I'm writing this weekend. How about you, what are your plans?
November 19, 2010
November 17, 2010
Death by Hanging
Today's blog is by Historical Romance author Kathy Otten. Enjoy! And make sure you visit her website for more information on Kathy and her books.
In my new novel, Lost Hearts, my hero, Richard Bennick is a U.S. Deputy Marshal for the Western District of Arkansas, which at the time of my novel, in 1877, had full jurisdiction over Indian Territory. The federal court was located in Fort Smith, Arkansas with one of the toughest federal court judges in history, Judge Isaac Charles Parker. During his years on the bench, from 1875-1896, Judge Parker sentenced 160 men to death, 79 of which were hanged. He quickly became known as the “Hanging Judge.”
Parker’s chief executioner was a man originally from Bavaria, named George Maledon. Maledon was a small framed man, only five feet, five inches tall. He had large dark eyes, a scraggly beard, and a gloomy appearance. Under Parker’s order, Maledon carried out the hangings for 60 of those men, which earned him the nickname, “Prince of Hangmen.”
Maledon took great pride in his work. Each rope was only used eleven times. He made sure no man strangled, kicking and twisting until he died, but rather died instantaneously, from a broken neck.
Each rope was twenty-seven feet in length and made of the finest hemp. To keep them from slipping, Maledon treated them with a pitchy oil substance. He then stretched the ropes on the gallows with two hundred pound bags of sand and oiled them again. Originally an inch and a quarter in diameter, the ropes were stretched to a tight one inch, perfect for knotting and oily enough so it gave no squeak when it jerked.
Maledon claimed his big knot was the secret of a good execution and to form his noose each rope was wrapped thirteen times.
On the gallows, the rope was dropped over the neck the prisoner and tightened over the larynx until it touched skin all the way around. The knot was placed under the left ear in the hollow at the back of the jaw bone. The rope was then brought upward, over the top of the head to hang down in a curve on the other side. That held the knot steady under the ear.
The trap would spring, the man dropped through, and the rope snapped taut. The big knot threw the head sideways and fractured the spine, giving each man a quick, easy death.
In the following excerpt, the hero, Richard, leaves a meeting with the U.S. Marshal and finds himself staring at the famous gallows in Fort Smith, contemplating his own death.
His stomach churned and sweat popped out across his brow. Even now the guilt still lingered. He’d done something, something very bad, he just didn’t know what. He didn’t want to think about it, but Brady was dead, and he had a feeling it was his fault.
God, he needed a drink.
“Bennick?”
Richard blinked and blew out a shaky breath. Upham had asked a question. What was it?
“Deputy, I think this is too much for you right now.”
“I’m fine, it’s just hot in here.”
“No, you don’t look well. Go home, get some rest, and we’ll talk again in a couple of days. Meantime, you may want to hire yourself an attorney. If this goes to the grand jury, he can have Hobbs and Johnny Bodine subpoenaed. I’ll send as many deputies out to find them as I have to.” Upham stood and stepped around his desk.
Richard rose and they shook hands.
“Now don’t worry, deputy,” Marshal Upham said as they walked to the office door. “You’ve been very ill. Just give it time. The memories will come back to you.”
Richard said good-bye and limped down the hallway. That’s what he was afraid of.
Outside, he mounted his horse and sat, his gaze captured by the gallows on the south side of the parade grounds. The platform rose seven feet high, just enough to keep a man’s feet from touching the ground when the lever was pulled. A twelve foot beam supported by heavy timbers, ran the width of the floor, and was strong enough to allow six men to simultaneously drop to their deaths.
Although hangings attracted hundreds of people who camped out near the grounds and brought picnic lunches, Richard had never watched an execution. He’d seen too much of the reality of life to find death entertaining.
How would it feel to stand up there, looking out across a crowd of gawking spectators? Would he choose to wear the hood, or would he stare defiantly over the tops of their heads as the weight of the finest hemp was dropped around his neck.
He could almost imagine the prick of the fibers pressing into his Adam’s apple as the well oiled hemp was pulled snug. He swallowed against the imaginary pressure. The knot would lay heavy behind his left ear, in the hollow of his jaw bone. Then when the trap opened, and his body shot down, the rope would snap taut and break his neck.
The hangman, George Maledon, once told Richard that he had never preformed a “bad” hanging. He had a trick when positioning the rope so men didn’t strangle, thrashing and kicking until they died.
Richard tightened his grip on the reins. Would hanging be his fate if he couldn’t remember; if Johnny couldn’t be found? Though he struggled daily to do right, maybe in the end, this had always been his destiny.
November 6, 2010
It's Saturday and...
I can’t seem to get my head in the game and write. Most likely because everyone is home today. I need quiet to write and I don't have it. Hubs is at the computer in the other room, laughing out loud and then reading to me what made him laugh. Teenagers just woke up so, of course, they feel the need to talk to me, too. I really need an office with a door. Ya know what I’m saying?
At least I’ve been writing this week. Every day this week, actually. Interested in a sneak peek?
I’ll share, but only if you remember that this is rough and unedited. I take full responsibility for any errors in medicalese as I haven’t talked with my emergency room contact to verify accuracy.
“Forty year old male involved in a T-bone MVA,” the medic called out as they pushed the stretcher through the doors and into the emergency department. “SUV versus semi. SUV rolled multiple times before stopping on its passenger side.”
Adrenaline surged through Dr. Rebecca Dahlman’s system, revving her pulse, pushing away the fatigue of an overly long shift better than the half pot of coffee she’d already consumed.
“Upon arrival, patient was unresponsive. We were able to get the c-collar on him right away, but had to wait for rescue’s hydraulic equipment to remove the door before we could get him on the backboard.”
Gown and gloves in place, Rebecca ran her gaze over the man strapped to the backboard with orange belts as they swung into trauma one and transferred him to the ER’s bed. Her team moved efficiently around the patient, cutting off his clothes with trauma shears.
The medic continued feeding her pertinent information as she began her own assessment. “Blood pressure is one-twenty over seventy-five, pulse ox one hundred percent. Pupils are dilated, equal and reactive.”
The guy was a bloody mess. Blood covered his face, soaked the left side of his head and shoulder of his shirt. He had a laceration on his left upper arm, deep enough to require sutures, and some bruises were already beginning to form across his chest from the seatbelt doing its job and holding him in place. Other than that, there were no other visible injuries. It was the injuries she couldn’t see that she had to worry about.
“I want a complete set of x-rays,” Rebecca stated automatically as she shifted closer and listened to her patient’s chest. Lungs clear, no abnormal heart rhythm. She looped her stethoscope around her neck and leaned in, searching the man’s scalp for head trauma. “Draw a trauma panel, tox screen and blood alcohol.”
Karen Williams, Rebecca’s best friend and charge nurse for the night, pulled the man’s wallet from the pile of clothes on the floor.
Directly above his left ear Rebecca uncovered the source of all the blood. Pushing her fingers into his hair, she palpated the injury site. The wound immediately began to bleed again. “No skull fracture that I can detect.”
“Rebecca.”
“I’ll want a CT scan of the head and neck.”
“Rebecca.” Karen’s voice was tight and pulled her attention. “It’s Dominic.”
For a moment, a heartbeat really, the words didn’t make any sense. Then, she looked closer. As if in slow motion Rebecca dragged her gaze up the torso, locked it onto the face partially hidden behind long, blood soaked hair. Her breath snagged in her throat and she froze, the sound of her pulse beating in her ears. It was a struggle to keep her hand steady as she pushed his hair away from his face and focused on his mouth, those lips, the bottom one slightly fuller than the top, the thin, straight nose.
“Stud,” she whispered, her voice torn.
His eyes were closed, ringed in thick black lashes. Were they open, she knew they would be the color of the sky just after a cleansing rain.
Her world tilted.
No. It couldn’t be. It wasn’t Dominic. Dominic didn’t have a goatee or a scar across his right clavicle. Dominic wasn’t in California, he was in London. Safe in London.
Not unconscious and bleeding in the middle of her ER.
She lost focus as the room began to spin. Rebecca grabbed the side rail of the bed to keep from hitting the ground. Dom. My God. Her chest felt as if someone stood on it.
“You know this man?” the medic on her right asked.
How could she ever forget? He’d haunted her, both asleep and awake, for nearly three years. She knew his scent, his wicked sense of humor. She knew that were he conscious, he’d be giving her a hard time in that sexy damn voice of his. That he had calluses on his fingers that set her body on fire. Calluses from years of playing the bass, something he did even while asleep; tapping out a rhythm against her hip.
“Yes,” she admitted without thought. Then she pulled her head out of the past and got back to work.
So what do you think? Me, I think I need to get my head back in the game and write some more.
At least I’ve been writing this week. Every day this week, actually. Interested in a sneak peek?
I’ll share, but only if you remember that this is rough and unedited. I take full responsibility for any errors in medicalese as I haven’t talked with my emergency room contact to verify accuracy.
Adrenaline surged through Dr. Rebecca Dahlman’s system, revving her pulse, pushing away the fatigue of an overly long shift better than the half pot of coffee she’d already consumed.
“Upon arrival, patient was unresponsive. We were able to get the c-collar on him right away, but had to wait for rescue’s hydraulic equipment to remove the door before we could get him on the backboard.”
Gown and gloves in place, Rebecca ran her gaze over the man strapped to the backboard with orange belts as they swung into trauma one and transferred him to the ER’s bed. Her team moved efficiently around the patient, cutting off his clothes with trauma shears.
The medic continued feeding her pertinent information as she began her own assessment. “Blood pressure is one-twenty over seventy-five, pulse ox one hundred percent. Pupils are dilated, equal and reactive.”
The guy was a bloody mess. Blood covered his face, soaked the left side of his head and shoulder of his shirt. He had a laceration on his left upper arm, deep enough to require sutures, and some bruises were already beginning to form across his chest from the seatbelt doing its job and holding him in place. Other than that, there were no other visible injuries. It was the injuries she couldn’t see that she had to worry about.
“I want a complete set of x-rays,” Rebecca stated automatically as she shifted closer and listened to her patient’s chest. Lungs clear, no abnormal heart rhythm. She looped her stethoscope around her neck and leaned in, searching the man’s scalp for head trauma. “Draw a trauma panel, tox screen and blood alcohol.”
Karen Williams, Rebecca’s best friend and charge nurse for the night, pulled the man’s wallet from the pile of clothes on the floor.
Directly above his left ear Rebecca uncovered the source of all the blood. Pushing her fingers into his hair, she palpated the injury site. The wound immediately began to bleed again. “No skull fracture that I can detect.”
“Rebecca.”
“I’ll want a CT scan of the head and neck.”
“Rebecca.” Karen’s voice was tight and pulled her attention. “It’s Dominic.”
For a moment, a heartbeat really, the words didn’t make any sense. Then, she looked closer. As if in slow motion Rebecca dragged her gaze up the torso, locked it onto the face partially hidden behind long, blood soaked hair. Her breath snagged in her throat and she froze, the sound of her pulse beating in her ears. It was a struggle to keep her hand steady as she pushed his hair away from his face and focused on his mouth, those lips, the bottom one slightly fuller than the top, the thin, straight nose.
“Stud,” she whispered, her voice torn.
His eyes were closed, ringed in thick black lashes. Were they open, she knew they would be the color of the sky just after a cleansing rain.
Her world tilted.
No. It couldn’t be. It wasn’t Dominic. Dominic didn’t have a goatee or a scar across his right clavicle. Dominic wasn’t in California, he was in London. Safe in London.
Not unconscious and bleeding in the middle of her ER.
She lost focus as the room began to spin. Rebecca grabbed the side rail of the bed to keep from hitting the ground. Dom. My God. Her chest felt as if someone stood on it.
“You know this man?” the medic on her right asked.
How could she ever forget? He’d haunted her, both asleep and awake, for nearly three years. She knew his scent, his wicked sense of humor. She knew that were he conscious, he’d be giving her a hard time in that sexy damn voice of his. That he had calluses on his fingers that set her body on fire. Calluses from years of playing the bass, something he did even while asleep; tapping out a rhythm against her hip.
“Yes,” she admitted without thought. Then she pulled her head out of the past and got back to work.
So what do you think? Me, I think I need to get my head back in the game and write some more.
November 4, 2010
Spotlight On... Alison Henderson
Author Alison Henderson is with us at the keyboard this morning. Welcome, Alison, can you tell us a little about yourself?Tell us about HARVEST OF DREAMS and where we can find it.
HARVEST OF DREAMS is my first published novel. It’s set in a small river town in northwest Missouri just after the Civil War, when the country was struggling to get back on its feet and rootless young men banded together to form the beginnings of the infamous outlaw gangs of the Old West.
Here’s a short blurb about the story:
Alone on her farm in the middle of a blizzard, young widow Lisa McAllister labors to give birth to her first child. Help arrives in the form of a stranger with a six-gun. Lisa has no reason to trust this man who makes a living by violence, even if he is on the right side of the law. Men and their guns have already claimed the lives of her father, brother, and husband, and she’s determined to protect her son at any cost. HARVEST OF DREAMS is available in both print and e-book formats at The Wild Rose Press and Amazon.com, as well as other online retailers.
You can read an excerpt HERE
Why did you choose your genre?
As the song says, “my heroes have always been cowboys”. Western heroes are larger than life and embody many attributes we still value today such as honor, courage, and independence. I think the concept, challenge, and allure of the frontier and the West have had a profound effect on our collective psyche and our definition of ourselves as Americans. Even in my contemporary romantic suspense stories, my heroes are cowboys at heart.
Where do you get your ideas?
I’ve always loved history, and in the Border States of Kansas and Missouri, reminders of the local history lurk around every corner. When writing historicals, many of my ideas are prompted by facts I uncover in my research.
How do you do your research?
I started HARVEST OF DREAMS back before the Internet made research a breeze, but the fact that I was able to visit the actual town of Weston, tour some of the antebellum buildings, and walk the old brick streets in the footsteps of my characters added a sense of place that’s hard to get from articles on the Internet. I visited the Historical Society and picked up a book compiled of old photographs and articles from the local newspaper from the late 19th and early 20th centuries.
How did you start writing?
I’m not one of those writers who always wanted to write. In fact, I never considered writing fiction until I took an extended sabbatical from work when my daughter was born. I had just discovered romance novels and was swept away by the grand creations of the early mistresses of the genre. When my daughter started preschool, I decided to try my hand. The resulting first book was unprintable but so much fun I tried again and produced the first draft of HARVEST OF DREAMS. I joined RWA and eventually learned what I didn’t know. Many years and many drafts later I’m proud of the result.
What do you find is the hardest part of writing a book?
I enjoy every part of the process from the research, to the plotting, to the magic of creating scenes and dialogue. The hardest part is having the discipline to sit down and write day after day for as long as it takes to tell your story to the best of your ability.
What is something readers would be surprised you do?
My day job is Vice President of Underwriting and New Business for a large life insurance brokerage.
Where can we find you on the web?
I invite everyone to visit me at http://www.alisonhenderson.com/
Is there anything you’d like to ask our readers?
Inspiration comes in many forms. What inspires you?
Thanks for visiting with us today, Alison. I wish you many sales!
Harvest of Dreams by Alison Henderson
Harvest of Dreams by Alison Henderson
Available at The Wild Rose Press
Available at The Wild Rose Press
Alone on her farm in the middle of a blizzard, young widow Lisa McAllister labors to give birth to her first child. Help arrives in the form of a stranger with a six-gun. Lisa has no reason to trust this man who makes a living by violence, even if he is on the right side of the law. Men and their guns have already claimed the lives of her father, brother, and husband, and she’s determined to protect her son at any cost.
Jared Tanner, a security agent for the stagecoach, has been on his own since he was twelve. With Lisa and her baby, he’s finally found something worth fighting for – a family of his own. But a fresh wave of violence threatens to tear them apart. Can their new love survive?
She remained silent.
"This doesn't change anything," he said.
Lisa pulled back and looked up, shaking her head. "It changes everything."
"No, it doesn't. The feelings were there before, and they'll still be there whether we act on them or not."
She didn't try to deny it. "But we can’t, and it will be so much harder now."
"That's true. Now you know how much I want you, and I know you want me, too. I don’t know where this is going, but we have to find out.”
“I don’t want to find out.” But a small voice inside denied the words. Part of her had to know.
“I think you do, and I know I do. I'm not going to offer to leave, even though it might make some things easier, not unless you can convince me you really want me to go." He cupped her face in both hands and searched her eyes. "Do you?"
Lisa knew she should say yes and remove the unbearable temptation of his presence, but she couldn't bring herself to speak the lie. She shook her head. "No."
Jared's lips moved in a tiny smile, then his serious expression returned. "I can't tell you I'll never kiss you again, or touch you, or that I won't want to get even closer to you, but I promise I won't press you for anything you don't want to give. I'd never do anything to hurt you. You know that, don't you?"
She nodded.
"Good. Now it's time for you to get some sleep." He led her to the bed and tucked her in, his hands lingering as he smoothed the quilt across her. Then he leaned over her, his expression rigid and deadly serious. "I want you to know leaving you tonight is the hardest thing I've ever had to do. But I want more from you than one night in your bed."
November 1, 2010
NaNoWriMo Cover & Blurb
As promised, here is the cover I made for NaNoWriMo, along with the blurb for MIDNIGHT HEAT. I found the photo at iStockphoto.com. The minute I saw it I knew I had to have it, for it portrays Rebecca and Dominic exactly as I picture them.
MIDNIGHT HEAT is a spin-off of After Midnight. It features Dominic Price, a secondary character from After Midnight. I originally had no plans to give Dominic his own story, but half way into writing After Midnight, fell so in love with his character that I changed my mind. I hope you'll love him as much as I do.
She was the only woman who ever rocked his world.
The unconscious man wheeled into Dr. Rebecca Dahlman’s ER was sexy—unforgettably sexy—and injured. This wasn’t just any patient in need of medical help. He was the only man she’d ever loved—the one who still haunted her dreams.
One touch of his calloused hands reignites their passion. Can they rekindle their trust as easily, or will her fears cause her to lose him again…this time to a man bent on revenge?
October 30, 2010
NaNoWriMo & Excuses
Some of you may be asking 'What is NaNoWriMo?' NaNoWriMo, aka NaNo, is National Novel Writing Month. Simply put it's: write a 50,000 word novel from scratch in a month. Yup, thirty days from Chapter One to The End.
I first heard about NaNo a few years back and I'll tell you my first reaction was no freakin' way can I do that! Earlier this year I thought about it again. Really thought about it, and figured I not only can, I will.
*gulp*
Step One: Stop with the excuses. We've all used them.
"I don't have time."
"November isn't a good month for me what with the holiday and family get-togethers."
Heck, I bet you've even used or heard a fellow author say:
"I have too much housework to write today." or
"I'll write after I do the laundry."
You get the idea. As mothers, wives, daughters, sisters, friends, & writers we're full of reasons why we don't get enough words on the page. I should know, I'm the reigning queen of excuses.
The heck with that. I'm doing NaNoWriMo this year.
Sort of.
As I stated above, NaNo is about writing a 50,000 word novel from scratch in a month's time. I have about 30,000 words of MIDNIGHT HEAT completed. So my NaNo goal? Get the other 50,000 on the page. Words on the page are words on the page, right?
So this is my goal. My very own kick in the pants to get my WIP done. I will write 50,000 new words in the month of November.
*big gulp*
To try to stay on task and as motivation, I've posted a counter on the top of the blog to keep track of my word count. (I will only keep track of the new words, not what has already been written.) As more motivation, I've designed myself a cover, which I will post in a couple of days along with the back cover blurb I've done for the book.
Wish me luck! I'll need it.
I first heard about NaNo a few years back and I'll tell you my first reaction was no freakin' way can I do that! Earlier this year I thought about it again. Really thought about it, and figured I not only can, I will.
*gulp*
Step One: Stop with the excuses. We've all used them.
"I don't have time."
"November isn't a good month for me what with the holiday and family get-togethers."
Heck, I bet you've even used or heard a fellow author say:
"I have too much housework to write today." or
"I'll write after I do the laundry."
You get the idea. As mothers, wives, daughters, sisters, friends, & writers we're full of reasons why we don't get enough words on the page. I should know, I'm the reigning queen of excuses.
The heck with that. I'm doing NaNoWriMo this year.
Sort of.
As I stated above, NaNo is about writing a 50,000 word novel from scratch in a month's time. I have about 30,000 words of MIDNIGHT HEAT completed. So my NaNo goal? Get the other 50,000 on the page. Words on the page are words on the page, right?
So this is my goal. My very own kick in the pants to get my WIP done. I will write 50,000 new words in the month of November.
*big gulp*
To try to stay on task and as motivation, I've posted a counter on the top of the blog to keep track of my word count. (I will only keep track of the new words, not what has already been written.) As more motivation, I've designed myself a cover, which I will post in a couple of days along with the back cover blurb I've done for the book.
Wish me luck! I'll need it.
October 29, 2010
A Place of Their Own
Zach has made himself at home at the cabin. He's house-sitting while the owner is away, and the temporary nature of the job suits him perfectly. For Jessica, Zach is everything she wants to escape.
As she gets to know him better, she realizes there's more to him than meets the eye. His patience and tender concern begin to heal something deep inside of her. But can she trust her heart to a man like Zach?
Today's blog is by Debra St. John. Debra is with me at the keyboard today celebrating her new release, THIS CAN'T BE LOVE, available at The Wild Rose Press. Welcome, Debra.
A Place of Their Own
Setting is extremely important in a book. It plays a much deeper role than simply being the backdrop for the action of a story to play out. Often it takes on a personality of its own, deepening the conflict or heightening the tension between the hero and the heroine.
In my latest release, This Can’t Be Love, the setting is based on a place we visit every year with our good friends. The first time I took in the rushing creek, the cozy cabin, and the acres and acres of land, I knew it would be the perfect spot for a story. At the time, I didn’t have a story to set there, but in the back of my mind, I always knew someday there would be.
This book is a spin-off of my first, This Time for Always. The hero, Zach, is a secondary character in Always, but from the start I recognized he deserved to be the hero in a story of his own. Although the story is a continuation of sorts, it also has to stand on its own. And that meant it had to have a setting all its own. Zach and Jessica deserved a unique place of their own to fall in love.
It actually didn’t dawn on me right away, but after another visit to our vacation spot, it hit me: Why not set Love there? Having Zach there in the first place is a source of conflict, and of course living in such close quarters helps to build the sexual tension.
For the book I took the liberty of “moving” our Missouri vacation spot to Big Sky Country. I’ve never given an exact setting for these books, but there are mountains and cowboys and country music, so out west seemed to be the place to be! But those familiar with the original place will recognize many of the places Zach and Jessica explore as they discover their love for one another.
Here’s a taste of Zach and Jessica’s story:
“I’ll finish up here.” Zach ran water in the sink.
He glanced over his shoulder. “What are your plans for the day?”
“My plans for the day?”
“Yeah, what are you going to do?”
“I want you to tell me what needs to be done around here.”
Zach rinsed the pan, then shut the water off. He turned, then leaned his hips against the counter and crossed one bare foot over the other. “Oh, yeah. Why’s that?”
“So, when you leave,” she said pointedly, “I’ll know what needs to be done.”
“I thought we settled this last night. I’m not going anywhere.”
“And I thought I made myself perfectly clear.” She straightened to her full height. “We don’t need your services anymore. So, like I said, if you tell me what needs to be done, I’ll take care of it.”
His gaze roved from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. “Really?” His mouth twitched as if trying to hide a smile.
“Really.”
“Fine. Today the side field needs to be brush hogged, the thistles need to be cut down in the upper field, the ATV tanks need to be filled, and the garden needs to be weeded.” He folded his arms across his chest, a smug look on his face.
She bit her lip. She was pretty confident about filling the gas tanks on the ATVs. And she could probably handle weeding the garden. But that’s all she was sure about. She didn’t know a thistle from an eggplant, and as for brush hogging, she had no idea. Since Pops didn’t own any animals, she was pretty sure it didn’t have anything to do with actual hogs, but beyond that, she didn’t have a clue as to what Zach meant.
Damn.
She’d have to Google it.
She glanced at Zach. He still wore that infuriating expression. Worst of all, he was right. She had no idea how to do the things he’d said.
Double damn.
She put her hands on her hips and jutted out her chin. “That doesn’t sound too bad.” She’d figure it out. She had to. Zach couldn’t stay. And she’d cut off her right arm before she asked for his help before he left.
He had the audacity to laugh. “Okay, then, have it your way. Since you won’t be needing me, I’ll be down at the creek.”
He strode from the room, whistling.
A big heartfelt thanks to Bob and Barb for letting me ‘borrow’ their cabin for Zach and Jessica’s story, and thanks so much to Sarah for having me today. Readers can find me at http://www.debrastjohnromance.com/. I’m also the Sunday blogger at The Acme Authors Link and the Thursday blogger at Heroines with Hearts.
I’d love to have you visit!
October 27, 2010
Contest Prize Poll
I woke up this morning in the mood for a blog contest. An easy one because, hey, I'm all about easy contests. With a smile on my face I began jotting down the multiple ways you, my readers, could enter. Then I got to the prize. What would I offer? What would be the most popular prize? Hmmm...
I came up with a few different ideas, then decided to go to the source. So here's your chance to tell me what YOU want.
I'll keep the poll open for at least a week and then post a contest in November. Thanks for sharing. I look forward to learning what all of you prefer.
I came up with a few different ideas, then decided to go to the source. So here's your chance to tell me what YOU want.
I'll keep the poll open for at least a week and then post a contest in November. Thanks for sharing. I look forward to learning what all of you prefer.
October 26, 2010
10 Things You Don't Know About Rie McGaha
10. I live in Oklahoma but I'm a Native Californian.
9. I used to work in an all male prison on a unit with 120 men, where I was the only female.
8. I have 9 dogs and 3 cats.
7. I collect Native American baby dolls and Irish Santas.
6. I believe Santa is the perfect man because he gives me whatever I want and only shows up once a year.
5. I ride motorcycles, and my husband and I love to just take off and ride wherever the road leads.
4. I used to drive semi-trucks cross country.
3. I have 33 grandchildren.
2. I have 12 kids.
And the number one thing you don't know about me is:
1. I am armed all the time. Yep, I carry a Taurus Judge loaded with .45 long Colts and .410 shotgun shells.
Closure by Rie McGaha
available at Champagne Books
High in the hills above Albuquerque, New Mexico Detective Zachariah Ellison arrives at the scene of a murder, and not just any murder, but one that definitely falls into the “gruesome” category even for a seasoned cop like Zach. When another body is found murdered in much the same fashion, Zach knows he’s got a serial killer on his hands, and to top it off he’s got an assistant district attorney hounding him about the case. As Zach tries to investigate the crimes while sidestepping nosey Amy Logan, a third body is found and Zach hasn’t a clue as to whom the perpetrator might be.
Amy Logan has worked hard to put herself through school and pay for law school on her own and now that she’s secured a position as assistant district attorney in Albuquerque, she’s determined to do everything she can to be the best prosecutor this office has ever seen. And as if luck was following her, she’s been assigned to the biggest homicide case the city has ever seen. The only problem she’s having is the homicide detective who’s leading the investigation—Zach Ellison.
Excerpt:
"Zach, the body just arrived down here. Thought you'd want to be here for the autopsy," Pete said when Zach answered.
"On my way." He put the phone on the base, and then picked it up again. If Amy wanted information on the case, he'd just give it to her. He dialed the number from the card she'd left him, waited for the automated service, then punched in the extension.
“Amy? Zach here. The body just came in to the morgue. I'm going down—want to join me?” He looked at the phone in his hand and grinned. Amy hadn't even bothered to hang up on her end before he'd heard the door of her office slam.
Taking the elevator down, he pushed open the double doors that led to the morgue, and entered the autopsy room where he put on a face shield and paper apron. Ron was standing by the table with Pete, already wearing the protective gear.
"What do we have here?" Zach asked, putting on latex gloves.
"Just about to start, but I have to tell you, Zach, I've never seen anything like this. Damn, this is morbid—even for me," Pete said, shaking his head.
Ron nodded. "I've been in homicide for ten years,
Zach. I can't believe this one."
"Yeah, let's get on with it," Zach said and took a breath. He hated autopsies as well, but they were a vital part of finding evidence, and at this point he needed all he could get.
The doors opened again as Amy walked in, still out of breath, and all three men looked up. Zach thought she must have run the entire three blocks from her office.
“This is Amy Logan, D.A.'s office,” Zach said and made introductions. “There's an apron and a face shield on the shelf,” he told her and pointed. “Put them on.”
She nodded and when she was wearing the protective gear, she made her way to Zach's side and stood staring wide-eyed at the body on the table.
Pete took photos of the body—the penis in its mouth,
a close-up of the face, and of particular areas like the leather band around the throat. He removed the penis from the mouth, and photographed the teeth. Moving over the body, he photographed the bruises and burn marks on the upper torso, and the ligature marks on the ankles and wrists. The body was on its side because of the baseball bat protruding from the rectum, and he photographed that as well.
"Okay. I'm going to pull this out first, so I can turn the body,” he said at length. “It's not going to be pretty."
Pete grasped the handle of the bat with one hand and placed a gloved hand on the corpse's hip and pulled. The bat didn't budge. He grasped the bat with both hands and twisted it to the right, then braced a hand against the hip again and pulled harder, but it still wouldn't budge.
He looked up at Zach. “Want to give me a hand here?”
Zach blew out a breath and walked around the table while pulling on a second pair of gloves. No, he thought, I definitely do not want to help on this one.
He held the body in place while Pete twisted the bat back and forth a few times and then pulled slowly. It made a loud sucking noise and when the bat finally came out, blood, water, feces, and pieces of intestines gushed out after it, splattering onto Pete and Zach both, and then splashed noisily onto the floor at their feet.
"All righty then," Pete commented, and held up the sawed off bat, looking at Zach, then showed it to Amy and Ron.
Amy made a sound that wasn't quite a scream as she turned and ran to the sink, and heaved her lunch into it.
Zach took a deep breath and shrugged as he looked at Ron and Pete. He went to Amy, pulled paper towels out of the container, wet them and handed them to her, and left the water running in the sink so she could clean herself up.
October 22, 2010
Today
Today I am at three different places. Yeah, you just know I'm going to mess up my posts somehow. VBG
TRS Spookapalooza http://www.theromancestudio.com/party/
Fallen Angel Reviews Chatter http://groups.yahoo.com/group/FallenAngelReviewChatters
Love Romances Cafe http://groups.yahoo.com/group/LoveRomancesCafe
Stop by if you can. I'd love to chat with you.
TRS Spookapalooza http://www.theromancestudio.com/party/
Fallen Angel Reviews Chatter http://groups.yahoo.com/group/FallenAngelReviewChatters
Love Romances Cafe http://groups.yahoo.com/group/LoveRomancesCafe
Stop by if you can. I'd love to chat with you.
October 21, 2010
My muse is sleeping
I feel the need to write.
My muse doesn't. The fickle beyotch just wants to sleep.
My muse doesn't. The fickle beyotch just wants to sleep.
That's her, on the arm of the chair. Wake up!
October 20, 2010
Quote
I wanted to share with you a wonderful quote Desiree Holt provided me with for my next book, AFTER MIDNIGHT. Check it out:
"Just as music seduces you with soft but exciting notes until you reach the crescendo, so does After Midnight, which is all about music. You will fall in love with Isabeau and Noah and share their angst as they fight their way to love. A great read." - Desiree Holt
Thank you Desiree!
October 15, 2010
Spotlight On... Laura Browning
Thanks for having me. First, I have to admit I’m a procrastinator. I finished my first (awful) romance when I was sixteen and living as an exchange student in a little attic room in Switzerland. I wrote it in a spiral notebook and gave it to my mom for Christmas. She’s been after me ever since to “publish something.” I don’t think she envisioned waiting more than thirty years for that to happen.
In the meantime, I worked in television news for more than twenty years before starting another career as an English teacher.
My husband was the one who finally gave me the proverbial kick in my procrastinating rear end when he looked at me and said, “You’re like a woodcutter who chops down trees, stacks the wood, and then lets it rot. Either send something to a publisher or quit hogging the computer.”
Isn’t love grand?
I love it! Tell us about THE SILKIE’S CALL and where we can find it.
The book is available both in print and digital format from The Wild Rose Press.
Read an Excerpt
Describe your writing in three words.
Strong, sexy, caring
How did you start writing?
Well, I mentioned the bad gothic in the spiral notebook, but really and truly it started when I was four or five. I would make up my own bedtime stories after lights out. Usually, I inserted myself into some fairy tale. Sometimes I was the heroine rescued by the handsome prince, but just as often I was a warrior goddess who came in and smashed all the bad guys.
Why did you choose your genre?
Cough…genre? THE SILKIE’S CALL is considered paranormal, and I like the fun of being able to create a world and stretch believability, but in my woodpile, I’ve got a few contemporaries, several vampires, and a couple of historicals still waiting to get out. The seals just swam to the top first.
Do you ever become attached to your characters and have a hard time letting them go?
Yes. I do. By the time I finish a manuscript, I feel like those characters are personal friends. If they don’t feel that way to me, then I know I’m not done. Something’s not right. I’ll give you a for instance. The villain in THE SILKIE’S CALL wouldn’t turn loose. I don’t think he was happy about being the bad guy, so I ended up giving him his own story. The Wild Rose Press has also picked up THE SILKIE’S SALVATION which will come out next year.
Congratulations. Do you have any 'must haves' with you while you're writing?
Coffee and noise. Too many years working in a newsroom I guess. I can even write while carrying on a conversation. It drives my family crazy.
What are three things you wish you’d known before you began your writing career?
I wish I’d met my husband earlier so he could kick me in the butt sooner. I wish I’d been smart enough to hook up with my wonderful Heart of Carolina Romance Writers RWA Chapter sooner. I wish I’d known how much fun I would have!
Where can we find you on the web?
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Laura-Browning-Romance-Author/104008212970079?ref=sgm
My website (still under construction): http://www.laurabrowningbooks.com/
My blog: http://www.laurabrowningbooks.blogspot.com/
Is there anything you’d like to ask our readers?
Is the interest in vampires still out there? I have some really hunky guys lurking around in the dark.
Thanks for visiting with me today, Laura.
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