We Are on the Move

NN is moving. We are packing up as I type and heading off to our new and improved home.I hope you’ll all join us. We sure would hate to leave anyone behind. You will find the link to the new blog at the bottom of this post. Come by and check it out. It is going to be an amazing adventure and lots of fun. Be sure to sign up as a follower on networked blogs. Don’t miss out. I have another contest coming up this month for halloween. It is going to be a blast! If you can write a scary story then NN is looking for you. More on the contest coming this week. So pop on over and take a stroll through the dark realm of NN but watch out you never know what might be lurking in the night. We are also having a costume contest. WooHoo! This is going to be a fun month. NN plan on celebrating October with all the spookiness we can conjure up. I am a paranormal writer and what would that say about me if I didn’t go all out for All Hallows’ Eve.

Click here to be redirected.

Tabitha Blake

Connie Chastain Interview

1. Why do you write romance?

Basically, because I love men and I write to honor them.  They are absolutely fascinating creatures.  Women and men are similar enough to understand each other’s humanity, but we have differences, too.

Here’s how I conceptualize it. We’ve all seen the astrological symbols for male and female (male, Mars, circle and arrow; female, Venus, circle and cross).

Sometimes you see the circles linked, but I think the depictions of them overlapping, perhaps 75% of the circle, illustrate it best. The area where the circles overlap illustrates how men and women are alike (i.e., the human characteristics we share) and those parts of the circle outside the overlap are how we are different (the sex/gender characteristics we don’t share).

I don’t think we can even understand each other in those areas. But there’s plenty enough commonality within the overlap for us to get along; and the differences, frankly, are what attract us to each other.

2. Are you aware of any themes that run through your stories? If so, what are they?

Several. I didn’t consciously plan it this way, but a theme, or at least an element, that runs through my stories is the difficulty people sometimes have accepting forgiveness/redemption after they have wronged someone. This element plays a crucial role in Southern Man, which I self-published, and Storm Surge, which is currently under consideration by a small publisher in a west coast state.  It also occurs in a couple of my mainstream non-romance WIPs.

Another recurring theme or element is criticism of feminism, or at least, radical feminism and third-wave feminism.  I like voting and being paid what my work is worth, but I am irrevocably opposed to the man-hating aspects of feminism, and the more recent hook-up culture feminism that I believe is so harmful to women. (This is primarily the reason for the “controversial” and “politically incorrect” references in my author logline.)

A third recurring theme or element is the American South, its people (especially its men!), history and culture.  Although I’m a lifelong Southerner, except for a five-year sojourn in the Midwest, I’m as fascinated with my region, its beauties, mysteries and contradictions, as any outsider.

Another element is the role religion, specifically Christianity, plays in my characters’ lives. I don’t write Christian romances–I’ve read a few and found them, um, well, a bit too preachy. (I realize they may not all be like that.) Current pop culture eschews religion, sometimes ridicules it, and worst of all, frequently portrays religious people as bizarre, even monstrous. I personally don’t know any religious people like that, and I frankly resent the portrayal that slanders legions of good, decent people. Regardless of the irreverence in pop culture, religion plays an important role in the lives of real people, though they may not realize it. I try to show how faith manifests in my characters’ lives without in-your-face scripture-quoting and such, so my stories are written with a Christian worldview.

Finally, one of the most fascinating elements, something I love to explore, is reality versus appearance.  How a character’s life/work/family may look to those outside it contrasted with how the character himself experiences it.  As an example, in Southern Man, the protagonist, Troy Stevenson, for all his sexiness and good looks, is perceived by co-workers to be a rather staid, upright religionist married to a straight-laced little Southern Baptist wife, when in fact they have an extremely powerful sexual bond, and a very satisfying, um, innovative sex life.

3. Do you have a specific writing style?

Yeah.  I tell, don’t show, and I head-hop.

Just joking!

My stories are written mostly from the POV of a disembodied, impersonal narrator–but not third person omniscient.  I conceptualize the narrator as a video-camera that shows or tells, whichever does the job best. The camera  floats around and focuses on what it thinks is important for the reader to see/know.  It can zoom out to see a whole room, a whole planet, a whole universe, or zero in on the multicolored flecks in the irises of the hero’s soulful eyes….

The narrator will share POV with one character per scene, but only one; that’s how I avoid head-hopping.  Critiquers sometimes detect POV “slippage” between the narrator and a character, and if it’s too blatant, I’ll address it, but I usually let it go. (I’ve generally found readers to be oblivious to POV issues.)

I try to conform to the simplified writing style advocated by Rudolph Flesch in How to Write, Speak and Think More Effectively.  Short paragraphs, short, mostly simple sentences (in subject, verb, object order) varied with occasional compound and complex sentences.  There’s more to it than that, and there are other schools of simplified writing, but this discipline has done more to make my writing viable than anything else I’ve encountered.

Flesch’s book is out of print, but used copies are available, and I recommend it to any writer.  Fiction writers only need to read the first few chapters.

3.  What inspired you to write your first book?

Southern Man emerged as a prequel to Sweet, Southern Boys, a non-romance about three teenage boys in Georgia, growing up best friends, whose lives are ruined when they’re accused of rape.  That book was a prequel to Little Sister, which was–oh, heck, never mind.  I started writing Little Sister first, but Southern Man was the first one finished and published, so it’s really the first.

It was inspired by a comment made by Reade Seligmann, one of the Duke Lacrosse defendants.  I no longer have the quote, and can’t find it online, but he said something like, when he saw pictures of himself on national TV and heard news reports about what he was accused of, “I can’t tell you what that did to me inside.”

I wanted to tell what it does inside to a good, decent man to be falsely accused of that type of crime.  In Southern Man, the accusation was toned down to sexual harassment because it is set in the early 1980s, when a lot of sexual harassment law and policy was being formulated in the United  States. But the story focuses on the experience of the protagonist, Troy Stevenson–what it did to him inside–and the effects it had on his family.

4.  How much of the book is realistic?

I tried to make all of it realistic; the office politics where Troy works, the viciousness of small-town gossip; the pull and tug of progressivism versus traditionalism.  People might think the adoration of Troy’s wife for him is a bit unrealistic–he acknowledges that her love for him borders on idolatry–but even she has her limits, and her near worship of him does cause emotional problems for her.

The only other element I’m concerned about is the realism of the children in the story. I don’t have kids. I’ve never been around them much, and the portrayal of Troy’s kids really concerned me; but thus far, I’ve received absolutely no feedback that the kids aren’t realistic.

As for the realism of false sexual harassment accusations, as one of my video trailers alludes to, nearly half of the sexual harrassment complaints brought before the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission are dismissed after investigation for “no reasonable cause found.”

5. Are experiences based on someone you know, or events in your own life?

No. Except for the Seligmann quote referred to, the story is based only on recent and current cultural trends in the USA.  None of my stories are based on my own experiences, except incidentally.  For example, in Storm Surge, I draw on my experience in property and casualty insurance claims and living through coastal hurricanes, but I made up the specific events of the story.

6.  What are your current projects?

I’ve just started a paranormal romance with the working title Wrong Turn. It’s about a man who doesn’t believe in crypto-primates (Bigfoot/Sasquatch) until the woman he’s falling in love with is imperiled by them.

The aforementioned Sweet Southern Boys is about three-quarters complete, Little Sister is about a third complete.  The Candidate, a follow-up to Southern Man, is in the planning stages.  None of these are romances but they include romantic elements.

7.  What books have most influenced your life most?

As far as my writing life goes, the earliest books to inspire me were the Nero Wolfe mysteries by the inimitable Rex Stout.  To this day, Archie Goodwin is the only first-person narrator I can abide.  I read The Doorbell Rang when I was about thirteen and at some point after finishing several more of the series, I was thinking in narrative and dialog.

Others include Margaret Mitchell’s Gone With the Wind, Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird, and the Louisiana novels of Frances Parkinson Keyes,

Robin Lee Graham’s Dove. Favorite classics include Lewis Carroll’s Alice In Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass; Madeline L’Engle’s A Wrinkle In Time.

I could go on, but those are representative.

8. Please tell us about your most recent release and where we can purchase it.

Southern Man is about a devoted family man who is targeted with a false sexual harassment complaint by an amoral young woman and her uber-feminist mentor.

Here’s a blurb:

=========

In 1983, in moss-hung Verona, Georgia, the tender and tenacious love between a hardworking man and his adoring wife is tested by sudden adversity.

Corporate executive Troy Stevenson must confront his nascent alcohol abuse or he risks losing the wife, daughter and son he deeply loves. When his latent destructiveness impacts his family, he moves to their weekend cottage to come to grips with his personal weaknesses.

But busybodies at his company assume he left home because his marriage is in trouble. Encouraged by the assumption, co-worker Brooke Emerson, a 1980s material girl romantically obsessed with Troy, attempts to seduce him, setting in motion a chain of events with harrowing consequences for him and his family.

=========

I created a publishing company, Brasstown Books, to bring it to print.  (I enjoyed publishing the book so much, I’d eventually like to do go into that as a sideline and publish other writers’ books and stories, both in print and e-book format.)

Here are links to more information about Southern Man on my website:

Summary:

http://conniechastain.com/sm_summary.html

Excerpt:

http://conniechastain.com/sm_excerpt.html

Videos (yeah, plural; four of ’em, ha!)

http://conniechastain.com/sm_videos.html

Reviews:

http://conniechastain.com/reviews.html

Southern Man is available on Amazon.com in print and Kindle versions, and on Smashwords.

Print:

http://www.amazon.com/Southern-Man-Connie-Chastain/dp/061529801X/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1245882533&sr=1-1

Kindle:

http://www.amazon.com/Southern-Man-ebook/dp/B002Z7G1F4/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&s=digital-text&qid=1259715283&sr=1-2

Smashwords:

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/13733

9. Please give us your urls and your publisher’s url.

My website:

http://conniechastain.com

My blog (not entirely devoted to writing):

http://conniechastain.blogspot.com

My publishing site:

http://brasstownbooks.com

10.  Did you learn anything from writing your book and what was it?

Yes. I learned to tell, not show, and to head-hop!  LOL!

Again, I’m kidding.

What I learned is to not let the “rules” put your creativity in a straight jacket.  There were so many false starts with Southern Man, as I sought to conform to the rules (“Open with a hook,” “Get straight to the action,” “No infodumps!” “Sprinkle the backstory,” “Show, don’t tell,” “No prologues,”) that I sometimes despaired of completing the book. At the very least, I feared it would rob the story of my voice, and in that case, I might as well not finish it.

I learned so much about how to craft a story, and it is valuable knowledge, but what I would share with other writers is, listen to yourself. When all is said and done, agent newsletters, editor blogs, crit groups do not write your story. You do.  And only you, so guard your voice.

It was great having you Connie on NN.

Tabitha

Happy Birthday

Nikki Girl!

Hope you have a wonderful day!

Tabby

Sound Off…I Can’t Hear You!

This is the day you get to sound off. Tell us what happened to you last week, we want the good, the bad and the ugly. Tell us what made you mad, sad, happy, we want to hear it all.  This is where we get to come together and support one another. Anything goes, let it all out.

Happy Reading and Writing.

When night falls passions blaze.

Tabitha Blake

FUN

FUN

This past week on Nocturnal Nights, Cindy, Tabby, Penny, and I had a bit of fun with writing. We each wrote a chapter about getting over writer’s block. Hands down, writing my chapter has been the most fun I have had writing in a long time. I absolutely loved it. We wrote from the heart, didn’t worry about writing rules, just telling a funny story.

            As I was writing my part, I had to make a conscious effort to BREAK the rules, lol. I purposely head hopped, used a lot of dialogue tags, didn’t bother showing or adding much emotion. Like I said, it was a blast—total freedom to just write. I enjoyed it so much, I want to collaborate with Cindy, Penny, and Tabby again, and write another silly adventure.

            This little exercise was exactly what the doctor ordered. I had been bogged down with edits, revisions, etc, etc, for ages. My muse was becoming stale. Day after day I would procrastinate. I’d feel guilty at the end of the day because I got nothing done on my MS. Weeks would pass. Nothing.

            I talked to my friends about it and found out they too were going through the same thing. Each of us had writer’s block for different reasons, but this little muse work out helped us all.

            For those of you who are suffering from writer’s block for whatever reason, I recommend you write a short story, breaking all the rules you can—or feel comfortable with—and just enjoy the feeling of creation again.

Welcome to Tabby’s Nocturnal Nights

I wanted to welcome Sheri Fredricks to the NN family. Please give her a warm welcome. I am so excited to have her blogging with us. Her blog will run every Tuesday. Here is her bio to give you a run down on what she writes and a little about her.

Sheri Fredricks

Forever moving forward to avoid procrastination, I strive for publication. A multi-genre writer, I live on the beautiful central coast of California with my yee-haw cowboy husband and two cowboy kids. My infatuation with writing started back in elementary school, escalating as the years went flying by. If it weren’t for my honey’s encouragement to sit at the computer and write, I would still be dreaming up stories in my head. I am active in two critique groups and a current member of the SCBWI.  My current works are a time-travel romance, fantasy romance, and a few children’s stories. Writing is my habit of activity, and it’s much cheaper than therapy.

I also wanted to say thanks you to Cindy, Brenda and Penny for playing into my misadventure story. I had a blast! It was so much fun forgetting all the rules and just writing. Sometimes I forget why I started writing in the first place. I get so wrapped up in the rules it sucks all the joy out of it. I also wanted to tell our followers that we’ll do another short very soon. Hope you all enjoyed it.  It was so much fun picking at each other.

Happy Reading and Writing,

Tabby

The Wacky Misadventures of Four Romance Writers Run Amuck

WARNING: This post breaks most of the writing rules. Every rule broken was done on purpose.

Chapter Four

Brenda spun around and planted both fists on her hips. “Penny, why are you lollygagging? You’ve been holding us back for an hour.”

“It’s not easy to walk and type. Gimme a minute, I’m almost done.”

“Walk and… what did you sa—”

“Type. I’m working on something really important. I gotta get this done, I’ll just be another minute.” Penny hoped to assure them, but the looks on their faces betrayed nothing but impatience.

She had mumbled something about mother, necessity, and invention, then had proceeded to fasten some kind of contraption to Raef’s back. He wore a shelf for her mini laptop. It stayed in the perfect position to type as they cruised down the forest path. Well, cruise might be the wrong word.

The group had grown to twenty-four plus Cindy’s commandos. Size already hampered their progress on the narrow path. Add to their predicament, Penny’s less than graceful attempt to type and walk simultaneously. They raced along at a crawl. That was the wrong answer when everyone wanted nothing more than to reach THE END.

Everyone stopped to glare at Penny and Raef bringing up the rear of the caravan.

Angels were flapping. Vamps were hissing. Even the commandos, who’d been stealthily patrolling the woods, started to sound distressed. Prima donnas carried on about scuffed shoes that should never have seen the floor of a forest to begin with. Over the din, Cindy’s tummy grumbled.

The crowd broke into laughter. One peek at Cindy’s red face, and tears started to roll. Some did the pee-pee dance. Others bent to clutch their ribs like they would pop out any time.

“Maybe we should feed her,” Tabby laugh-snorted through her words. Then she resumed laughing, because the disease had taken hold of everyone. They couldn’t quit. ‘Cept Cyn.

Cindy crossed her arms over her chest, cocked one hip, and fixed Tabby with a menacing glare. “Like I could have stilled my stomach, Ms. Manners.”

“Whew! … too funny, I almost peed myself.” Brenda lapsed into another fit of laughter. When, at last, she again found an ability to stand upright, she said, “Maybe we should break for dinner.”  She tossed a knowing look at her vamp troupe who were mingling with Tabby’s vamps. “Dinner is in the woods, would you bring some back for us?”

“You bet ya!” Mel led the fang gang into the trees.

Tabby addressed her angels and their admirers. “Honeys, would you be angels and gather some wood for a fire?” She gave a little shudder. “I can’t imagine how vamps drink blood, rare is not even an option on my menu.” The angel clan fluttered off to do her bidding.

The hubbub died down. Cindy, still looking a bit sheepish, dug in her bag. She tossed out a garment here, and a shoe there, until she emerged with a big wad of plastic shopping bags. As she unwrapped her treasure, she said in the tiniest of voices, “I guess I am a little hungry.”

Miles, Andros, Raef, and the women burst into another round of giggles. Miles froze when Cindy shot him an icy stare.

She’d liberated something from the grocery bags, sort of like an alien weapon. It was housed in clear plastic, had all kinds of gizratics inside, and looked pretty lightweight for its size. She flung her right arm out, and whopped Miles in the chest with it. “Always misbehaving.”

Andros, the orange Adonis, took the alien toy from Cindy. “Oh. I wondered what happened to my fire starter.” His cheeks dimpled into an irresistible smile that lit up his whole face, and knocked the scowl right off of Cindy’s. “Thanks, Cindy-Poo.”

While everyone else bustled around preparing to cook, Penny sat on a boulder behind the netbook-harness-wearing Raef, clickety-clacking away. Raef whittled some nearby branches into spears. Every now and again, Penny would hiss, “Be still, would ya.”

Nobody cared what the reasonable pair were up to; they had enough hands on deck. If she finished whatever she was doing, journey through Writer’s Block Forest could finish faster. So, they rolled their eyes collectively, and let her be.

The winged creatures began to drop twigs and limbs in a neat pile.

Andros stepped up with his crazy alien contraption, and in an instant the branches were ablaze.

Fang gang trotted out of the trees, followed by the commandos, all bearing small game. Raef began spearing the game onto spits. Miles put them on the fire.

“Hey, we found some salad greens and root veggies too.” Mel squared his shoulders, and wore an ear to ear grin.

Cindy grabbed a notebook from her purse, and scribbled a pot over the fire. She doodled a huge salad bowl upside down on Miles’ head. Tabby snatched the bowl, and cleaned it with some wet-wipes from her clutch.

Brenda patted him on the back. “What a talented vampire you are.” That instant, her gumboots started to turn into pom-poms. She glanced down and shook her head. “I meant, what a big, bad, hunk of a scary vampire soldier you are.” The pom-poms melted back into gumboots.

Penny’s keyboard fell silent. From her rocky perch in the clearing, she had an unimpeded view of the strange assemblage. As she observed them, certain realities began to surface in her mind.

Certainty dawned on her. Cindy wasn’t blocked at all. She stood amongst 6 characters, plus commandos, and never broke a sweat. With no visible effort on her part, she bent them to her will. They did as she bid without the slightest hesitation. But Cindy never took a breath. Her face was flushed, and her words ran on and on. Sometimes they tripped over each other, got tangled up, or lost their meaning in the disorder.

Penny’s intuition had never let her down before. She stood up on the boulder. “I’ve got it!” Everyone shushed and faced her. “Cindy doesn’t have writer’s block.”

The crowd rumbled, and muttered exclamations of incredulity.

Penny soldiered on. “I had an overpowering urge to create a new character. That’s why I fitted Raef with my netbook. He didn’t make sense in my head. He didn’t seem to have a place in any of my stories. Yet, I couldn’t stop creating him.”

Brenda stepped up, and smashed Raef’s sexy foot beneath her boot in the process. When he winced, she stumbled back and apologized. “Girl, is this another one of your tangents? We don’t have time for your scatterbrained ideas right now.”

“No, wait, hear me out.”

A bright spotlight angled down from the trees, and lit a circle between Cindy and her characters. A studious looking fellow, complete with pocket protectors, materialized next to Cindy.

Penny wore a huge grin “Cindy, I’d like you to meet P. Mark Grammarian. I wrote him for you.”

Cindy eyed the nerd with more suspicion than a pair of eyes should be allowed to hold.

P. Mark bowed, and with a flourish of his hand, wiped away her fears. “At your service, Madame. Never fear, I won’t dampen your creativity. You can write as many run on sentences, and fragments as you like. When you’re finished, I’ll be here to help you clean them up.”

Cindy heaved a huge sigh of relief. “Penny, I’m speechless.” She beamed up into the face of the handsomest geek to grace the planet. “I hope you know what you’re in for, P. Mark.”

“It will be my pleasure, Madame.” No sooner had P. Mark’s lilting British accent stopped echoing from the woods, his spotlight went out. The haunted trees around the group started to shrink back to normal size. Some grew as small as ornamental shrubbery. The sunlight filtered in to reveal the forest floor had morphed into a beige Berber carpet.

The crowd exhaled a collective sigh. A sense of hope and relief settled over them.

Brenda jumped up on the boulder, and if Penny hadn’t been quick on her feet, she would have bulldozed her right off. “I solved Tabby’s problem!” She thumped her forehead. “I should have known. The block is in her head.”

“Wait a minute, fang girl. I AM NOT el loco.” She started to put her fists on her hips, slowly opened them, and dropped them to her side. Tabby hung her head, and her shoulders drooped. “Maybe… maybe I am.”

Brenda jumped down, raced over to Tabby and wrapped her in a big bear hug. “No, not in your head like crazy. In your head like one of those songs you can’t turn off.” Bren searched the crowd and found recognition and support in the eyes of Tabby’s characters.

“Tell her Bren, she needs the truth.” Lyric’s singsong voice spurred Brenda on.

“You know how you are always reading everything you can put your eyeballs on about writing?”

Tabby appeared a bit doubtful, but nodded.

“You read about presenting a professional image. You try to follow the advice. You read about when to show and when to tell. You burn those concepts into your brain. You’re always pondering over voice, and looking for new ways to make your characters as realistic as vamps and angels can be.”

“True.” Tabby grinned at Brenda. “Where are you going with this, Ms. Dracula?”

“Well, lately, a whole rash of writers have been whining about being blocked. What to do, how to, and why blocks happen have been hot topics lately.”

“I still don’t get your point, Bren.”

“You’ve trained your brain to absorb all of the information you absorb every day to help you on your journey to publication.” Brenda just paused and locked eyes with Tabby.

“Oh! I get it. So, I must have stored the Writer’s block information in the to-do side of my brain instead of the not-to-do section.”

Brenda hugged her. “Precisely. It’s the power of suggestion at work. Fabulous writers get blocked; you want to be one. Tabby, your subconscious got confused, translated input as ‘you can’t be a writer without a block.’ So, you parked a block in the middle of the process.”

Tabby’s face lit up, and she did a happy-happy joy-joy dance. She addressed her angel vamp, and their human counterparts, and said, “I know exactly what you guys will be up to next.”

The sun got brighter, and exploded into a star-shower that transformed it into overhead fluorescents. The trees faded into a wallpaper border that wrapped around pale blue stucco walls.

Cindy ran over to Brenda. “It’s starting to get a little crowded in here… I better hurry up and spit this out… but Brenda I think I know what’s been stopping you from taking the next step… wait until you hear this…”

P. Mark laid a gentle hand on Cyn’s shoulder. She paused, inhaled, let the air whoosh from her lungs, and winked at P. Mark.

“You aren’t blocked either.” Cindy paused, and took regular breaths for the first time in eons. At first the practice was foreign, but after a few tries, bewilder left her features, frazzled scurried away with it. “You are pulled in too many directions.”

“Sing to me, girl.” Brenda started counting on her fingers. “There’s the kids, the husband, the animals, the house, the yard, that escaped rooster we never caught, blogging, crittin—”

“No, no, no, Bren. Not like that. We all have gobs of real stuff to clutter up our fantasy worlds.” The silence from the crowd was almost tangible. Cindy stared into Brenda’s eyes, and placed her hands on her shoulders. Breathing was starting to come more naturally to her. “Your other character’s want their stories told too.”

“Oh, yeeaah, they really-really do.” Brenda turned and gazed at her toothy soldiers. “Guys, I promise, I will write everyone’s story. Each of you sexy studs is going to encounter a leading lady who stops you in your tracks like Bree did for Mel.”

Sin stepped forward. “We get it, Brenda. You need all of our ideas, but if we don’t wait until you’re ready for them, none of them will get written. We’re so sorry Bren, we didn’t realize we were overwhelming you with our chatter. We’ll be more patient,” Sin gave them an all-business, commanding nod, “won’t we guys?”

A chorus of gruff male voices chattered a slew of yeps, yeses, an uh-hus, nodding all the while. One sweet female voice floated among them, but Bree had been swallowed by the blood-thirsty crowd.

Brenda ran over and bundled them all in a group hug. Well, as many as her arms could reach around. It was quite a mountain of maleness she’d created. “Thanks guys. You can’t imagine how much this means to me.”

Brightness lifted their spirits even higher, as the sun kicked up a notch. Smiles were on everyone’s faces. The remnants of the forest faded, and the twenty-four of them now stood in Tabby’s overcrowded office.

Cindy searched the room. “Where’d the commandos go?”

Andros stretched to his toes to peer over Mel’s shoulder, and tried to nudge him out of the way. The guy was planted like an ancient oak. “They left when the carpet appeared. Squad Leader One told me they didn’t seem needed anymore. I agreed, so they went on their way. I hope I wasn’t out of line.”

Cindy patted him on the shoulder. “Not at all… I don’t know where we’d put them in here… I mean they’re amazing at blending into the background… but I think Tabby’s office is more of a challenge than—”

P. Mark had elbowed her. Everyone laughed, Cindy took a breath.

Tabby moved to the center of the group. “Hey, wait. What about Penny? How’d we get back here if she’s till blocked?”

Brenda smirked. “Penny’s never been blocked. She simply finds too many other things to do. She dances back and forth between impatience and procrastinating. I swear she’s the Princess of Procrastination.”

Penny just nodded. An argument couldn’t be found to stand up to that observation.

Cindy chimed in, “Yeah, didn’t you witness her writing in the forest? Mick asked her to, and Jo had suitable shoes. She got obsessed with my punctuation disability, and strapped a keyboard on Raef for Gemini’s sake. She’s never been blocked.”

Penny agreed. “Nope, never blocked. Just distracted. Bren gave me a deadline.”

“Yep, I did. I noticed that she always has time for whatever anyone asks. A blog, a crit, an edit, or an ear for a rant. I asked her to post her first chapter by the middle of next month.” Brenda looked extremely proud of herself, and she deserved to.

“I think I needed someone to expect something of me, so I feel a little pressure. Thanks Bren.”

“Don’t forget you one upped me, and said you’d have chapter one in the group folder by the end of this month.”

“Yeah, about that—”

“No buts!”

“What happens if I don’t?”

“I’ll send Mel and the gang to cause a serious coffee shortage in the whole state of Missouri.”

Penny paled. “Oh my.”

All four women giggled and brainstormed on their stories. They were excited to get back on track. Finally, they paused long enough to hear silence.

Cindy laughed. “I guess they could tell the danger was over. We don’t need to be rescued anymore, and it was kind of crowded in here.”

Tabby watched her feet shuffle for a moment. “Ladies, I hate to be a bad host—”

“Say no more—”

“We’re out of here—”

“Writing to do, ya know.”

By Penny Barber

The Wacky Misadventures of Four Romance Writers Run Amuck

WARNING: This post breaks most of the writing rules. Every rule broken was done on purpose.

Chapter Three

The four women pushed on past the carnage of the decimated bear. Fur and entrails dripped from the forest around them.

“That’s just gross!” Brenda picked up her dainty booted feet and gathered her silky drac cape closer.

Tabby tried to put on a brave front, while forcing back her rising nausea.

“Let’s get a move on, ladies. Ya’ll are on my last nerve.”

Cindy did a little heebie jeeby dance and dashed past the bear parts strewn about. Strange hissing sounds came from her. Looking like a foil wrapped baked potato, she ran past Penny.

Rolling her eyes, Penny skillfully avoided the worst of the goo.

“Ok, does anyone have a map?” Penny asked.

The forest around lit, with the four separate cell phones accessing the web for links on  how to get through the forest of writers block.

“Lions and tigers and  … Oh, no more bear,” Brenda laughed.

Penny and Tabby smiled, thinking the worst must be behind them.

“I got a bad feeling,” Cindy said.

“Nonsense, the map on my phone said all we have to do is press on.” Penny told them all.

Tabby wrinkled her dark brows. “Mine said, close my eyes and take a nap.”

“The map I found said, go read my favorite book again,” chimed in Brenda.

“Yeah, well, I think they’re all full of crap. My map said you have to do a little dance.” Cindy sneered.

Penny walked ahead of the group, eyeing the quiet forest looming around them. “Cindy is right. Something is not quite right…”

A small sweet voice called out from the distance.

“Grammy.” Its haunting sweetness called to Penny. Her body swayed toward the sound.

“Ri?” The voice beckoned, luring Penny into the darkness of the forest.

“Help me, Penny. Help me.” The voices changed, echoed eerily. “Edit this, crit that.”

The forest morphed into huge dancing punctuation marks. They swirled around her, forming a spinning hypnotic image. Lilting music filled the air. A long squiggly line like those under a misspelled word coiled and danced like a cobra to a flute. The words, it must be perfect, formed in the leaves of the trees, and held Penny spellbound. She began to chant.

“Backspace…backspace… backspace.”

“No, Penny. Don’t. It’s a trap!” yelled Tabby. She moved forward to stop Penny from the siren’s song calling her.

Tabby almost made it to Penny, when her ankle was grabbed by a shiny blue wire.

Wild shrieks ripped from a Tabby’s throat. The forest around her was suddenly alive with wires in a myriad of colors, all weaving, and twining around Tabby. She tried in vain to free herself from the electronic ambush. It tugged and pulled at her, hanging her like an ornament in the branches.

Brenda screamed. She wanted to help her friends from the traps that held them. Looking down at the forest floor beneath her, rich dark soil sank into a pit under her feet. The smell of sweet flowers and ripening fruit invaded her senses. From the dirt below, she heard the faint crow of a renegade rooster. It was too late. The soil crept and crawled up her legs, sucking her down into its depths.

Cindy stood like one of the trees around her, frozen in place by terror. How could she help the others? She leaned one way then the other. Unable to fully commit to helping any one individual, she helped none. Just then she was knocked to the ground by a pair of kids’ sneakers. One after the other she was pelted by shoes and laundry. Grocery bags wound around her wrists and ankles, and one gagged her. The only sound from her was the muffle grunts when she was stomped on by the endless pairs of kid’s shoes.

It looked like it was over for the four. Each one tangled and pulled under by their own personal demons. When it seemed darkest, and our girls were beyond help, four pulses of light glowed. From the light nearest Penny stepped four people. Two looked like they belonged in an ad for corporate life. Mick held his hand out to help Jo step into the spongy forest floor.

“This isn’t exactly the best place for these heels. They’re Italian.”

Mick, ever the gentleman, picked her up in his muscled arms. Behind them came another couple. The woman’s arms, laden with delicious smelling baked goods. Raef ran his hands through his hair.

“Not again… Penny… Penny… ”

Grace moved toward Penny. “She is in some sort of trance.”

Mick, carrying Jo, walked in front of Penny’s unseeing eyes.

“Penny? Honey?” Jo reached out to put a gentle hand to her shoulder.

All four turned toward the abyss of the forest were the haunting voices and hypnotic punctuation held fast to their Penny.

“Grace, toss me a fresh loaf of bread,” Raef said.

He caught the warm loaf and waved the fragrant bread beneath Penny’s nose.

Then together both couples yelled, “PENNY!”

Waking from her dream, Penny shook herself. For the first time, she looked into the faces of the four.

“You had us worried there,” Mick told her, readjusting Jo in his arms. He leaned toward her and whispered in her ear.

“Do you think you could write a pair of gym shoes into Jo’s bag?”

Penny smiled, and seemed to relax in the safety of her characters.

“Sure Mick. I just did.”

Jo looked into her large purse and pulled a nice pair of jogging shoes from the depths. Grace dumped the rest of the baked goods into Raef’s arms and went to help Jo.

“I love those pumps. Where did you get them?”

“Macys, twenty percent off. They are comfortable and they make your calves look great.”

“You know, I am moving to a small town. Do you think we can go shopping before I move?”

“We have to bring Penny. She is the one who picked out this skirt. It was one of the things that caught Mick’s eye,” she laughed.

From the second pulse of light nearest Tabby emerged Zan. His tanned skin glowed as if he stepped from a Giorgio Armani commercial. The wind ruffled the half-open silk shirt tucked into his well-tailored trousers. At the site of Tabby, trussed up like a Christmas turkey, he smiled revealing his pearly white fangs. Caprice came up behind him. Her small golden sequined, shift dress glided over the curves of her slinky body. She scrunched her perfect face when she saw the state Tabby was in.

“Move it, angel boy. Can’t you tuck those things in to get through the door?”

“Woman, don’t give me your lip.”

Lyric and Craigen stumbled from the light.

“Dearest Lord,” Craigen exclaimed, rushing to Tabby’s side. His mouth fell open as he circled. Tabby hung in the trees by her arms and legs. She was wound tightly with wires and cords from electronics of all kinds.

“Ge ma oot off here,” Tabby mumbled. Her eyes flashed angrily, the blackberry stuffed in her mouth making her words difficult to understand. Craigen pulled a small glowing dagger from his belt he wiped the blade across his denim clad leg.

“How the hell did you get yourself into this mess?” Lyric asked. Her arms crossed over her dark business suit.

She threw Craigen a surprised look. “Well, what are you waiting for? Cut her loose. You too, Choppers.”

Zan’s deep chuckle brought a blush to Caprices face.

“You going to help? He asked her. His smoldering gaze undressing her in his mind.

Caprice looked away from him. Her face burnt with thoughts of Zan. “Let the FBI chick do it. I just had my nails done.” For effect, she blew on her perfectly manicured fingers.

Zan leaned close to her sniffing the air around her.

“Those better be dry by the time were though here, or you’re going to smudge them on my back.”

“Cut the crap, Sauvé, and help me get our Tabby out of this,” Craigen said.

Lyric pulled a well-concealed switchblade from inside of her blouse. She cut the wires imprisoning Tabby. Craigen’s brows came together in concentration. Each slice of his dagger, gently done with care for Tabby’s safety. Zan sauntered up to Tabby. His gaze locked with hers. He moved with deliberate sensuality. Dipping his head toward Tabby’s neck, his warm tongue pulled a wire from her skin and his fangs sliced it cleanly. He growled and went after another.

“Good Lord vampire, you’re not being graded on this.” Lyric smirked.

Caprice stamped her Prada flats and warned Zan with a look that could have lit the sun.

Zan laughed and shrugged his shoulders. “I can’t help it. I’m that good.”

Tabby finally breathed a sigh of relief as the three of them freed her from the last of the wires. Craigen pulled her into his comforting arms, and kissed the top of her head.

“All safe, precious.”

Brenda’s head was just slipping beneath the shifting dirt. Her hands clawed wildly at the ground. Mel threw himself to the ground followed closely by Breeana. The two of them desperately tried to dig her from her impending grave. Mel shoved his hands deep into the earth and pulled with all his might. Brenda’s head pulled free of the ground. She sucked in a huge breath, choking and spitting dirt from her mouth.

“What the hell is this?” Breeana pulled a potato from beneath the ground.

A rag tag group of vampires dropped down beside Mel and joined in the fight against the dirt that was still trying to pull Brenda away.

Kal watched from the sidelines. A plate of nachos balanced in one hand. The other hand dipped a chip into the cheese and popped it into his mouth.

“Kal! … A hand here? Mel complained.

Kal passed the plate of nachos to Ace and pulled a small garden shovel from his back pocket. He joined the crew of vigorously digging vampires.

“Ace!” yelled Mel.

“What? Save a human or a plate of nachos?”

“Ace,” the others warned.

“I’m thinking,” he snarled back.

Sin swore and fell back as he pulled a screeching rooster from the dirt.

“What the bloody hell is this?” He directed the comment at Breeana.

“Why are you looking at me?”

“You’re the vet.”

“So, I didn’t put the damn rooster there.”

Mel tugged harder, readjusting his grip under Brenda arms. Brenda cried, her arms wound around Mel’s neck.

The small silver shovel in Kal’s hands pitched the dirt away from Brenda’s body. The speed of his hands helped uncover her. Mel continued to tug her from the cloying ground. Sin and Black’s grasp on Brenda helped Mel pull her from the ground.

Breeana let out a blood-curdling scream as the head of a small miniature horse broke free of the mud and reached out to bite the back of Brenda’s jeans.

Brenda and Breeana shrieked in tandem as the horse’s teeth tried to pull Brenda back into the ground.

Kal thumped the horse on the face with the garden shovel.

“Stop that. You’ll hurt him,” Breeana moaned.

“He is trying to eat Brenda,” Kal exclaimed. “What do you want me to do, give him a reward?”

“Kiwi, let go,” screamed Brenda as her legs flayed to gain purchase on the shifting ground.

At last, the group of vampires pulled Brenda from the dirt and dragged her away from the pit where the horse and chicken still eyed Brenda. An evil laugh echoed from a group of raccoons at the edge of the forests, strawberries, and raspberries clutched in their paws.

“That is just freakin weird,” Kal said to Mel

Ace threw the empty plate toward the raccoons, scattering them.

Wiping his hands on his jeans, he crouched down where Mel still held Brenda in his muscled arms. His large hand picking chunks of mud from her hair.

Brenda wiped her mouth on her dirty arm and immediately spit the dirt from her mouth.

“Ack.”.

Ace looked into Brenda’s dirt smudged face.

“You’re a mess, human.”

“Thanks for the help, jerk,” Brenda grumbled. “Just wait,” she warned, pulling debris from her scraggly tangled hair and smoothing the bedraggled cape over her legs.

The last of the lights flared as an endless horde of people spilled forth. Miles, barefoot, skipped to where Cindy was drowning beneath shoes, laundry, and backpacks. The trees around them jingled with the sound of car keys. Each key lit with an address… an eerie sick green light cycled on and off in the branches, spelling out the words taxi. Andros pulled a pulse rifle from his belt and one by one picked off the car keys from the branches. They dropped harmlessly to the forest floor.

Miles leaned over Cindy, flashing her a bright smile and a wink.

“Got yourself in a bit of a pickle, eh?”

Georgia shook her head and began to pull the shoes off the heaping pile.

Tally took a laser scalpel and carefully started to cut away the plastic grocery bags from Cindy’s wrists. The pungent odor of burning plastic tainted the air.

Miles pulled out a tennis racquet and began to toss shoes in the air and swat them away…yelling, “Fore,” as he did.

“I’ve got a hell of a serve,” he boasted. Georgia laughed up at him and gave him the next shoe to smack.

Rory set up a perimeter around the whole group, signaling to a group of commandos to lay low and keep their eyes open.

Jonas stood behind Andros and scored his shots.

“4.5, 3.7,” he laughed

“Close your face, boy scout.”

“Like you know what a boy scout is,” Jonas smirked.

“I am capable of reading your human script. Now let’s get that fool out of the way and see if we can’t uncover Cindy.”

Andros and Jonas joined Miles in pulling the hundreds of shoes off her. Once free, Andros held out a hand and pulled Cindy to her feet. Dusting herself off, she surveyed the group around them. Each of her fellow writers was pulled free of their troubles by the very characters each created. The voices of the characters refused to be ignored. The humans, vampires, and aliens gathered around their writer and jealously guarded them. Now flesh and blood, none of them would go unheard. Whatever lies ahead in the dangerous forest of writers block, they would all go as a group. There was safety in numbers, and the characters were not about to let the forest swallow them up. Even if it meant holding the hand of their writers, this dedicated and boisterous group would not be put back on a shelf.

“Let’s head out. I’ll take point,” said Rory. An enormous gun, skillfully handled. She aimed into the dark recess of the forest.

“We’re all in this together, and need each other,” Tally put in. Her gentle look passed over the whole, strange lot of writers and characters.

“Me wanker is yodeling. I’ve got to drain the hose,” Miles remarked.

Andros, shaking his head, walked past him. “Idiot.”

By Cindy Pahl

I need an inspiration for the antagonist in my MS his name is Peron….

I”m trying to decided which of the following “eye candy” is perfect for representing Peron, the antagonist in my MS SoulMate’s Touch…

Peron’s description:  Blond, blue eyes (or what ever he feels like that day)…he is a Powerful human wizard infused with god powers.  He is described as “beautiful to behold” with elf-ish features almost effeminate.He is tall about 6’2″.  Has pouty lips, high cheekbones and very sensuous. Also his body is slender muscular, like a swimmers Physique.   My nominees are:

Please help me and vote for your Fav…. here they are

A.

B.

C.

D.

Once y’all peel your eyes from the “inspirations” let me know if I should us, A, B, C, or D.   🙂

Emma

Emma Paul Interview

Why do you write romance?

I didn’t really start with romance as a preference.  In fact I was more of a straight fantasy writer, my first works had no romance at all.  It wasn’t until my late teens and early twenties that I got into romance novels.  I was one of those people who got embarrassed by the cover art, the kind with Fabio embracing a very enraptured damsel in distress…yeah…once I finally got over the initial “its not for me it’s for my mother” phase, I found that I loved reading Romance, and started to experiment by combining my fantasy stories with elements of Romance.  And voila… a bond was created.

What romance subgenres do you write in? Why?

I have written contemporary shorts. However, my favorites are science fiction, fantasy and paranormal.  When I started writing, it was more for my one sanity than anything else.  All my stories have a piece of experience from my past in them, the genre is often my own need to escape from or at least to some degree change the out-come of a painful memory.  My imagination is my freedom and my escape. I love creating new worlds and alternate realities.  I think that if I didn’t write I would probably be schizophrenic.

What inspires your stories?

I really believe the question should be “What doesn’t inspire me to write.”  Every day life.  My own battles, my growth as a person, as a woman.  I find inspiration in everything I do, I read and the people I meet along the way.  Life is a journey.

What is your writing schedule?

Late evening until early hours.  I’m usually wired.

What is your favorite guilty pleasure?

I started reading Erotica about five years ago and have added quite a bit of eroticism to most of my works.  Sex sells. But I write it because…well…who doesn’t love hot, heart pounding sex? I also have a passion for painting and roller coasters…

Do you have any other passions besides writing? If yes, what are they? Why?

Other Passions besides writing?…?  I suppose art history, and UFOology…love me some CSI and crime dramas too. I’m a really criminal justice fanatic. It’s actually what I majored in College.

Are you aware of any themes that run through your stories? If so, what are they?

Well besides the hot romance and sexy alpha heros…I would say my characters tend to be sassy, with much quirky personalities.  The heroine especially.  I like to created a heroine with “real women” physical traits. On occasion I will have a supermodel type, but she always has some weird personality trait that makes her relatable to the reader.  My hero is usually hot, hot, hot…hot…did I mention hot…oh yeah I give them the brains with all that brawn.

What is your favorite comfort food?

Chocolate covered raisons and pizza…

What relaxes you?

Snuggling with my baby, family time and of course reading.

What is your favorite fairy tale? Why?

The ugly duckling, because you can never judge a book by it’s cover.  Inner beauty never fades.

What do you enjoy doing, when not writing?

Watching cartoons, reading Comic books and playing my daughters DSI.

What would you like readers to take away from your stories?

I would love for readers to remember my stories, and read them over and over again.  I try to write vividly and with emotion, so my readers will be able to live the story through the characters and worlds I create.

It was great having you on NN Emma.

Tabitha