outside the box - a mixture of genres, heroes a little too dark, new takes on old ideas. It's how I've always written and since I started taking myself and my craft more seriously, it's only become more obvious. I've never allowed myself to dream that I'd be able to write for a publisher's line...it just didn't seem to be in my cards. But this story is coming together and getting good reviews from people who are really knowledgeable, so there's got to be some hope.

So here's the real challenge...the contest portion of #TemptedToWrite limits you to 10,000 words and I think my story is going to be over that. I have no idea what's going to happen with it at this point, but I know I've got to finish writing it. If I can cut it down and have it still make sense, I'll enter in the contest. If I can't (deep breath here) I'm going to query Harlequin KISS and see if they're at all interested. It could easily be a rejection, which would sting, but I think I have to try it.

I'm absolutely terrified, but maybe that's the point of this whole thing. Terror means I'm taking a risk. And taking a risk as a writer means growth. A painful, but inevitable, pattern if you intend to survive as a species.

Now landing...Lace & Lead

Lace & Lead is available today and I'm so excited to share this story with you! I know I've talked about the way this story came together in earlier posts on this blog, but I'm still shocked that this story is now in print. So if you're waiting for Connor's story to come out, try this little story for a change of pace. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Breathtaking action, startling originality and polished story-telling combine in this futuristic Sci-Fi novella about a rough mercenary, a pampered daughter, and the lies they both believe. 

Blue-blood Emmaline Gregson survived one of the most brutal mining accidents ever recorded in the Republic, but she's never been in a firefight. So when unknown assailants circle the family estate, the only man she can rely on is Peirce Taggart. A former Lawman turned mercenary, Peirce has a simple job: protect Emmaline until her father can collect her and sell her to sex trafficker Richard Stone to pay off his debts. But when Arthur Gregson tries to cheat his way out of the contract, Emmaline seizes the opportunity to hire Peirce for herself, regardless of how crude, dangerous, or appealing he may be. Given the chance for redemption, he promises to help her escape both her father and Stone. But Peirce soon realises that hiding her in his apartment until the storm has passed may be more dangerous than looking down the barrel of a gun...

Purchase Links:

iTunes: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/lace-lead-novella/id712018036?mt=11

Amazon (Kindle): http://www.amazon.com/Lace-Lead-novella-ebook/dp/B00FB3MWN4

Amazon.co.uk (Kindle): http://www.amazon.co.uk/Lace-Lead-novella-ebook/dp/B00FB3MWN4

Kobo (read on Desktop, eReaders, Tablets, Kobo, Android and iPhone): http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/lace-lead-novella

Barnes & Noble (Nook): http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/lace-lead-ma-grant/1117036865

ebooks.com: http://www.ebooks.com/1438039/lace-lead-novella/grant-m-a/

JB Hi-Fi Now Books: https://books.jbhifi.com.au/Book/356663

Swag, oh official swag

It's real now. I just made bookmarks for my release.

I now have SWAG.

Like a pirate. Or a gangster. Or hipster. Or whatever has swag these days...

Rack Cards by Vistaprint

The cover art is here!!!

I have been waiting for this moment for months. And the artists at Escape outdid themselves. I am in love with my cover.

That is all.

Business Solution, Part 4 (Final Installment)

“Thanks for seeing me home,” she said as she let Robert help her out of the cab.

“Trust me, it’s out of my own selfish desires,” he fired back with another one of his knee-weakening grins.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Because if I walk you to your door, I get the chance to kiss you good night.”

There was something charming about his devil-may-care attitude. It wasn't like so many of the other men she’d met, where their confidence was overbearing. Robert’s was off-the-cuff, relaxed, and he acted as if he didn't care if his lines worked on her or not.

They’d made it to the apartment building’s stoop, and she was aware of his warmth, his shape pressed in beside her on the narrow concrete step. He was watching her carefully, and she tilted up her face just a little so she could meet his gaze.

She decided to play the game. “Who says I’m going to let you kiss me good night?”

“You just did,” he answered softly, and met her lips with his own.

When he finally pulled back, Janelle understood what it meant when those romance authors she loved to read described fireworks shooting through the bloodstream. “Wow,” she whispered.

Robert shook his head a little and dropped his hands from her face. She had no idea when he’d reached for her, but she really didn't care.

He hooked a thumb over his shoulder toward the waiting cab. “I—uh—I should go.”

Part of her wanted to ask him to stay. But the rational part of her brain was reminding her that they were both so close to the freedom they craved. It seemed foolish to jump into something right now—whatever that something may be—when she could be getting a new job, and he went on to...whatever it was he was planning.

But the sight of him standing down on the sidewalk, looking up at her like she’d always dreamed a man would look at her, still had her asking, “Do you want to—”

“Yes,” he answered automatically. He took a small step forward, but stopped. “But I really shouldn't.”

“No?”

He sighed deeply. “If I did, you wouldn't get to your interview on time, I’d lose track of everything, and I know that’s not what you want.”

She gave a tremulous smile. “Not meant to be, huh?”

“Not tonight.”

“Can I call you?”

His voice was husky. “Please.”

They traded numbers, and he looked back one final time before getting back to the waiting cab. Janelle let herself into the apartment, and tried to ignore its emptiness. It would be okay. Right now, not getting involved with Robert was for the best.

* * *

I cannot believe that I fucked up so badly, Robert mentally berated himself for the billionth time in the last few hours.

He’d gotten swamped with work, and hadn't been able to call Janelle as soon as he’d wanted. When he finally had, he’d been thrilled to hear that she’d gotten the job. Unfortunately, their celebratory dinner date had to be cancelled due to his father’s unexpected need to review the notes on Robert’s final project. And their reschedule dinner date got put off because her new job whisked her away for a week to a conference or something. It seemed like fate had decreed her off limits.

At least his desperate attempts to meet her had distracted him from the disheartening task of cutting off ties to his father. The old man had tried to play his cards, coax Robert into more indentured servitude, but he’d held firm. And now he was finally where he’d wanted to be for nearly a year: the corner office of Literate Solutions, his baby and the one good thing he had going in his life at the moment.

“Good to see you back, Robert!”

Robert greeted Don Magley with a hug. He’d coaxed his old tutor out of retirement to help him with the business, and he’d always be in the man’s debt.

“How’s it been going?”

“We got a bunch of new hires started,” Don began as they strode through the offices, “and I’d say they’re working out just fine.” He shot Robert a bemused glance. “Ever get a hold of your mystery girl?”

“Not yet. But I will.”

The optimism wasn't feigned. It couldn't be in a place like this. Robert watched the variety of work spaces, the open interchange of ideas between colleagues, and the light atmosphere in amazement.

Don chuckled. “Hard to believe it’s real?”

“Remember when you told me that I’d pass my GED, and I told you you were—”

“Full of shit? Yes, I seem to recall that conversation.”

“But I did pass. And every time I came back to you, you always told me the same thing: don’t give up on a good thing.”

Don slapped Robert’s back and gave a bark of laughter. “I’m not Yoda, young Jedi. You deserve some of the credit for putting this scheme into action.”

Robert shook his head, and tried to refocus. It was hard when he saw his dream as a reality, but it would be necessary if he were to start stepping into the day-to-day running of the company. “What are we working on today?”

“Last week’s conference was enlightening,” Don shared as he led Robert toward the conference room. “Tons of new ideas from it, and we've got a real firestarter who should help keep us on the cutting edge.”

“Can’t wait to meet him.”

“Her, actually. We were damn lucky to get her, too.”

Don opened the doors to the room, and Robert stepped in, excited to meet the new employee. And the sight before him froze him in his tracks.

“Robert?” Janelle asked, clearly stunned. “What are you doing here?” She was holding the clicker in her hand, and already had her presentation up on the board. But he’d always known she was good at her job.

Don was standing by the door, a gently quizzical expression on his face. Robert turned to him. “We’ll do this later, okay, Don? I need to take your advice again.”

Understanding crossed Don’s face and he closed the door softly behind him.

Robert turned back to Janelle. “Hi.”

“Hi.” She still looked confused.

“So you work here?”

“Yes. How did you—”

“Trust me, I couldn't have planned this.” He stepped closer. “Tell you what...let’s have you present this after we go to lunch.”

“Present...” Comprehension dawned. “Oh, my God, I’m that girl. I’m screwing my boss.”

He extracted her clicker and set it down on the table, then took her hand and led her toward the door. “Not yet. Currently you’re just dating your boss. We’ll see what happens about the other later.”

She snorted. “Getting a little ahead of yourself, don’t you think?”

“I hope so.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because it means you've got a plan of how we’re supposed to go. And if I’m in the plan, that’s all that matters.”

They’d made to the elevator and she was still holding his hand. The door opened, but in a split-second of doubt, he turned to her. “I am in the plan, right?”

She squeezed his hand and stepped into the elevator. “Let’s go, Mr. Jones. Maybe after work I’ll let you walk me home.”

And he did.

THE END

Business Solutions, Part 3

“Wow. This is totally different than I’d imagined.”

Robert looked up from his fries and gave her a lopsided grin. “In a good way or a bad way?”

“Good, I think.”

The restaurant was definitely not what she’d imagined Richard Jones’s son taking her to. Instead of a stuffy formal environment, he took her to Cinematic Burgers. It was a hole-in-the-wall restaurant where the burgers were huge, fries fresh, and clientele migrated regularly from table to table to watch the assorted films that were playing on nearly fifty different TVs throughout the restaurant.

They’d sat down at a table that was playing Katherine Hepburn’s Pride and Prejudice, and the few people who stopped by to watch in quickly changed to other, more exciting tables. Janelle didn't mind. She loved the movie, didn't mind the lack of company, and was finding herself more and more fascinated by the man sitting across from her.

“So, this new company you’re gunning for—”

She smiled at him. “Can we just not talk about work right now?”

He wiped his fingers off on a napkin, looking a little nervous. “Okay. What do you want to talk about?”

She dipped another fry in ketchup and took him in. Her mind instantly went back to the Christmas party, and to her everlasting horror, she was suddenly asking, “If I hadn't freaked out, would you have kissed me at the party?”

He choked a little on his soda.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, looking back toward the TV, feeling her cheeks flush.

“Don’t be. I just—Sorry. It was just a surprise.” He looked around the restaurant, then leaned across the table toward her.

“And the answer is yes. I would have kissed you.”

She sneaked a peek at him from the corner of her eye. He looked so adorably genuine, his expression earnest, his hands pressed down on the table. “You would?”

“Definitely. And it probably would have been one of the stupidest things I could have done.”

* * *

He had her full attention now. She was looking at him, and she seemed genuinely curious.

“Why would it have been stupid?”

“Because my father could have seen.”

“So?”

“He has a habit of destroying things I care about.”

“You thought he’d take it out on me?”

He tried not to swell with pride when he heard the disbelief in her tone. Like she couldn't believe a man was actually standing up for her. Clark Kent, that’s me.

“I don’t know if he would have.”

She shook her head. “He’s...”

He gave her a look, and she rolled her eyes and smiled.

“Okay, I won’t lie. He’s a bastard, but I can’t believe he’s really that bad.”

He shrugged. “You may not see him that way, but I’m only going off of personal experience.”

“What did he do that was so awful?”

It would be crazy to tell her. But for some reason, the words were already flowing out of his mouth, even when he wished he could shut himself up. “When he divorced my mom, his lawyers made sure she didn't get anything. A few months later, we found out she had cancer. The treatments were expensive. I dropped out of high school, but I couldn't cover the costs. I went to him for help.”

“He knew I was good with computers, so he made a deal. I would provide his company with new tech products and services, and he’d pay off the hospital bill each month.”

Her face showed shock, her tone even more so. “He wouldn't just pay off the amount? Is that trade even legal?”

“Nope, and probably not. He wouldn't pay a lump sum because he claimed I might try to get out of the deal. But I was young and stupid and desperate and signed the papers.” He shrugged. “Regardless, in two weeks, the final bill gets paid, and I’m free of the devil.”

“How’s your mom doing?”

She said it so softy, he almost didn't catch it. But the fact that that was her main concern touched him deeply. “Remission for over eight years now. We caught it early and I made sure that we went to the best doctors. If I was going to sell my soul, I wanted my money’s worth.”

“So, in two weeks, you’ll be out of a job too?”

“Sort of.”

“Do you have anything planned?”

He couldn't help smiling at the thought of what awaited him once these last torturous weeks were done. “I've been working on a few things. Nothing he could take from, either. I made sure to play my cards right this time.”

“I don’t know how you’re still standing,” she admitted. “It seems like an awful lot to give up.”

“Worth the cost.”

“So when you asked if I was going somewhere better—”

He shifted in his seat. It was hard to explain what had really been running through his head. “I wanted to know that you weren't getting screwed in an attempt to escape my father’s clutches.”

“I can promise I’m not.” Her smile really did light up the room, but it dimmed when she glanced down at her watch. “I’m sorry, Robert, but I've got an interview tomorrow morning and I should be getting home—”

“Let me take you,” he offered, already standing.

“It’s not that far,” she protested. “I can catch a cab.”

“I insist,” he said, bussing their table with a casual familiarity that tugged at her heart. He really wasn't what she’d been expecting. And that was nicer than she cared to admit.

And a partridge in a pear tree...

I got fantastic news tonight; Escape Publishing will be the home of Lace & Lead, the novella I recently wrote. I'm ecstatic for two reasons: I love Escape (they have been a dream to work with), and I love this story.

I've never really worked with novellas before, but for some reason, this story came together in 30,000 words in a far more organic way than I'm used to. I liked being able to keep its pacing up, loved my characters (Taggart, that cheeky devil, really stole my heart), and had fun creating the world the story is set in. Which is part of the problem now.

I've begun working on all of the paperwork that comes with an acceptance, including the cover brief and the book's blurb. And as I have to think of how to describe the world so it makes sense to someone who won't have time to read the book, I'm discovering how difficult that is.

I still stand by my earlier post that L&L is like Gears of War meets Victorian England, but I forgot to mention that it's also set in the Republic, in the city of Monterrey, and that the closest thing I can think of to it is a dystopian/steampunk/Western/sci-fi barrio, surrounded by monied estates in the outlying areas. How can I write a story and have it makes sense within the novel, and blubber my way around its description, which should be simpler? *sigh*

Speaking of Gears...

If you understand this, we should be friends.

Business Solutions, Part 2

What the hell is wrong with me? Robert asked himself again as he listened to his father drone on about the company’s progress. Why did I ask her all those questions?

Replaying his awkward conversation with Janelle was painful. He’d never been good with women, and even he knew the importance of having some tact. But her news had blindsided him and left him scrambling for answers.

He didn't

want her to go.

He hated coming here to Jones & Co., but it was a necessary evil and he’d resigned himself to his fate. One day he’d walked in, greeting everyone as he always did — an easy way of delaying the inevitable conflict with his father — and he’d seen her.

A new young woman, diligently working on her computer. The stack of books on the corner of her desk had been ridiculously intimidating, but the focus on her face was too intriguing to resist. He’d gone over and introduced himself by asking, “Do you get a lot of time to read on this job?”

She’d jumped a little and immediately reached out to grab the stack and move it out of sight. “I’m sorry,” she’d said. “I just got out of class and didn't have time to drop them off before coming here.”

Her pretty brown eyes had taken him in, and she’d asked, “Who are you?”

“Robert Jones.”

“Related to Mr. Jones?”

“He’s my father.”

They’d chatted briefly, until his father came out to harp on her for talking instead of working, and to remind Robert of his duty. He’d fought with his father that day, told him off for treating a new hire that way. Richard Jones had been too surprised by his son’s vehemence to really respond at the time, although Robert’s next visit had been particularly unpleasant thanks to his heroism.

Since that first meeting, Robert had looked forward to seeing her. She was so different from the other employees; she had fire, and he appreciated that, even if his father didn't. He hated the thought that he wouldn't see her again.

He threw a furtive glance at his watch. She was leaving in half an hour. How much longer could his father drone on?

“Are you even listening to me?”

He looked up. “Yes.”

“For Chrissake, pull your head out of your ass. We have a board meeting in a week, and you still haven’t come up with the final project.”

Robert fought down his anger. This is worth it, he promised himself. You’re almost done, and everything will be okay in two more weeks.

Calm, refocused, he nodded. “I’ll have it ready for you to present by the meeting.”

“You’d better.”

And his father was quizzing him again for information about the newest product launch. Thirty-two minutes later, Robert hurried from his father’s office, already scanning for Janelle. But her desk was cleaned out, her computer off, paperwork stacked neatly for the temp.

“Tim?”

The night custodian looked up and gave Robert a smile. “Need something, Mr. Jones?”

“Have you seen Miss Rosen? I wanted to talk to her before she left.”

Tim shook his head sadly. “Gonna miss that girl. She was heading to the elevator with her box. She parks on the third level of the garage.”

“Thanks!”

Robert hurried away. The elevator’s lights were lit up like a Christmas tree; there’d be lots of stops before reaching the parking garage’s causeway. But no one ever took the stairs. He’d never been the most athletic guy, but he worked out. Sometimes. Stairs wouldn't be a problem.

*             *             *

Ten flights down, he realized this had probably been a bad idea. His knees were wobbly, and he knew he was sweating. But he might catch her before she left –

God, if I reach her in time, I swear I will do more squats at the gym. I’ll do more cardio. I’ll stop ordering take-out, he bargained as he barreled down two more flights. One more and he’d be at the causeway.

He staggered through the door and paused long enough to rest his hands on his knees, sucking in huge gulps of air. It always looked so easy to pull crap like this when it was up on a screen. Reality: gamers weren't cut out for this shit. A quick glance behind him showed the elevator had already passed the floor.

“Fuck!”

He cranked his head to look toward the garage. And there, just a faint outline, he could see her. Janelle, juggling a box filled with her personal items, headed toward her car.

He ignored the ache in his legs, the burning sensation at his sternum, and sprinted after her. “Janelle!”

She didn't turn around.

He could see her fumbling with her purse, getting out her car keys, putting the box in the trunk. She started toward the driver’s door, and there was so much damn distance between them —

“Janelle!” he bellowed one more time, desperation giving the call the strength it needed.

She turned, a funny look on her face, and waited as he ran up to her, gasping for air. He held up an index finger while he tried to get enough air to talk. She leaned back against her car, a bemused smile on her face as she took him in.

“Did you need something, Mr. Jones?”

He nodded. She waited. Finally, he was able to straighten and ask with only minimal wheezing, “Do you have plans for dinner?”

“What?”

He wasn't about to give up now. He’d made his mind up. All or nothing. “I want to take you to dinner.”

She shifted a little and wouldn't quite look at him. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Why not? You’re not working for my dad anymore. I hate his guts anyway.”

She wasn't convinced, so he kept going.

“And you can’t forget the Christmas party.”

There it was – a slight flush creeping into her cheeks as she tucked a strand of hair back behind her ear. She may not have been looking at him, but he knew where her mind had gone.

His had gone there over and over for months.

Heading out of the main party toward one of the quieter offices. Breathing a sigh of relief when he was away from the chaos outside. Only to turn and find her there, sitting quietly in a chair, reading some huge book.

She’d gasped when she saw him, nearly spilling her drink.

“Sorry!” he’d apologized.

“I – I just needed –“ She trailed off, looking embarrassed.

“Somewhere quiet? Me too.”

They’d talked for the next hour, and before he knew it, he was sitting across from her on the desk, taking in the way her face tilted up to his when she spoke, the way her eyes lit up with excitement as she talked about her plans for the future. He’d been stupid, short sighted.

But at that moment, leaning forward to kiss her had been the only logical option.

Just like now. Except this time, she didn't pull away. Didn't stammer out an excuse of why they shouldn't. Didn't rush from the room like he’d tried to ravage her at his father’s office party.

This time, she just looked at him nervously, eyes widening just a bit as he placed a gentle hand against the side of her face, curling his fingers around the back of her head, drawing her closer to him. This time, she made the noise he’d imagined she would as their lips met, a soft sigh.

And when he finally pulled back and asked, “Dinner?” again, she just nodded.

Flynn's dating profile

Well, after Connor pushed him, Flynn agreed to post his online dating profile if my author page hit 125 Facebook likes. Needless to say, it's live and he'll never live it down. It's just a matter of time until Connor has to face this, but for some reason, I don't think this would bother that smooth-talking SOB one bit...

Business Solutions, Part 1

“Miss Roser, if you’re finally done typing up that report, I’d like to get it before we close for the day.”

Janelle Rosen grit her teeth and reminded herself to breathe. “Of course, Mr. Jones,” she responded calmly.  A few swift clicks of the mouse, and the report — which he’d requested she proofread a little over an hour ago — was speeding to his inbox through the annals of cyberspace.

No apology was offered for saying her name incorrectly. He didn't thank her. Didn't even acknowledge her hard work. For the millionth time that day, she decided she hated her boss. But a tiny smile spread across her face when she glanced at the time.

Correction: she hated her soon-to-be ex-boss. As of six o’clock tonight, her internship was over, and she’d finally be free of the slimy old man. She’d had no say on her placement; the economy was so depressed, the college had a difficult time finding any placements for its business students. She’d at least been fortunate enough to find a position with a local firm. Some of her classmates were commuting over an hour to their placements.

Nevertheless, it was frustrating to deal with Mr. Jones’s daily doses of cruelty — snide comments, aggressive body language, openly expressed opinions about the lack of worth women provided in the private sector, and so on — but a week ago she’d gotten an interview with a new company. Her second interview, this one with the company’s founder, was tomorrow morning, and she felt confident.

 

Literate Solutions was a small start-up, focused on using immersive technology to provide interactive e-books to adults with reading difficulties. The atmosphere there had been infectious, and she’d quickly learned that all the employees were passionate and dedicated to the company’s cause. She’d be trusted to use her creativity and literature background, and the lure of freedom was powerful.

She tried to push the thoughts of tomorrow from her mind. There were still emails to write up, final paperwork to push through for her temporary replacement, and her desk to clean out. Just the thought of that made her giddy.

The elevator dinged, and the familiar “Evening, Mrs. Mokes” directed at the front receptionist made Janelle’s heart do a funny little flip. He was back.

Every two weeks, Mr. Jones’s son, Robert, stopped by the office. She didn't know if he did it out of a sense of familial obligation or because he had to, but his visits were one of the rare high points of her internship.

She quickly looked back at her computer screen, wishing she didn't react so much to his presence. Ever since they’d almost had a moment at the company Christmas party, she couldn't get him out of her head. Which was bad, since she was leaving and he was the boss’s son.

But the sound of his voice, light and almost playful as he greeted each staff member on his way to his father’s office, was so distracting.

She could see movement from the corner of her eye, and feigned concentration on the task at hand. Not that it mattered.

“Miss Rosen, did you mean to type ‘please’ three times in a row there?”

She mentally grimaced at the mistake, but tried to play it cool as she looked up at him. He was leaning against her desk, his hands stuffed in his pockets, a winning grin on his face. Robert was everything his father was not. Instead of an aged suit, he wore casual wool trousers and an untucked dress shirt with a sweater thrown over it. The white Converse sneakers only added to his air of informality. His light brown hair was just a bit too long for the business world, and she was fairly certain that he had a forearm tattoo, since she’d caught a glimpse of something under his sleeves one day when he’d reached across her desk to take a pencil.

She was so distracted by him that she was amazed to hear herself respond, “I was trying to emphasize my point.”

“I see.” The smile deepened, and fine creases appeared at the corners of his eyes. “You meant to emphasize the importance of making my father’s coffee correctly?”

No way out of this one, genius. “Yes. That’s what I meant.”

Robert shook his head, eyes dancing with mirth. “I know he’s a son of a bitch, but will making his coffee incorrectly really set him off?”

Janelle knew the smart thing would be to avoid the comment entirely and change the topic of conversation to something safe. Like the weather.

Instead, her brain —which had decided it was already done with the internship, clock be damned — shared, “It might. And I want my replacement to be prepared.”

“You’re leaving?”

The change in his tone surprised her. “Yes. My internship ends tomorrow.”

For some reason, Robert’s expression changed. The friendliness was gone, and he pulled his hands from his pockets and set them firmly on her desk, deliberately invading her space as he shifted his weight forward. In that moment, she realized that there was something he and his father shared.

“You can’t leave.” His words brooked no argument.

Shock was her first emotion, followed swiftly by irritation. “Yes, I can,” she said. “I’m leaving in exactly–” — a quick glance at the clock — “–one hour and twenty-two minutes.”

“Why are you leaving?”

She couldn't help it. Robert glared when he heard her snort at his question, but didn't move from the desk.

Still, he was Mr. Jones’s son. She didn't want to insult his family, even if his father deserved it, on the last day she’d ever see him again. So she settled for, “My internship is over.”

“That’s a crappy reason.”

She tilted her head. “Maybe. But it’s true.”

“You could stay if you wanted.”

“I don’t want to stay.”

“Why not?”

Why wasn't he letting this go? “I can’t explain.”

He leaned in a little closer, and she caught a hint of his spicy cologne. “Is it my father?”

Oh, so not going there. She pushed back a little from the desk, unnerved by Robert’s intensity. “I think Mr. Jones is expecting you,” she said in a lame attempt to distract him.

Too bad it didn't work.

“My father’s an ass, but you’re good at this job. Tell me that you’re not just jumping into the first thing you can find so you don’t have to put up with him anymore.”

She realized she was biting down on the inside of her lip and stopped. Self-doubt was not helpful at this point.

“Janelle –” His voice had softened. “You’re leaving for something better, right?”

Literate Solutions seemed perfect for her. And she’d been looking forward to tomorrow’s interview so much...until Robert had walked in and started questioning her. And having him so close was making her feel dull and confused because she didn't want to have to say goodbye to him.

Think of the future. She straightened in her chair and met his concerned gaze. “The job I applied for is one I really like. I think it will be a good fit for me, and I like the company’s attitude toward their consumer base.”

And like that, his concern was gone. Happy, smiling Robert was back. “Good. I’ll drop in on the old man then.”

It wasn't until the office door closed behind him that she was able to let out a shaky exhalation and try to refocus on her final tasks. She erased the repetitions of “please” Robert had pointed out in her email, but as she finished it and clicked send, all she could think about was Robert Jones and his strange reaction to her news.

Out of the frying pan...

The great news? First round of copy edits are done!

The process wasn't as intimidating as I'd expected once I finally buckled down and did it, but I can understand the trepidation that comes when work is being edited. The top three bits of advice I learned from editing would be:


1. Accept that it's a potential blow to the ego - I'm not one of these people (I've accepted I'm one of those annoying people who shrugs and says, "Duh," when someone points out I'm not perfect), but when I first opened the editing document, my DH looked at it and joked that it would be hard for him to accept all those changes. Translation: I had a lot of red marks on my paper. My DH said this mostly from contrariness (one of his many talents), but it brings up a good point. 

We all want to be good writers, and we live in a culture that expects perfection the first time. If you don't achieve that, become a published best-selling author after working at it for two months and wowing your friends and relatives and perfect strangers with your witty prose, it leaves only two options: either you're deficient, or it's not your fault, which is the excuse I hear used most in today's world. To end the potential discussion on this point, let's just say it is your fault and it's high time you sucked it up and dealt with it.

Now that we're back on topic, realize that getting back a marked-up manuscript you slaved over, spent hours polishing, and was positive was perfect has the potential to let your annoying and overly involved inner-editor to say "I told you so." And then you listen to her because she must have been right. And then you never write another story again. Ever. Don't let the inner-editor win. And if you do, it's your fault.


2. Take your time - So, you plan to spend four hours going through all the edits and approving them. I mean, you wrote the damn book in a flurry of NaNo inspired creativity over the course of 30 days, right? And now that it's finished you can sit down and read it on your computer screen in, like, an hour, right? So, going through edits should be a breeze...

Yeah, that's bullshit.

Plan that for every minute you spend dreaming of the moment you see your book in print, you're going to spend at least an hour editing before the book reaches that stage of transcendent bliss. And no, I'm not overexaggerating. 

You'll sit in front of your copy edits and plan to work on them. Genuinely devote yourself to it. And an hour in, your stomach will growl, so you'll get some food, but you can't edit while you eat, so you get onto Pinterest or Facebook or email or God only knows what else so you can amuse yourself while you eat (quickly, of course), but then something else will catch your attention, so an hour later you'll discover you're researching whether raccoons could mate with macaw parrots and breed little macaroons...

You see how it begins?

Sit your butt in the chair. Edit. Get up. Stretch for one minute. For every minute over one minute, dock yourself ten M&Ms from the ever-present chocolate snacking bowl and watch how quickly you'll return to that chair. 


3. Make sure you have a comfy chair - Just teasing...


The real #3. Trust your editor - He or she is there to make your work be the best it can. It may hurt to change some things or adjust your eloquently repetitive wordiness...ness, but it's worth it in the end when you realize that they cut in half the number of times you used the same stinking word and never caught it. 

And it's awesome when you have a comment where your editor tells you, "Not everyone would know what CoD is. I’m a gamer but let’s use the full name here." I mean, with a comment like that, can life really get any better?

Nope. At least not until Round 2 of edits hits my email.

Lace & Lead

Chapter 1: Welcome to the Firefight

“Keep your head down!”

Emmaline Gregson immediately followed the barked command, ducking down behind the low stone wall that surrounded the garden. The next shot grazed the top of the wall where her head had been a half a second earlier. Her heart was hammering, her palms sweaty, and she wasn't positive she wouldn't lose her lunch completely as the exchange of gunfire rang out through the crisp morning air. “Wh-what should we do?”

“Well, honey, at this point I’d be pretty damn pleased about not dying!”

At the presumptuous endearment, Emmaline gritted her teeth and reminded herself that her father had spent a lot of money to ensure Peirce Taggart protected her. So she couldn't kill him.

Instead she shot him a glare. Too bad the bullet-jockey was busy returning fire and didn't even give her a sideways glance. Even now, with her life at risk, shots hammering the stone wall at her back, she couldn't completely escape the fact that he was the best looking man she’d ever seen.

She’d been smitten since Taggart had waltzed into her comfortable ancestral summer home two weeks ago, all confident swagger and heady sexuality, carrying his security orders from her father. A former corporal, he still moved with the restrictive grace of an ex-Lawman despite his broad shoulders and strong thighs. His blonde hair remained buzzed, although he’d relaxed his training enough to allow the most interesting shadow of stubble grace his strong jaw and chiseled lips. Even now, face smudged with dirt, blood rising up where he’d been hit by the spray of rock shrapnel, she couldn't look away from the intent focus in those blue eyes, even when they were narrowed and focused on the unseen enemy. He’d be the perfect man to help her solve her little problem, if not for -

“What the fuck are you doing sitting there?” he yelled at her as he ducked down behind the wall to reload. “I told you to get to the fucking house!”

If not for his filthy mouth.

If you're like me and need some visual cues for this story, check out my Pinterest board for it.