HEART GIFT

~Beth Hill~

Jeffrey stood in front of her house, stretching his neck to see over the freshly painted fence.

She was in there. Belinda. Belinda Allison Palmer.

He knew, because he’d followed her home. From half a block behind and on the other side of the street. He’d watched her skip with Patty. Watched as she played with Mrs. Tenney’s Golden Retriever. Thor had tumbled in the high grass while Belinda laughed and laughed.

And sparkled.

Her hair sparkled in the bright sunshine, so shiny that Jeffrey wanted to close his eyes, but didn’t. No, he liked that sparkle and shine. It made him feel sparkly himself, on the inside. He’d never felt sparkly before.

Belinda’s wrist sparkled too. Jeffrey grinned, knowing he’d made that happen, given Belinda a sparkly wrist. Well…given her a bracelet. She’d put it on and shown it to everyone at school, including the principal.

TJ had laughed at him, called him a sissy girl lover. Jeffrey’d wanted to hit him. But Belinda had pulled him away and pressed her lips to his ear. She’d whispered thank you so softly that Jeffrey had to screw his eyes closed to hear. With closed eyes, he’d still seen her face, soft and pretty. He could trace the pattern of freckles on her cheeks. And he knew that her eyes were just as sparkly as the fake—no, faux, Mom called them faux—diamonds that circled her wrist. Something inside Belinda brightened everything around her. And Jeffrey wanted that bright heat on him. ’Cause when Belinda looked at someone that way she had, fire shooting from her eyes, then that person would never be plain and normal. No, he would be alive and full of fizz. And strong. Jeffrey was strong when Belinda smiled at him.

Jeffrey leaned into the fence. He’d followed her home to see if she’d take the bracelet off or play with it or throw it away or…

Mrs. Palmer came out with Belinda, hugging her. The two of them sat on the porch swing—it squeaked as they rocked. He scooched down to peek through the fence slats.

She was twisting her arm around, showing off his present! Jeffrey’s chest relaxed, his smile growing wide. Her mom liked it. But more importantly, Belinda liked it. Enough to show her mom. Enough to wear it home. Enough to be excited about a gift one of her friends had called silly.

He didn’t care about her friend or TJ or anyone else. He’d found a way to get Belinda to smile at him that sparkly way. And he planned to make her smile every day.

Forever.

Jeffrey popped up when he heard the door slam. Mrs. Palmer was gone, and Belinda’s hand was on the screen door. She was looking down, away from the sidewalk where Jeffrey stood. He pushed himself higher. What was she doing? She lifted her eyes without warning, meeting his. Then she smiled. And Jeffrey lost his heart.

#

“Hey, Bel? Where’s that bracelet I got you when we were in elementary school? You used to keep it in some old box. What happened to it?”

Belinda straightened from her contortions under the kitchen table and settled her butt on the floor. Why did that man insist on asking questions when she was screwed into the most awkward positions? Scrubbing bubblegum off the underside of the table—ask a question. Head poked up the chimney, arguing with the flue—ask a question. Riding him like a cowgirl on an annual rodeo—ask her a dozen questions!

She pulled on his leg to help herself stand. And then stared into his eyes. Those beautiful, get-lost-forever-in-them eyes. Hell, she didn’t know why he always bugged her when she was busy, but she certainly knew why she put up with it. It was those eyes. And the mouth. The mouth that made promises that both his body and his love had carried through on.

She shivered. The kids were with Mom tonight. They had the entire house—two stories and basement—to play in. And when Jeffrey was in the mood to play, she had a whole lotta fun. She wondered what he’d planned. But unlike him, she didn’t ask. She’d rather be surprised. She felt a tightening in her chest when she thought about the surprise she’d arranged for him. What if he didn’t like it?

Belinda jumped when he pinched her nearly numb butt. “You listening to me, Belinda?”

“Um… Thinking. I know I had it… Last year. I’m not sure…”
“Honey, did you let Jenny play with it? She could’ve broken or lost it. Damn, Bel, you know there are things the kids shouldn’t get into. What were you thinking?”

Thinking she was getting her daughter into trouble for no reason. What had she been thinking? Jeffrey was sentimental. That bracelet tied them in a way she had never been able to understand. Three strands of glittering beads, repaired half a dozen times, spoke love and commitment and something soul-deep for Jeffrey. As if they were a testament to their devotion.

She wiped away his frown with a caress. No, her surprise couldn’t wait for candlelight and a sexy dress, soft music and perfume.

“Sit.” She pushed him onto one of the kitchen chairs.

“It’s okay, Bel. I wasn’t mad. It’s just—”

“Hush. My turn.” She watched him, one eyebrow lifted. He covered his mouth and slumped into the chair.

Belinda stepped through the maze that was the kitchen floor—Legos and dump trucks and candy wrappers. She sighed. This was certainly not the most romantic Valentine’s Day, no matter how diligently she’d planned.

She reached into the cabinet that held her cookbooks, recipe boxes, and baking supplies. Pulled out an old, tin box. She returned to Jeffrey, knowing he’d watched her. She’d have to reward him for not asking what she was up to.

“I know how you feel about the bracelet.” She sank to her knees, resting one palm on his leg. “How it says love for you. And because that love has always been so deep and safe and freeing, I wanted to share it.” She felt his thigh jump under her hand. “Not give it away. Share. With those created by that love.”

She lifted the tin to his lap and opened it. She drew out the three velvet pouches that had been stuffed within.

“I had the bracelet taken apart—so each of them would have part of the original. And I asked the jeweler to make three identical bracelets based on that first one. For the kids, Jeffrey.” She looked up at him, throat tight, hands shaking. Would he understand what she’d done? Or think she’d destroyed something precious? “One for Jenny, so she’d know the love her parents had, and when she’s older, the passion as well.” She rose higher, gripping his knees. “And one each for the boys. So that maybe one day they’ll give a girl a gift, a gift that tells her how very cherished she is by a special boy.” Her throat closed up. “I’m so sorry. I wanted to show our children love, and instead I’ve ruined your favorite memory.” Hot tears blurred her vision.

Jeffrey yanked Belinda closer, lifting her until her head was nestled next to his heart.

“God, Belinda, you show them that every day. We show them love. It’s in your hands when you soothe them and when you caress me. It’s in your voice when you correct their mistakes.” He tightened his arms. “It’s in your eyes, when they sparkle. God, honey, when they sparkle with life and joy and that thing that makes you… My heart. My life.” He cradled her face, stared into her eyes. “You are love in every movement you make, every word you speak.” He kissed her once softly and then with passion. When they finally broke the kiss, he rested his forehead against hers.

“I’m overwhelmed by what you’ve done with the bracelet. It’s a symbol, a powerful symbol, but it’s not our love. We haven’t broken that apart. You’ve only made it stronger.”

He slid her off his lap before standing himself.

“Wait here.”

He stepped down the hall and into the garage. When he returned, he carried a jeweler’s box. “I should have done this long ago. You are worth so much more than shiny beads and string.” He eased open the box. “More than diamonds too, but I wanted—”

Belinda threw herself at him and wrapped her arms around his neck.

There, highlighted on a bed of black velvet, sat a triple-strand bracelet of diamonds and sapphires.

“They’re sparkly.” She twisted until she could see the box and then reached out a shaking hand. “They’re so sparkly.”

“I told the guy I needed something that shined as bright as my wife.” He grinned. “This was the best he could do.”

And that was all right. Because what could ever match the brilliance of their love?

Or the fire of their hearts?

Beth is an editor and a fiction writer (contemporary romance and medieval adventure). Her undergraduate degree is in psychology, her MBA in human resources. Beth trained as a flight attendant; worked in dinner theatre; managed a dance studio, a framing store, and multitudes of volunteers as a church administrator. These experiences, as well as many others, have given her a broad base for both her editing and her own writing.
Beth Hill writes fiction and loves words. She thinks that being a writer is the most satisfying and best job, hobby, career, and/or addiction one can pursue.

You can reach Beth at her website, A Novel Edit or her blog, The Editor's Blog

The Place Between

~Kat Sheridan~

This is a copy of a poster I own by Howard Johnson

Love is found in the margins. In the places between. At the edge of the river between earth and water. The place where green meadow surrenders to regal forest. In the gloaming, between the brilliance of day and the exhilaration of night.

Such were Darius’s thoughts as he sat on the Old Stone, at the edge of Malgren forest, on the banks of the Zoran River, as the sun hovered, no more than a rosy hue on the horizon. In these moments, love lived.


Darius of the Fang and Carillon of the Fae. They should never have met.

The Fang—the vampyres—creatures of dark and moonlight and unbridled lust.

The Fae. Beings of golden light. Of joy. Creatures of passion.

Fang and Fae. Ice and Fire. And never the twain…Darius laughed. He and Carillon. The unlikeliest couple on the planet. Even now, the memory of their first meeting brought a smile to his face and joy to his heart.

Sleepless, he had begun the night early, prowling in the shadows, waiting for the release of full dark. Restless, she had chased the day late, reluctant to let the sun go. They had come upon one another in this place, in the sunset hour. Each had been surprised and intrigued by a creature so different from themselves. They had met again the next dawn. And at dusk. And dawn again. Lust and passion had collided. A gift—a once in a millennium gift—bestowed by Valentine.

And now Darius waited in the twilight. Waited for those moments—that glorious, silver hour—when he and Carillon could be joined. For a thousand dawns and dusks they had come together in this place between. Valentine himself, that wily priest, had blessed their strange union, but with a caveat.

“My children,” he had said when they’d sought him out. “Should you wish to be together always, each of you must be willing to live in the other’s world. You, Carillon, for a night. And you, Darius, for a day.”

“But my kind withers and dies in the dark,” Carillon had said, a tear marring her rose-petal cheek. “When night falls I must be safely in the Fairy Hall, surrounded by the glow of light and fire and heat. The Fae cannot survive in the dark and cold.”

“And you, Darius?” Valentine asked. “Would you dwell in the light with Carillon?”

“I cannot, sir. You know that. My people have no tolerance for anything stronger than moonlight. I would die in her heat.”

The old man had shaken his head sadly, then clasped his hands over his round belly and sighed. “Here, then, is all I can do for you,” he said. “For a thousand dawns, and a thousand dusks, you may meet here in the place between. For one hour only, the sun will stand and the moon remain motionless. For that hour you may be together. At the end of the thousand days, if neither of you chooses to live in the other’s world, you must part and come together no more.”

The old man had smiled at them, at the same time admonishing them gently. “Much can be moved in heaven and on earth by the power of love, but time will not stand still forever.”

Tonight would mark the end of their allotted time.

Of late, Darius had noticed the strain writ on Carillon’s sweet face—the shadows that matched the lavender hue of the setting sun, etched beneath her verdant eyes. She’d likely seen the same on him. The pale skin and ebony eyes were normal; the deep grooves bracketing his sensuous red lips and the needle-straight mark between his narrow black brows were new.

She raced across the meadow toward him, gossamer blue gown and iridescent wings floating in the soft summer breeze. He rose to meet her, arms outstretched in welcome, his own black wings held in abeyance so as not to frighten her, though she’d long since ceased to be afraid.

Their lovemaking was fast and fierce and desperate. When at last they drew apart, the sun’s last rays shimmered on the horizon.

”Go now, love.” Darius pulled Carillon into the last sliver of light. He was not ashamed of the tears coursing down his cheeks. “Know that I will love you always.”

She drew back, shocking him. “No, Darius. No. Tonight I will stay with you.”

There was no time to argue. The sun slipped away and with it, Carillon’s last hope. There was no point in berating this soft, golden creature. Her courage shamed him. She’d done this for him. For love of him. He enfolded her in his great black wings and drew her down to sit with him on the grass, no longer green, but gray in the rising moonlight.

“You know I can make you one of my people,” he said. “You would live forever, beside me. You don’t have to die, Carillon.”

She smiled at him sadly, already shivering with cold. “I would not be happy in the dark, Darius. I would die for want of light and the colors of the day. No.” She shook her head. “Better to die here with you—with my memories untarnished with loss and longing.”

They spoke little after that. What could be said at a time such as this? He held her through that long night. He kissed her brow as it grew colder under his lips, murmured endearments in her ear; he watched the roses turn ashen in her cheeks and felt the strength and life ebbing away.

“Hold on, Carillon. Hold on, my love. It’s nearly dawn.” But in that darkest part of the night, just before the sun cast its first rays into the new day, Carillon away slipped into that final sleep. He held her still body close—and wept.

Fury tore through him with hurricane force. He stood, with Carillon in his arms, and strode toward the light, cursing the gods and the cruel priest who had granted them so little time.

“Damn you, Eros! And damn you, Venus! And thrice damnation to you, Valentine!”


He dropped to his knees in Carillon’s meadow and placed her gently on the ground. He would not keep her in darkness—in the everlasting night to which he’d been cursed. She would have light and warmth on her body. He would stay by her. What difference did it make now?

The sun rose higher in the sky. He shielded his eyes with his wings, but the heat seared through them. A thousand fires ignited under his skin. Was this what Carillon had endured with barely a murmur? This pain? He lowered his wings and bared his face to the sun. So these were the colors his beloved had adored so much. Such vivid hues; his eyes burned with them. Life seeped from his body, until he had no choice. He curled up on the ground next to Carillon, wrapped himself around her, and gave himself over to death. His last prayer was that Valentine would take pity on them and bury them together in the place between.

The sound of singing woke him. The gloaming had come again; the sun, a bare sliver, hung low on the horizon. He gasped, a drowning man who’d found air. He surged up, but a soft hand stopped him.

“Go slow, love. It takes a bit of getting used to.” Carillon. He spun toward the voice. Carillon?

She smiled at him, then nodded at the man standing beside her. Valentine, his face lit with a beatific smile.

“The gods are celebrating this day,” he said, “and all the stars in heaven are dancing. True love, that most precious, most wonderful, most inexplicable of gifts, is always rewarded, given time—and faith. Each of you showed yourselves willing to give everything—even your lives—to be with one another.” He stretched out his arms to the dark and to the light and to the place between. “All this now is yours. Darius, you will find much joy in the light and heat of Carillon’s love. And Carillon, you will discover the pleasures to be found in the quiet cool of the night.”

And so it was. They built their home at the edge of Malgren forest, on the banks of the Zoran River, and taught their children to clamber to the top of the Old Stone and embrace the whole of night and day.

A plaque—painted by Darius and embellished by Carillon—hung over their bed. It read, “To those who will risk all, everlasting love is the reward.”

~*~*~*~

Kat Sheridan, former project manager and business analyst, used to write specifications for new software. The powers-that-be believed these were detailed descriptions of software that would actually be produced. The computer programmers, however, considered them to be hilarious works of speculative fiction. This turn of events inspired Kat to try her hand at intentionally writing fiction (it also inspired an as-yet-to-be-realized plan to send all computer programmers on a deep-space mission to the planet Xorg).

Although she has a reputation for being a hard-bitten, whip-cracking corporate type, her brash exterior hides a secret romantic, known to wear glitter-pink nail polish under her combat boots (when she bothers wearing shoes at all). She is equally fond of bourbon and tiaras.

Kat spends summers in the north, and winters in the south. No matter where her body is, Kat’s brain can more often be found meandering through shadowy moonlit gardens and dark, haunted halls, plotting historical romances that include forbidding castles, menacing villains, and heartthrob heroes. She imagines a world where men are men, and courageous, spirited women can conquer even the toughest of them with a sultry glance, a passionate kiss, and a few well-chosen words!

After all, Kat does write fiction.

 

Monday's Musings: My Exciting Life (Snork!)

Being snowed in there isn’t a lot of exciting things going on in my life. Well, I suppose a blizzard falls into excitement category. Sort of. My husband went to work last Monday and was unable to get in again until Friday. It wasn’t like he didn’t try, but side roads aren’t a priority here. However, due to the volume of ice—4inches of the stuff, followed by 7 inches of snow—even the interstate (three miles of hell from our house) was in bad shape. He got about 6 miles from the house on the interstate missed being hit by a driver going too fast and not able to stop, and said screw this and turned around and came home. We were able to shovel the snow away but the ice was impossible to shovel on our driveway without the use of a jackhammer.

We were more than prepared for outages and no water. We had about 150 gallons of water set aside in the house. Sounds like a lot but I also have 3 horses, 3 outside Great Danes, and a rescue chow/lab mix, as well as 4 outside cats, so water is vital. Dogs all have insulated oak houses with plenty of hay bedding so they’re warm and toasty. Horses have a humongous barn to go into if they need shelter, although they rarely use it—they did during the blizzard.

We also have enough lanterns, lamps, and fuel to start a second hand shop not to mention long burning candles by dozens. We are fortunate to have three sources of heat for our house, central heating (which requires electricity to ignite), a big propane wall heater which operates whether we have electricity or not, and a cast iron wood stove which can double for cooking. I think we’ve use it all of two times. We have a very nice propane camp stove and a grill outside. I’ll take the camp stove, thank you. We take being prepared very seriously.

But we didn’t lose power. The linemen have been out daily the week before, cutting limbs, checking lines. The day before the storm, they were on our road finishing up a couple of pole/line replacements.

We live 7 miles from the nearest town—a mere flyspeck on the map but it does have a grocery store, two Dollar type stores, a couple of banks and diners, and about 3000 population and that's probably counting pets, lol! Our *big* town of 14, 000 is a little over 30 miles away. Our property is a mile down a gravel county road. It never sees a plow unless my neighbor hauls out his big combine styled tractor and clears it from his house (a mile away from us) to the paved road. He does that so he and his wife can get out if they need to.

Friday was sunny and clear. Really beautiful. We needed some supplies from the store after a week of being snowbound and another snowstorm due in Friday night (we got 7 inches of new snow). I needed to get out and see real people who weren’t on TV or my husband.

It was my first excursion outside my property driving a car. The car handled the 4 inches of packed sheet ice our little mile long section county road pretty good. Driver was only moderately white knuckled. The paved road was worse than my county road. Who would have thought that possible? I only had to traverse .4 miles of that and my car showed me how well it could shimmy. Yah, I zipped along going 15mph. Maybe. Then I was able to turn on a road that is usually plowed. It was better but still had lots of patches of ice, but at least I could see blacktop. Funny, I never paid attention to how hilly it was until Friday when I had to worry about,  a) not going off the road, b) getting up the next hill.

That road is only .9 of a mile long and it felt like ten. I was never so glad to see the stop sign and clear road. The two-lane interstate? Clear as a bell and dry. If I hadn't just snail-paced my way through 2.1 miles of rutted slushy, sheet iced yuck I would never have guessed how bad the side roads were.

Town roads were better. I did my banking and went to the grocery store, which at least had been sand & salted so it was mostly slush with patches of ice. It was nice to be out in the bright sunlight and I rode around a bit in town after shopping. The ugly clouds boiling up on the horizon made me realize the storm was imminent so I reluctantly headed home.

Return trip wasn't nearly as bad except the last 1.4 miles. Oh, and barely getting up my driveway. That took two tries and angling the car just right. By that time the clouds had caught up with me and most of the sunshine was gone. I did have time to feed and water the animals before the snow hit.

I lead such an exciting life.


So how have things been with you?

~*~*~*~

I’ll be posting a few reviews on some really good books I’ve read lately from Elaine Coffman, Linda Wisdom, and Olivia Cunning. I’ve also gotten the latest books by Judi Fennell (squeeee) and Stephanie Rowe. So long as I have good books to read let it snow—which it will be doing off and on the next 3 days or so.


Some upcoming guests on Over Coffee: I have a couple of Valentine Short stories this week and Deborah Cootnz, Anjali Banerjee, and Jane Odiwe, to name a few. I have a few more lined up but I’ll tell about those later.

FRIENDSHIP

My guest is debut author, Karen Wasylowski. You may remember reading her holiday story, Lord of Misrule, I featured on Over Coffee. In that story we got a glimpse of a the strong friendship between Darcy and Fitz.

As writers we can only write what we understand, what we've experienced, what we know, and what we feel. For the reader to be touched by what we write it has to ring true. The dynamics of the emotion, situation, or time period.  

I love reading books where there are strong family ties and I love the sense of camaraderie, fussing and arguments, but where the love is solid. Books with strong friendships also appeal to me. In those stories the friends form a family of their own, not by blood, but by love. When the author writes them properly you're brought into their magic circle and are part of them and their adventures. That's the joy of reading a good book.


Today's topic is friendship. It’s a subject dear to my heart because friendship is so important to me. I look my friends as the jewels of my life. My friendships, like my family, have shaped my life—in different ways—but I wouldn’t be the person I am today without them. As a result it will also shape how I write about family and friendships. Karen tells a bit about the friendships that have shaped her life and hence her depiction of her characters, Darcy and Fitz.


My new novel, my only novel, Darcy and Fitzwilliam is about love, family and life- long friendships. Few of us have friends that last that long, that last a lifetime. We make acquaintances over the years and they play their parts in our lives at just the right moment of time then disappear again. Although we may regret their loss, it’s usually momentary, and they are gone from our thoughts quickly. Life long friends are different, they grow with you; their lives help in shaping your own. You may not agree all the time, you may not even like them occasionally, but they are as important to your being as breathing. I am very lucky. I have three life long friends; three women that I have known for decades, since my early childhood.

One such friend is Judy. We went to grammar school together, and although she is a few years older, she was placed in our class as an experiment in teaching the handicapped. She has been blind since birth. Each day the sister would ask someone to volunteer to take Judy to lunch and each day everyone would grumble because Judy walked slowly, she needed help with her food, her eyes looked funny. Many days I would volunteer; I felt so sorry for her standing there with her head bowed and her cheeks red with embarrassment. I wasn’t that kind every day, but many days I was. I learned a lot from Judy. I learned that people who looked different were just like you and me they just looked different. I learned that disabilities often could be overcome with greater abilities in other areas. She could play piano like an angel and we shared a love of music. Judy lives on her own, gripes about snow, taxes and her hair and gets mad at me for not liking the same books as she does. I get aggravated with her then often we gossip and always we laugh.

Another close friend from childhood is Fay. She moved next door to us when I was seven years old and she was nine and I remember her mother calling as we played in my yard and asking if Fay could join us. We got along great right from the start, but there were outside problems. Her family was the first Jewish family in our neighborhood and apparently that offended somehow. I could never understand why their religion mattered. Fay was my dear friend, our parents were friends, and it was warm and nice. A few neighbors were very angry with that. They wrote ugly words on our garage door that my mother wouldn’t let me see. She also would not let Fay’s mom have someone paint over. She said, “It’s just the truth, Dorothy. I do love you; and, you are a Jew. I’m proud of it, of our friendship – let it stay.” Some few days later the words mysteriously disappeared but the friendships remained, between my mom and Mrs. C, and between Fay and me. She encouraged my love of reading, my drive for learning, and gave me my first book. We complain about husbands, work and rotten movies. She’s hilarious.

My third friend from childhood is Diane; we met in kindergarten. She is my closest friend but I could never explain to you why she stands out from the rest. She and I always seemed to compete, we liked the same boys, we fought, we laughed, and we talked for hours on the phone (still do). Our friendship broke up over a guy. We didn’t speak to each other for at least twenty years – just drifted apart until about ten years ago when some mutual acquaintance gave Diane my number and she called. It was amazing; no time had gone by at all. I felt the same strong connection to her, the same bond - as if we had been living next door to each other since the beginning of time. Her life during those twenty years was very hard with divorce and sickness. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for her then, but I am now. Diane and I relate on a whole different level. I love her now and will forever.

Friendship is not something any of us can arrange, it just happens deep within. It is an accidental connection that grabs you and stays with you, whether together or apart, whether related to each other or from different cultures and religions. It is a miracle.

I am lucky. I have had three good friends.

• Readers: How have friendships shaped your life?
• Writers: How have your friendships in life affected your writing?

~*~*~*~

DARCY AND FITZWILLIAM: A Tale of An Officer and a Gentleman



A gentleman in love cannot survive without his best friend...

Fitzwilliam Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam couldn't be more different, and that goes for the way each one woos and pursues the woman of his dreams. Darcy is quiet and reserved, careful and dutiful, and his qualms and hesitations are going to torpedo his courtship of Elizabeth. His affable and vivacious cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam is a military hero whose devil-may-care personality hides the torments within, until he finds himself in a passionate, whirlwind affair with a beautiful widow who won't hear of his honorable intentions.

Cousins, best friends, and sparring partners, Darcy and Fitzwilliam have always been there for each other. So it's no surprise when the only one who can help Darcy fix his botched marriage proposals is Fitzwilliam, and the only one who can pull Fitzwilliam out of an increasingly dangerous entanglement is Darcy... Book Trailer (near the bottom)

A Truly original look into the life of Mr. Darcy and his cousin... This is Mr. Darcy as you've never seen him before, relaxed and at ease with the one person who knows him even better than he knows himself. A look into the private friendship of one of literature's most underappreciated pairs in a fascinating and historically accurate look at male friendship and fellowship in the Regency era.

Buy: Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Books.a.Million, Indiebound 

~*~*~*~

Karen Wasylowski is a retired CPA. She and her husband spend their free time volunteering with charitable organizations that assist the poor. They also are actively involved with Project Light of Manatee, providing literacy instruction to immigrants and to members of the community. Karen and her husband live in Bradenton, Florida. Her debut, Darcy And Fitzwilliam, will be released February 1, 2011 by Sourcebooks.

You can find out more about Karen and her writing on her website.

You can also fined her at the Austen Blog, Facebook






Writing on Stage

My guest is Isabel Sharpe. She writes both romances for HarlequinBlaze and women’s fiction for Harper/Collins.

Her topic is an interesting one for a romance author. We many times assume that romance authors are writing happy, sexy romances from happy experience—and sometimes they are. But how do you write romantic comedy when your life is anything but romantic or funny? A good question and one that Isabel addresses.

Imagine you are writing a romantic comedy. Light, funny, a farcical romp. Now imagine that while you’re writing it, you’re going through a separation and divorce, and that a few weeks before your deadline, the date September 11, 2001 rolls around.

Light! Funny! Romp-y!

Now imagine you’re writing again, years later (with many books in between), a sexy, sassy and very hot read (I have affectionately nicknamed these boinkathons). You’re nearly at the end, when the supposed-to-be love-of-your-life you waited too many lonely years to meet, dumps you. You are a bawling miserable snotty mess of a person.

Sexy! Sassy! Hot Hot Hot!

It can be incredibly hard to push away life’s pain and concentrate on the page. So hard to write “I will love you forever” when you’re thinking, “Yeah, good luck with that.” Because for all our optimism about love, we romance authors are real people living real lives which sometimes dump on us hard truths that would never make it into our books.

So how do you keep on? You take on those characters like a professional actor takes on a role, you become them and you make writing a performance that isn’t about you. Actors create backstories, do their research, and come to inhabit their characters the same way writers do. And while an audience pays money to see an actor pretend to be someone else, a reader buys your book not to hear your story, but that of your characters. You owe them the same genuine intensity of experience.

So you blow your nose, turn all mirrors to the wall, sip hot tea for comfort, then leave yourself and your moods and become whoever it is you’re writing about. I would love someday to mount a camera on top of my monitor to record my facial expressions during particularly intense scenes. I bet it’s a hoot (and maybe a little frightening.)

If you’re wondering how I did, the second book I refer to above is the third book in an online dating trilogy (Dating E-Males) called Hot to the Touch, out in June 2011 from Harlequin Blaze. The first two books are Turn up the Heat, out this month, and Long, Slow Burn, out in April. Hope you enjoy them!

Turn Up The Heat


Vibrant and multifaceted party organizer Candy Graham is looking to forget her dating past, even if it means joining a dating website. But creating four different e-profiles to suit her personality could land Candy in hot water…or better yet, in the arms of her scorchin'-hot neighbor!


Journalist Justin Case suspects he has the scoop of a lifetime—women hired to lure men into online dating. Could Candy be part of some kind of e-romance scam? But try as he might, even he can't resist the temptation of sexy, sweet Candy…and one taste is definitely not enough! Excerpt

Buy: Amazon, Borders, Barnes and Noble, eHarlequin

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Isabel Sharpe was not born pen in hand like so many of her fellow authors. After she quit work in 1994 to stay home with her first-born son and nearly went out of her mind, she started writing. Yes, she was the clich'd bored housewife writing romance, but it was either that clich' or seduce the mailman, and her mailman was unattractive. After more than twenty novels for Harlequin, and the exciting new direction of women-focused stories for Avon/HarperCollins, Isabel admits her new mailman is gorgeous, but she's still happy with her choice.
 
You can find Isabel on Facebook and on her Website

 

Monday Musings: Cabin Fever

My sense of ridiculous is easily amused these days. I’m basically stuck indoors. I can’t watch the antics of puppies—don’t have any—which is a good thing considering the weather. No teen angst to filter since he’s elsewhere and can’t amuse me with silly tales of tragedy and comedy, otherwise known as his friend’s life choices. Shame I don’t write YA. I have enough plots to write a library of books.

And I thought adults had screwed up love lives.


I’m reduced to finding my amusements elsewhere. Today it was sorting through my junk mail folder. Aside from half the African continent sending me emails starting with the words Dearest, can I trust you (you’re kidding, right?) or Urgent response needed in a business matter (which I take to mean rapid delete), I have people confused with regard to my gender. I mean, really, you’re a new woman in town and lonely and want to chat with a hot guy like me… about life (read sex here). Last time I checked my email wasn’t listed with any sites as a hot guy looking for an easy chick. No way the picture of me looks anything like a hot guy. At least the African continent has done their research and knows I’m a woman.

Then there is the whole confusion about Viagra. I really have the wrong equipment to be flaccid and I don’t need directions for personal Viagra usage. The closest I’m going to get to rock hard is when I hold the next Olivia Cunning book in my hands.


I need a fresh source of amusement or Spring.

With a foot of snow expected starting Monday afternoon, Spring feels like it's even further away. Sigh.




So, what’s been amusing you of late?

Upcoming guests and events:

Isabel Sharpe--Turn Up The Heat, Karen Wayslowski, Darcy and Fitzwilliam.

I will be running Valentine short stories and I have some good ones, check back.

Nourishing Our Own Love Story

My guest is bestselling author, Syrie James. After a successful career as a screenwriter, Syrie decided to follow her passion and write books. She writes both contemporary and historical fiction.

We all lead such busy lives today whether we work outside the home or not. Juggling family, work, writing, and time with our spouse isn't easy. How do we keep it fresh and the romance alive?

Syrie offers some suggestions she's utilized in her long marriage.

I have love on the brain. All the books I write are love stories, and there's a reason for it: I love writing about love. I know many of you share that same passion. But with Valentine's Day coming up, I'm reminded that the characters in our books shouldn't be the only ones experiencing romance and passion in their lives. We authors have to care for and nourish our own love stories and keep them alive and flourishing in the real world.

I know, I know. It's not easy to keep romance going when you're writing around the clock, doing Q&As and blogs to promote your new book, finishing the polish draft of your next book, updating your website, and sending out a reader newsletter—while at the same time juggling personal and family events. (That's a description of the last two months of my life.) Is there time for love and romance in this madness? There has to be! You must make time for it.

One of my favorite quotes is "Grow old along with me; the best is yet to be." (Robert Browning.) This perfectly describes my marriage. My husband Bill and I met in college when I was 19 years old and became engaged 3 weeks later. The attraction was so instantaneous and intense that I couldn't imagine living another day without him. I took 26 units my last quarter so I could graduate early (I know, insane), which lowered my perfect 4.0 GPA to something less because with all those classes, the best I could manage was B's. I didn't care; I was insanely happy; I was getting married to the love of my life!

I left behind friends and family to begin a new life with Bill in southern California—a life that was sometimes difficult and complicated but was always nurtured by our mutual love and respect for each other. We (literally) grew up together, navigating the challenges of building careers and a home while raising a family. Every day of the journey has been a great adventure.

I feel blessed that the adventure is still continuing, and gets better every day. My husband and I love each other dearly. We have two talented, terrific sons who recently married lovely young women who we adore, and we are fortunate to have them all living in our same neighborhood. We make time to get together for some kind of family event at least twice a month, sometimes every week. Bill and I just celebrated our 35th anniversary with a special dinner that our kids cooked themselves. With everyone crowded in the kitchen, chatting and teasing, it was an afternoon/evening to remember!

But Bill and I both work very hard, putting in long hours, and are often exhausted at the end of the day. (Sound familiar?) Are we doing all that we can and should to nurture our marriage? I'll say this: we really try!

Here are my suggestions for keeping the romance going in your relationship:
· Say "I love you" to your significant other every single day.
· Call each other in the middle of the day to say hi (even if it's just for two minutes.)
· Say "thank you" when your partner does nice something for you (even if it's just taking out the trash.)
· Find little ways to express your appreciation for each other. (Notes? Flowers? Make his favorite breakfast the night before and have it waiting in the fridge for him?)
· Make time to really talk and listen to each other. (That period of intense, initial communication and discovery between new lovers is something I find thrilling, and I put great emphasis on it in all my novels. I call it "falling in love through conversation." But the conversation has to continue! And I don't mean talking about the bills that are due or the latest problem with the house, the dog, or the kids. Share the ups and downs of your work days. Expose your innermost thoughts, worries, dreams, and frustrations. Discuss the movie you just saw or the book/article you just read. Gossip. Laugh. Flirt. Talking keeps you close.)
· Do something fun together on a regular basis. (What did you love doing when you first met? What activities do wish you had time for today? A movie, concert, or play? Hiking or sailing? Whatever. Just do it!)
· Go out to dinner, just the two of you, at least once a month. (The restaurant doesn't have to be expensive. It's the fun of being together, with someone else cooking and doing the dishes, that counts.)
· Do the grocery shopping together. (Bill and I have done this for 35 years straight. Even in the busiest week in the world, you have to buy groceries. It gives you time to chat while walking down the aisles. Together, you're less likely to forget something. And it's so nice to have a strong masculine companion to lift all those heavy bags into and out of the car!)
· Take at least one vacation a year that's just for the two of you. (One of our favorite vacations is our week at a Timeshare by the beach, where we do nothing but eat, read, play Scrabble, and take long walks by the sea. And with all that quiet and relaxation, there's time for … ahem.)
· Make time for YOU at least once a week. (I'm talking about personal, alone time. Take a bubble bath. Read a good book. Take a walk and appreciate the beauty of nature. When you feel relaxed and rejuvenated, you'll be a better and more responsive partner.)
· Have Date Night once a week. (Take-out dinner in front of the TV with a movie? Dinner for two with that all important time to talk?)
· Take a walk together around the block together at the end of your work day.
· Eat right, get enough sleep, and exercise regularly. (When you feel fit, you feel better about yourselves.)
· Make time for family. (A happy family helps make a happy marriage.)

This isn't a complete list (and I admit I'm a slacker on the "exercise regularly" part) but try it out and see if it works for you as well as it does for us.

What do YOU do to keep the romance going in your marriage? Please share your thoughts, ideas, and comments!


NOCTURNE Blurb


When Nicole Whitcomb's car runs off a Colorado mountain road during a blinding snowstorm, she is saved from death by a handsome, fascinating, and enigmatic stranger. Snowbound with him for days in his beautiful home high in the Rockies, she finds herself powerfully attracted to him. But there are things about him that mystify her, filling her with apprehension. Who is Michael Tyler? Why does he live in such a secluded spot and guard his private life so carefully? What secret—or secrets—is he hiding?

Nicole has secrets of her own and a past she is running from—but Michael understands her better than anyone she has ever known. Soon, she is falling as deeply in love with him as he is with her— a profoundly meaningful experience that is destined to change their lives forever.

As the sexual tension between them builds, however, the clues mount up. When Nicole learns her host's terrifying secret, there is nowhere for her to run but into the blizzard raging outside, and Michael may be the only one who can save her life.
Excerpt
Reviews

Buy: Amazon, Borders, Indiebound

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Syrie James is the critically acclaimed and bestselling author of Nocturne, Dracula, My Love, The Lost Memoirs of Jane Austen (Best First Novel 2008, Library Journal) and The Secret Diaries of Charlotte Brontë (Great Group Read 2009, Women's National Book Association.) Recently hailed by Los Angeles Magazine as "the queen of nineteenth century re-imaginings," Syrie's books have been translated into 15 languages. Syrie's next novel, a YA paranormal romance she co-wrote with her son Ryan, will be published by HarperTeen in early 2012.


Syrie is also a screenwriter, a member of the Writers Guild of America, RWA, and the Jane Austen Society of North America. After a successful career in Hollywood in which she sold nineteen screenplays and teleplays in a variety of genres, Syrie followed her passion and wrote a novel. Syrie was thrilled when The Lost Memoirs of Jane Austen sold at auction after a two-day bidding war to HarperCollins and became a bestseller.

Syrie's name (pronounced "Sear-ee"; rhymes with Dearie) was inspired by a character in a radio show her mother listened to as a little girl. Having no idea how to spell it, her mom made it up. Syrie enjoys writing both contemporary and historical fiction, preferring smart, independent heroines and heroes who are dashing, charismatic, intelligent, well-read, good-hearted, and highly accomplished.

Syrie writes full-time and maintains her own website. When she's not working, her favorite pursuits include spending time with her husband and family, reading, movies, the theater, traveling, great food, board games, photography, and the out of doors. One of her greatest challenges is finding time for all those things—but she's determined to achieve the perfect balance!

Syrie welcomes visitors and messages at her website http://www.syriejames.com/ where you will find TV interviews, reviews, and a list of her books. Follow her on Facebook, on Twitter @Syriejames, and at Nocturnebook.com