Wild Rose Press is an exciting small electronic and print publisher of romance.
Our titles span the sub-genre spectrum from sweet to sensually erotic and are available in
all lengths, including short story, category, and single title.
The Beauty of the Beast
One
of paranormal fiction’s special challenges is building supernatural
characters that are relatable. Readers are hooked by the fantastic, but
the creatures they remember most are rooted in the human.
We all know
the rules for our heroes and heroines. As multi-dimensional beings,
they must have strengths and weaknesses, even as they cast spells,
shapeshift and crave human blood. They need a back story and believable
motivations and goals. Some quirkiness adds texture and interest. Would
Mercy Thompson be as interesting if Patricia Briggs hadn’t made her a
mechanic? We think not. A deeper challenge is applying those rules to
our villains. We’re tempted to cloak them in absolute evil. Randomly
bloodthirsty beasts and apocalyptic monsters are fun to create. Giving
them reasons for their despicable actions is more difficult.
Let’s
say upfront that we consider Patricia Briggs a master of
characterization. While she has developed her share of bad-to-bone
nasties, we remain most haunted by those that are more complex. In
Blood Bound, Mercy Thompson and the Columbia Basin wolf pack grapple
with a vampire who is also a sorcerer and is attached to a demon. This
is one seriously wretched villain. He kills with abandon, most notably
in a horrific motel murder that an innocent human is blamed for. Make no
mistake, readers hate this guy.
But this vampire’s name is Corey.
Yes, Corey–like the two young actors from that 1980’s classic, The Lost
Boys. Corey conjures visions of the boy next door. When you learn more
about him, you find he didn’t ask to become a vicious killer. He did
seek the thrill of being a sorcerer, however, which makes him a truly
bad vampire. You can’t help but have a little sympathy for Corey even as
you root for Mercy to kick his ass.
The river monster in Briggs’
River Marked is equally complicated. The creature’s insatiable appetite
is fed by taking over minds and guiding humans willingly to their
deaths. Yeah, it’s sick. But you can relate on some level when you find
out the legend Native American legend about She Who Watches, the beast
who’s always hungry for humans. She’s so powerful and so persuasive,
especially when she’s trying to make deals with Mercy.
Some tips for building the perfect beast include: The
unexpected. Vampires have most often been beautiful people, and they’re
usually very sexually adept, but again, Briggs comes through with a
member of the local vampire seethe who is an older woman with the mind
of a child. She’s a virtuoso on the piano but has to be watched
constantly because she acts without thought.
The tragic. The villain
in Awakening Magic, which features the Connelly witches of New Mourne,
is the Woman in White. She’s the ghost of a young woman who had
everything she loved taken from her by someone who should have been
trusted. As a result, she’s still haunting the small North Georgia town
inhabited by the Connelly coven and a variety of other supernatural
beings. Because she was grief stricken, she demanded a tribute when the
Connellys first came to New Mourne in the 1700s—the life of one of the
young witches. This has continued for centuries, but as the story
progresses, you begin to understand the Woman in White’s grief,
especially when the demon shows up.
The one rule to keep in mind when
creating your characters is remembering everyone’s goal is to move the
story forward. You have to create three-dimensional, believable
characters but only you may know much of their backstory. Sometimes it’s
especially easy to get caught up in the story of these peripheral
characters—just let them impact the story as necessary. In searching for
Corey, Mercy found her own supernatural powers increased. In our book,
the young witch, Brenna must fully embrace her magic before she can help
her family.
Nora Roberts is superb at dealing with secondary
characters. There may be a romance going on with them or a completely
different story line, but it will be subtle and all of it will support
what’s happening with the two main characters.
Whatever type of
fiction you’re writing, world building is at the core. All characters
matter and what motivates the villain to do evil matters too. It’s all
part of the story.
Neely Powell @NeelyPowell3 www.neelypowellauthor.com
Since 1968 I’ve sent out a dutiful Christmas letter each December that
had three major intentions. Touching base with friends and family was
always a given, but exercising my writing skill and incorporating a
historical timeline were ulterior motives. Each of our children will
someday benefit from a Christmas binder of letters that includes a
parallel view of the family in changing times, along with some family
photos and greeting cards through the years.
When the nest
thinned out, we opted to take Christmas photos of hub and I with one or
more of the animals left in our domestic “zoo.” In my Pride and
Prejudice phase, we rented costumes and posed as Darcy and Elizabeth
with our favorite white Arabian. Another year, we posed in bathing suits
on a snow-covered patio, enjoying summer drinks. “Greetings from
tropical Minnesota” topped that year’s newsletter.
Keeping the
letter witty, cheerful and held to one or two sides of a single page was
often a challenge. Running an impromptu wildlife preserve on our
woodsy Minnesota acreage the last few decades, however, provided a
wealth of material. (I count four children and even their children among
“wildlife” which included horses, deer, turkeys, dogs, cats, rabbits,
squirrels, birds, snakes, rodents and even a pygmy goat and a pelican.)
After the holidays, I always regretted time constraints that
squelched focus on more than the occasional article or feature for a
local paper or magazine. Somewhere deep inside those spurts of
creativity the Great American Novel fluttered impatient wings. When I
did carve out time in my busy life to freelance—that demanding novel
raged and pouted over the put-off. Things began to pop when I joined a
few National Writing Associations and began to attend their writer
conferences.
After placing in a short story competition , the
judge wrote a letter begging me to continue the story. An agent at a Las
Vegas Writers Conference suggested I write a novella first, then pursue
the longer novel I finally got around to pitching. I took their
collective advice and my debut novel, “The Accidental Wife,” was scooped
up by Wild Rose Press and released in 2015 to good reviews and several
awards. Confidence surged into motivation. With an empty nest and only
one dog left in our menagerie, I had no more excuses!
I write
full time now, churning out ideas once suppressed by time. The vanity
license plate on my hot little red car expresses it all. “Novel CJ” is
finally in gear. Book Two, “The Accidental Stranger” will be released
January 6th in my “Accidental” series. The annual Christmas letter is
morphing into a newsletter put out bi-monthly for fans. It is no
accident; there is never a time-stamp on creativity or new careers.
Never too late to promote delayed dreams! And to think…it all began with
one of those much maligned, dutiful Christmas letters.
My new release Moonlight On The Shenandoah is
a ghost story packed with eerie experiences, adventure, and love. What
inspired me to write this book? It tumbled around in my head for years
while I wrote other stories, tended to my dying mom, and tended numerous
grandchildren.
We live on several acres of land adjoining the
Shenandoah National Park and we have a wonderful view of the Shenandoah
Valley from our porch and decks where the two forks of the Shenandoah
River run through the valley below. There is also a Civil War-era grave
on our property that was part of the inspiration for this book. All the
"what ifs" came into play in my mind. Along with the wonderful spooky
mists that descend upon us in these deciduous wooded mountains and the
strong Civil War history in the area, the setting was perfect for a
ghost story. I spent hours researching this county just for the love of
history. I learned a lot of interesting details, some that made it into
my book. The ghost's story began rather different from what it evolved
into. Once I got to know my characters, they more or less grabbed the
story and ran. I just followed in pursuit of a wonderful tale.
I
hope y'all can enjoy this intricate love story that brings together lost
souls and unearths old wounds to heal them. Azure and Benjamin find
friendship in the company of Jesse, a hundred and fifty-year-old ghost.
His death was unexpected and his body never found, two things he wants
to set right when he first approaches Azure for help.
The actor ( Eddie Redmayne) and the director (Tom Hooper) treated this film with such elegance. Redmayne, as eddie-1 o-eddie-redmayne-570The Danish Girl, was so delicate in all of his movement; especially with his hands, that I was shocked to learn that he is a straight man with a wife and family. I want to gush about this story and this film! Set in Europe, in the 1930’s, when gender identity was considered a mental illness, the Danish Girl tries to resist her gender conflict..... More>> http://www.writeratplay.com/trivia-gossip-tittle-tattle-call-it-what-you-will/
On the surface, Herald Angels is a romance that has rural Virginia
competing with New York City as the heroine struggles with her past,
future, and various family issues. Chief among those issues are ones
with her sister.
The differences between the two cities are
pronounced. Manhattan is famous for its holiday decorations. After
visiting during the Christmas season, I knew I would use its décor in a
novel one day: the tree in Rockefeller Center, toy soldiers marching
across Radio City Music Hall’s marquee, the over-sized bulbs and balls
grouped in busy complexes, the window displays along 5th Avenue.
My
favorite turned out to be the staircase leading to and from Rockefeller
Center where white-wire angels herald the season with trumpets aloft.
At its base is a simple bench which seemed to be overlooked by most
passersby. From that vantage point, I could see 5th Avenue above, or
the enormous tree being reflected in the ice skating rink below.
For
a more simple setting I chose rural southwestern Virginia’s small town
of Bland. Named for Virginia Statesman Richard Bland—a cousin to Thomas
Jefferson—it borders The Jefferson National Forest. There are no stop
lights in this small town, which makes the night sky inky dark and
perfect for stargazing.
The majority of income in Bland,
Virginia is derived from farming, and most holiday decorations are quite
simple and lovely in a sparse nature. My favorite of these are the
evergreen wreaths with red bows attaching them to cattle gates,
weathered barns, front doors on log cabins.
Big, oversized
light displays are necessary when the backdrop is dotted with
skyscrapers, but would overpower the rolling hills and green meadows
dotted with cattle. Though totally different, both towns have their own
intrinsic beauty.
The same can be said for people. Some of us
are more like New York City—vibrant, active, always on the move. Others
might be natured more like Bland—quiet, reserved, peaceful, and happy
to stay at home. This doesn’t mean one is right and the other wrong,
just that we are all a little different.
While writing this
novel, I juxtaposed the relationship of two sisters and that of two
cities in much the same way. The real lesson lies in learning not to
judge, but to accept each as they are.
Of course, a budding
romance is driving the story. At its helm is the conflicted heroine who
is also being taught a few lesson in overcoming her tendency to judge
by occupation as well. Will she fall in love with a minister?
Career choices, family relationships, New York’s homeless population,
forgiving others and asking for it in return; complete the backstory.
Whether
you prefer simple country celebrations, or flashy and bright Christmas
in the city, this is the novel for you. I hope you enjoy it and the
holidays!
Renee Canter Johnson http://reneejohnsonwrites.com
Renee
Johnson is the author of Herald Angels, Acquisition, and The Haunting
of William Gray. She is currently working on a Young Adult novel, while
editing a suspense novel which has international flair–an homage to her
love of travel and foreign food. She lives on a farm in North Carolina
with her husband, Tony Johnson, and two very spoiled German shepherds
named Hansel and Gretel.
I wrote the story of my dream. I’m not kidding. It literally happened.
The entire story Love in the Shadows Fear swathed me and
worry danced in the fringes of my mind at some of the decisions they
made. The characters, my friends trooped through my mind at my will or
on their own accord over several months. I created my own dreams about
them. I was intrigued by their story of loving others unconditionally,
being tolerant and acceptant of others. I was moved by their warning
about choosing a lifelong mate based upon physical attributes. The story
and how it came to me took my breath away.
unfolded before me in a dream.
I was transported to another place and time into the lives of living
breathing people that I became emotionally involved with. At first, I
was an observer, watching the people carry out their daily routines.
Then as the emotional attachment grew, I became part of them. I could
smell the herbs in the upstairs room and the aroma of mint tea whirling
in my nostrils. I heard their conversations. I recognized their voices
and I felt their joy, their pain, and anxieties.
Writing My Traveling Man got me thinking about times in my life when I
kept a diary. As a young girl I was enthralled by the notion of having a
small pink covered book, latched by golden clasp, and opened with a
miniature skeleton key. Yes, I was enticed but never owned one of these
super-secret thought holders. Looking back I’m sure I suspected in my
family of six privacy was not a given, I’d most likely lose the key, and
what thoughts were so precious I had to record it thus?
As a
college student I took longhand notes and this practice morphed into 6 X
9 ½ inch notebooks where I recorded my thoughts. But my journey as a
diarist started in earnest when I began to travel as a young adult.
Usually I was on my own and the journal became a place to share with a
“friend,” record the daily news, and remember the important events of my
trip.
Like many others I read Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way and
faithfully wrote my morning pages for a good stretch of time. This
daily action inspired me to read Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain
by Betty Edwards so my morning pages became morning drawings.
Because
a diary is so central to the story of My Traveling Man I wondered if we
ever write our journals with the expectation they may be read by
others. In this novella I set out to celebrate the journal writers,
diarists, and note takers who traveled the Oregon Trail between 1846 and
1869. Their thoughts and notes provide the everyday person’s mindset of
pioneer’s traveling this arduous trail. Additionally, they give us an
idea of natural landmarks used to mark the passing of miles. For
example, an experienced wagon master believed he must get his train to a
certain large rock by the fourth of July to be ahead of winter snows.
The rock became known as Independence Rock and you can still see many
emigrants’ names carved in it if you travel the trail in Wyoming. Some
of the diaries published today are actually packets of letters sent back
to family in the east as the pioneer traveled west.
Though I do not
believe my diaries should or will become public, I do believe in this
note taking communing with self. At this stage my diary is a large
notebook, not pink and no key. In it I write small passages but more
often tape photos, ticket stubs, love notes from my husband, letters
from my friends, or small mementos. I don’t suspect it will be an
historical document one day but the action of writing, taping, and
remembering gives me pleasure. In this I feel a bond with the diarist of
the trail.
DeeDee Lane http://www.deedeelane.com
When I finished writing Sweet Sunset, my husband read it. He decided he knew who my characters really were. I told him no, he did
not. So okay, one gal is an enabler, like one of our daughters. One gal
got punched in the eye and was married to a crazy man, but nothing else
is like her. My one son always had the habit of picking the wrong
women, but now is married. I truly think he had a neon sign that lit up
and read, “if you are crazy, I’m sure I’ll love you.” Well at least for a
while.
I think when you write a novel people you know sort of
pop out of you. Like my mom who had dementia. She was asked to move out
of the senior’s apartments. She blew up cans in the microwave, she
burned food and she did break handles off ceramic cups. We never did
figure that one out.
As for Zack, he’s a total figment of my
imagination. My cousin Betty, who is widowed, wants the real him. The
gay boy was once a friend of my granddaughter’s. I have no idea what
happened to him once he grew up, but I wanted him to be happy.
Life
has happy times, and sad times. I like putting humor in my stories and
hope they make people laugh. We all need to laugh to keep us going. A
friend of mine told me about her mom being upset with her stepmom and
told her how evil she was, spilling her soda on the table. And of
course, June in the episode of the moms going to lunch, I had to tell
the story about her “yankee” neighbors, because the real June was a
Southern lady who told us tales like that.
I do hope if you have a chance to read Sweet Sunset you’ll enjoy spending time with Myrtle Sue and her dysfunctional family.
I'm frequently asked where I get my story ideas. In the case of my
holiday novella, Love's In The Cards, it was an actual job experience.
For a year before I moved to Ohio, I worked for a well-known greeting
card company store, which also had a considerable amount of gift
merchandise in addition to greeting cards and ornaments. There were two
six-foot plastic nutcrackers that we had to maneuver outside each
morning from mid-November through Christmas, and bring them in each
night. Some of the teenage girls made a game of it, pretending they were
dancing with the nutcrackers. We worked hard, but had a lot of fun. My
favorite thing to do was to straighten the cards as I watched them
dwindle in quantity each day. When I moved to Ohio, I got a job as a
merchandiser, going into big and little stores and putting out new card
displays for another well-known card company. It wasn't as much fun, but
I still got to straighten out cards and make them look pretty again. I
quit this job several years ago, but to this day, if I find myself in
the card department of a store, I have to straighten out the cards.
And
as for the other story line in Love's In The Cards, I had my own Del in
my life. Back when we were in kindergarten, we had nap time after
lunch, where we laid on towels or blankets for twenty minutes or so.
This little boy would always lay at my feet and draw on the soles of my
sparkling white shoes with a purple crayon. My mother got so angry every
night when I come home with purple crayon on my shoes, and never bought
the explanation that it wasn't my fault. I take some consolation in the
fact my Del became a high school art teacher, and pride myself on my
contribution to his success, but I've never quite forgiven him.
You'll be hearing a great deal about this new author!
I was given
an ARC of Haunting Highland House for an honest opinion and review, and
I am so thankful I was because Kathryn Hills' debut novel is definitely
a winner.
Set in New England in the present--and 100+ years
prior-- this is a story of a love that survives the vestiges of time,
war, death, and change.
When Samantha Merrill arrives at Highland
House as the new event manager, she feels a tiny sense of familiarity
and a little niggle of uncertainty. Has she been here before? Things
look familiar, but they...don't and aren't. An orphan raised by two much
older adoptive parents, Sam knows nothing of her life before the age of
4. Pretty soon she starts to doubt her sanity when she's confronted
with what she thinks is the ghost of Robert Pennington, the original
owner of the now historic museum. But he's not a ghost. He's a living,
breathing, powerful man. And he wants Samantha; almost-- if not more
than-- she wants him.
Sam's life quickly spins out of control,
traveling back and forth through time to meet with Robert, his family
and friends. When she discovers a terrible event will befall his family,
she wrestles with telling him and potentially changing the future, or
allowing events to proceed as they already have.
I don't like
spoilers so I leave the plot line there, but this book utterly
captivated me from page 1 until the very last page. And what a last
page!!!!! I'm usually fairly good at knowing how a book ( or TV show!)
ends, but Ms Hills' ending totally blew my mind! And in a great, great
way.
Mark my words, you 'll be hearing a lot about this wonderful author from now on. Haunting Highland House gets 5 well deserved stars from me! submitted by Peggy Jaeger
A friend recently shared a devotion with me from Deeper Walk. The
October 17, 2016 page was written by a romance author (unnamed) who
said, "Many people viewed her scratchings as 'fluff.'" But the author
defended her writing by concluding after prayer and Bible study that God
is a romantic! When he saw how lonely Adam was he created Eve. "Then
the Lord God said: 'It is not good for the man to be alone. I will make a
helper as his complement'"(Genesis 2:18).
I would add that God
was interested in finding Isaac the "right" girl and indicated that she
would be the one who offerred to water his camels which is exactly what
Rebecca did. Jacob, later called Israel, was so in love with Rachel that
he worked a total of 14 years for her father, who first tricked him
into marrying Leah, but later gave him Rachel as well. And what about
the patriarch Abraham. His wife Sarah's name meant princess. No one can
argue that Song of Solomon is not one of the most romantic and poetic
books in the Bible. And Jesus uses the analogy of the groom returning
for his beloved bride to describe his second coming.
If you feel
called to write Christian romance, do not be ashamed that you are not
writing deep theology or delving into erudite explication of Scripture.
Write from a basis of knowledge of God's word, experience, and heartfelt
emotion.
I’ve watched every episode of Murder She Wrote, The Hardy Boys, The Nancy Drew Mysteries, Miami Vice, Hart to Hart, Moonlighting, and Alfred Hitchcock Presents.
There’s nothing more fun than being faced with a murder, a group of
suspects, a puzzle, and a time limit to guess whodunit and why. It
sharpens the little gray cells and makes me feel warm and cozy. Add in
exotic locations, romance, humor, and snappy dialogue and I’m in heaven.
So the next Jana Lane mystery, RAG DOLL, takes place in 1985 with Miami Vice and Murder She Wrote being all the rage on television. Jana stars in a new television mystery series, The Detective’s Wife,
opposite Chris Bove, the hunky detective who got away in Satin Doll.
Guest starring on the show is young ingénue Christa Bianca, a rags to
riches story who has flooded the press. Life imitates television as
Christa’s loved ones are murdered, and Christa and Jana could be next.
Once again it’s up to Jana to use her knowledge from her days as
America’s most famous child star and save the day before the lights fade
to black.
Jana’s amazingly resilient, old world Hollywood,
incredibly funny, and loyal agent, Simon Huckby, is back. The other
suspects include Jason, the young prop man with a secret; bit players
Karen and makeup girl Cindi who have their eyes on Christa’s guest
starring role; two couples in supporting roles who have a conflict with
Christa and Christa’s husband/manager, the domineering Andrew Bianca;
Christa’s calculating agent Stu, and her Uncle Nick, trying to stay in
show business on Christa’s coattails.
Christa is a beautiful,
talented young woman who escaped her impoverished small town life and
embarked on a successful film and television career. As one reviewer
wrote, I used my knowledge of show business to devilish ends. Actually, I
used my background in each of the Jana Lane novels, since I know the
ins and outs on a movie set, television set, and theatre stage.
Thankfully nobody was murdered on my shows. I’ve been told the
television shooting sequences in RAG DOLL are realistic, exciting, and
fun to read. I’m sure that’s because I know my way around a real
television set, and I tried hard to incorporate that knowledge into
those scenes.
Though Jana and Brian are happily married, you
can’t blame Jana for being attracted to handsome, muscular, smart,
food-addict Bove, starring opposite her in The Detective’s Wife. After what they’ve gone through together in Satin Doll,
they can be totally honest with one another. Their banter is very funny
but also warm and precious. Since Jana is not available, their
attraction for each other needs to stay at bay, which is quite difficult
for both of them at times. I think they put that frustrated energy into
solving the case.
Once again as an actor in film,
television, and theatre, working opposite stars like Bruce Willis,
Nathan Lane, Rosie O’Donnell, Holland Taylor, and Jason Robards; I used
my knowledge and experiences to write RAG DOLL. Again as an avid mystery
buff myself, RAG DOLL is a page-turning mystery with clever plot
twists, engaging characters, romance, and lots of clues leading to a
surprising conclusion. Since coming from a funny Italian-American
family, humor also plays role in the novel.
So settle back
on the sofa, get the remote and popcorn, and turn on the television for
the next Jana Lane mystery! BTW, I want to play Simon Huckby in the TV
series!
Last month, one of my Facebook friends posted a challenge to come up
with four fictional characters that I identified with. It was great fun
putting my list together. You should try it. It's a great way to tell
your readers more about who you are and what you enjoy reading or
watching. I am a brand new cactus rose. Following are the ones I
selected as most like me.
Jo March in the novel
Little Women--Like Jo, I grew up in a financially challenged home. Jo
works outside the home to help support her family. I worked at any job I
could get—babysitter, tennis instructor, car hop, waitress, store
clerk. Jo and I are both strong and determined; although I am better at
controlling anger than she is. She spends some time in New York City. I
worked there for twelve years during my thirties and forties. Jo is a
writer. I am, too. It wasn't my profession, but I wish it had been.
Jing-mei
Woo (June) in The Joy Luck Club—I remember identifying with June
throughout the novel, notably when her mother praises her for never
taking the best quality crab. I try to respect the needs and wants of
others which includes bypassing crab claws for body meat, or taking the
smallest piece of cake on the plate. Like June, I was pushed to excel
(at school rather than piano). My mother and Suyuan Woo were both
critical mothers. Mine was especially critical when it came to socially
acceptable behavior and physical appearance. I came to realize this
wasn’t because she was mean, but because she wanted the best for me and
my sisters. I know she loved me, and I loved her with all my heart.
Mary
Richards in “The Mary Tyler Moore Show”--A single woman who, at age 30,
moves to Minneapolis after being jilted by her boyfriend of two years.
I, a divorced woman of 30, moved to New York City after being cheated on
by my husband of seven years. Mary ends up with a career in TV; whereas
I worked in the apparel and cosmetics fields. Mary becomes friends with
her next door neighbor in the boarding house she lives in. I became
friends with one of my roommates in the New York apartment I rented. We
are still friends to this day.
Anna from the movie
“Frozen”--Although I am the oldest of three sisters rather than the
younger of two, Anna is as devoted to her sister Elsa as I am to my
sisters Karen and Susan. I am also optimistic and caring like she is and
have her never-give-up attitude. I, too, was separated from my sisters
for a long time, not because we had grown apart, but because I lived
across the country for many years. Now we spend as much time together as
we can.
If
you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be - mountains, beach,
desert, in the middle of a forest, or the heart of a big city? Many people
would say the beach with the constant ebb and flow of the tide, sea birds screeching
overhead, and the smell of saltwater.
In
Secrets of Sandhill Island, Meg gave
up her life in a big city for a tumble-down beach house on the shore that
brought her happiness as a child.It
also gave her a chance to hide out from the high society world her father
pushed her into.The only thing in life precious
to her besides her son, was her garden. She toiled in the dirt daily bringing
forth life where once there was nothing.She mixed the sandy soil with loamy topsoil and expanded her garden each
year bringing forth more plants and beauty. The sound of the waves nourished
her soul like the vegetables nourished her body. And she shared the garden’s
bounty with her neighbors.
But
life was not always so serene for Meg.Her father, a tyrant who thought nothing of cheating his neighbors to
feather his own nest, disapproved of her one true love, Evan. Then Evan died, leaving her to raise their
child alone.
Just
as she had settled into her everyday life of growing and selling vegetables,
along came Alex. A man with a past that might be the key to her future. He was
an artist, fired from the university because of a fake sexual harassment
charge, who wanted to paint her beach house. And then he found a new medium for
his painting – organic – from her garden.
Set
on a tiny tourist island off the coast of Corpus Christi, Sandhill Island has
many secrets, and if you stick around long enough you’ll learn who holds the
key to unlock them. Just as the secrets are heating up, so is hurricane season
in the Gulf of Mexico. Secrets of
Sandhill island is a mainstream suspense novel with plenty of twists and
turns.
Sandra:
This novel is a multi-cultural Regency romance story of a
seventeen-year-old Anglo-West Indian bastard, Thorn Wick, now
acknowledged by his father, The Duke of Althorn, who was never made
aware of his birth. Our hero admires the ward of his father from afar,
an aristocratic flirtatious English lady, Alicia, who has designs on him
until the reality of loving Thorn too much almost destroys her. Throw
in our noble Duke, an evil witch doctor, a Barbados tribal chieftain
intent on redemption, horse racing for the Regent, amazing “heavenly”
Argamak Turkmen horses, a conspiracy to bring down the monarchy, and our
plot thickens. Lust, desire, passion all conflict to epic proportions.
Honor, truth, and justice test his values. Just when he starts to
believe in fairy tales, another obstacle looms to thwart his plans. And
then there’s love!
Where did you get the idea for this story?
Sandra:Ever
since I can remember, the subject of bastardy fascinated. I read John
Jakes eight-book series that spanned generations and centuries and
decided I wanted to create a ‘magnificent’ bastard of my own.
How does Thorn react to the stigma?
Sandra:Yanked
from the West Indies, the half-breed, is transported to London, England
where he is considered illegitimate. Can anyone imagine the emotions
that consumed him? Except for the noble duke’s recognition and that of
the family who supports him, acceptance though difficult is made easier.
Thorn fights against all the odds. He wants to be regarded as an
honorable man, like his father.
Prepare
to be transported from island life in Barbados to aristocratic England
and then back to Barbados where stunning revelations wrack our hero’s
world.
What stunning revelations?
Sandra:
Without spoiling the story for readers, all I can say is that there is a
native uprising against foreign plantation owners, the discovery of the
truth about Thorn’s mother’s death, and a flight to save his life as he
swims out to a waiting ship bound for England and a bad storm.
Why did you decide to write Regency Romance?
Sandra:I
was an only child whose parents both worked. Before and after school, I
was alone, and the only reading materials my parents had was the book Heidi and The Encyclopedia Britannica. You can imagine that the Encyclopedia
was dry reading. History intrigued me, particularly the historical
period of the Regency era. At the age of thirteen, after a brief stint
in a convent in New Jersey, I accepted that the life of a novice nun was
not my calling. Interestingly, when I arrived there in Morristown, the
convent was an old historical mansion with parquet floors and grand
staircases, not to mention a soaring ceiling, usually found in Regency
mansions.
My
first task was to wash the parquet floors, dry them, polish with a
special formula, and then shine them. But that was not the reason I
left. It had to do with a glass of evaporated milk. No cookie could
disguise the taste at the 3:30
afternoon sessions. I pleaded not to be forced to drink the odiferous
liquid, but I was to be an example. I drank it, threw up on the Sister’s
garment, and then requested I go home to my parents. My reckoning was
simple. If I was meant to be a nun most surely the milk would not be a
problem. In those days the convents had strict rules, and they did their
best to train and teach us, but my heart was elsewhere.
Visions
of dukes, duchesses, viscounts, earls, danced in my head. So I kept on
writing. I sometimes think that in another life, I was born during the
Regency period. I’ve never created a duke I couldn’t love.
Online
classes, seminars, conferencing, monthly meetings, networking, etc.
over the past five years made me realize I had to study the craft.
Decades later, when I decided that to see my name in print was a goal
before I left the planet, I broke through the ceiling. My debut novel
was Once Upon a Duke,
released July 14, 2015. I’ve been on a marvelous journey ever since,
with my fourth book in The Duke Series whose release date is November 4,
2016, The Duke’s Magnificent Bastard.
When do you write?
Sandra:
Writing to me is not a pastime or a way to make money, it is an
obsession. I write ten to twelve hours a day, every day, and then I read
in the wee time of a morning, which doesn’t leave too much time to
clean the house. The dust puppies will always be there.
About The Duke’s Magnificent Bastard
After
three years in England, Thorn Wick, the duke’s bastard son, perfectly
flawed, still fights for acceptance in his father’s world as a renowned
golden horse trainer. Just when he starts to believe in fairy tales,
another obstacle looms to thwart his plans.
Alicia
Montgomery, ward of the duke, is in love with Thorn. Strong willed and
adventurous, she determines she can convince him to admit his feelings
until the reality of loving Thorn too much almost destroyed her.
On
a dangerous mission to Barbados at the request of his father, Thorn is
stunned when secrets are revealed about his mother. Will Thorn extract
revenge for the foul deed?
Can Alicia quell Thorn’s demons and prove to him love can pave the way to their happiness?
Can
Thorn relinquish his past because he now has a present and a future?
Will he accept the man he has become? Will he return to his father and
Alicia and fulfill their destiny?
About the Author
From
a humble beginning in Newark, NJ, retired business executive Sandra
Masters had a short stay at a convent in Morristown, NJ, to the board
rooms of NYC to the ballrooms of the Regency period. Spicy Sensual
Seduction with Swagger.
We all know there's truth in fiction. But don't we want to know
specifics? What is autobiographical in this particular story? Read on,
and find out! Under A Halloween Moon
opens up with Annika and her five-year-old daughter Mindy on a windy
overcast day at a town Halloween parade that finishes in a town park
where families visit over hot chocolate and donuts. TRUE. I took my son
to this exact parade when we lived in western Pennsylvania.
Attending
the parade is Robin Hood on a horse. TRUE. Where we lived had enough
undeveloped areas that a few people still had acres of land, and horses.
One of these men dressed up in full Robin Head regalia and rode his
white horse in the parade.
Annika, Mindy, and her friend Livvy
ooh and ah over a baby costumed as a flower in a terra cotta pot. TRUE.
This baby won one of the costume awards at the parade I went to…beyond
adorable.
The fiction starts when single mother Annika locks
gazes with Livvy’s single father Cameron. He’s an architect, but what's
TRUE here is that I have always been attracted to architect’s
handwriting. So I’m giving my hero a sexy head start for any notes he’s
going to write to the heroine!
I hope you’ll pick up with Cam
and Annika and Mindy and Livvy and find out what else is in store for
the four of them as a magical Halloween weekend unfolds…
Hello everyone! I write light paranormal romance, both historical
romance (The Dragonfly Chronicles) and YA paranormal romance. I love the
idea of magic in the world, especially the kind that exists right under
our noses where everyday people, too wrapped up in their idea of
reality, miss it. I am a relatively average mom of three, ovarian cancer
ass-kicker, creative wife (wink, wink), author of romance, and lover of
chai lattes. I also totally believe in ghosts, mostly because I lived
in a haunted house for five years.
Yes, really!
I’m an
only child and my parents divorced when I was nine. My dad moved to
Virginia. He loved, and still loves, “fixer uppers” which is why he
bought an abandoned house. I first came to see “the mansion” when I was
twelve years old. The grass around the two-story, slate-roof house stood
to my waist. A sloping wrap-around porch had turned completely gray and
loose boards along it could swallow your foot if you weren’t careful.
The clapboard paint was peeling but looked like it had once been white. A
huge barn sat, its middle sinking like a swayback horse, in the yard.
We didn’t go in that first evening because the paperwork hadn’t been
signed yet, so I stared at the vacant, dark windows that reminded me of
assessing eyes. Yeah, I was spooked, but Dad was so excited about the
house and its history that I agreed it was beautiful.
The house had
been built in three parts, the oldest being up front, sitting just a
few steps from the narrow dirt road winding before it. This part of the
house was built before the Civil War. It was the manor house of a small
plantation, and unlike many others in the area, it hadn’t been burned to
the ground because it was used for a short while as a hospital for the
soldiers. My dad gleefully showed me several regimental-looking buttons
that he’d unearthed in the basement.
The first time I stepped
into the house I stood stunned, staring at the terrible graffiti that
had been painted across the walls by vagrants who’d used the empty house
for who knows what. Swastikas and profanity yelled back at me from
warped, horse-hair plaster walls. While Dad mowed the foot-tall grass
with a hand mower, I was supposed to sweep the floor and wash down the
walls so we could paint them. The electricity had yet to be turned on in
the house. I pushed the broom around in that silent room while the sun
set outside. All I could hear was the whir of Dad’s mower as it choked
through the grass and the broom bristles scratching the wood floor.
I
stilled like a panicked bird as cold enveloped the room. Goosebumps
prickled up all over my arms and I felt…anger. No ghostly howls came
from the staircase in the hall, no chains shook, no television turned
fuzzy (maybe it would have had there been one). But I had the
overwhelming feeling that someone or something wanted me to “Get out!”
So
I got out, running straight off the porch to my dad and refusing to go
back in until he had electricity. Luckily by the time I turned fourteen
and moved in with my dad and stepmother, he had electricity and running
water and even a room for me. Guess where my bedroom was? In the oldest
part of the house of course. We seemed to attract stray dogs, so we had
five. One small Benji-looking dog was mine. Since I was an only child,
and my dad and stepmother left at 5:30 AM and returned home at 7:00 PM, I
was alone most of the time. Just me and my dogs and…
It became
pretty apparent that something was going on in the house. All of us
would hear footsteps going up the worn wooden stairs that led to the
hall just outside my room. We’d hear the unplugged vacuum cleaners
rolling on the wood floor at night and find it on the other end of the
hall in the morning. The dogs would stare together at a single corner,
tipping their heads in unison and whining. “What? What is it!?” I’d
yell, but they never told me. Once I woke up for no apparent reason to
see my little dog whining at something in the shadowed corner of my
room. Then she jumped up on my bed and dove under the covers. I joined
her there until morning.
I had a friend sleep over. I didn’t
tell her about the weird sounds in the house because I didn’t want to
scare her off. We started hearing the rattling downstairs hours after my
parents had gone to bed. I told her to stay put. I walked down the dark
stairs into the dining room (yes, also in the oldest part of the
house). Silence sat with the moon beams coming through the naked
windows, as if waiting for me. Then suddenly all the china in the glass
hutch began to vibrate in their little stands. Nothing else moved in the
room, but all the china quivered, making a ringing noise. I was
literally petrified, couldn’t move until it stopped and I ran back
upstairs. Throughout the night I kept hearing it, but never again after
that night.
Occasionally doors would open on their own,
reminding me that we were sharing our home, but there were no more angry
feelings. In fact I began to feel like the ghosts (as we felt there
were more than one, not sure why) were looking out for me. Perhaps once
they realized we weren’t there to harm the house further, they accepted
us.
They certainly didn’t accept one of my boyfriends. Poor
Mark. One night we had a fight. I remember him saying “fine, then I’m
leaving.” I didn’t want him to go and perhaps the ghosts could see it in
my face. As Mark strode to the door of the room (old houses seem to
have doors on every room, no open floor plans), the door, which was
standing open about three feet, slammed in his face. Well, now!
After
that Mark wouldn’t leave my side when he visited. When I had to use the
bathroom, he’d stay just outside the door. LOL! One night as he was
leaving, very late after my folks were asleep, I stood on the front
porch waving. He stopped his car, stared at me with huge eyes and then
peeled out of the driveway, his tires spitting gravel. The next day I
asked him what the hell he’d been doing as he’d woken my dad.
“Was your dad wearing white and standing on a chair right behind you when I was leaving?”
“Uh, no.”
“That’s why I left. The ghost was watching me leave.”
“And you just left me there?!”
“They like you!” was his defense.
Well,
yes, that was true. They did like me. They looked out for me, perhaps
even growing attached to me. When I was packing up to go away to
college, they were quite unhappy. I had a music box with a porcelain
doll holding a miniature bird cage on top of it. For two nights before I
left for the University of Maine, starting around 2AM, I would wake up
to my music box singing and the doll’s coiffed head tipping and tilting
on its gears. Yes, every hour on the hour, those pranksters wound up my
music box and I’d have to listen to it until it wound down. I had
already learned to sleep with my head under the pillows from years of
freaky night noises. Perfect preparation for dorm life.
The
first time I came home from college, the electricity just happened to be
off only in MY room. I had been away, living with real people with no
ghosts around, for months. When I walked into my totally black room, I
felt what I can only call a presence or pressure, like someone was in
the corner.
“I’m not used to you anymore. I’m sorry, but you’re
scaring me,” I said. “I think you should move on or whatever you need to
do to leave this house. I’m going back downstairs and when I come back
in five minutes, I’d really like it if you were gone.” I threw in a “in
the name of Jesus Christ” just in case and left. When I came back up,
the pressure seemed to be gone. The next day my dad found the wire that
had mysteriously come undone in the wall. After that Dad said he didn’t
really hear anything from our ghosts. The footsteps up the stairs to my
room had faded away.
Maybe I should hire myself out for
exorcisms or something. Since then my dad has sold the house and a
lovely family lives there. They have not heard nor seen anything
unusual. I’m glad that the ghosts, perhaps of those soldiers (although I
sensed a female at times, I mean what guy would bother to vacuum?),
moved on to wherever their spirits were supposed to go. I will certainly
always remember them. They have influenced me in so many ways, in my
writing, my ability to consider the unusual, and my conviction that
there are magical things in this world if we are willing to open our
eyes and “see” them.
Have you ever experienced something you can’t explain? Do tell : )
Heather McCollum
Romance Wrapped in Magic
A picture of the house as it looks today is at the beginning of my book trailer for my YA paranormal romance, SIREN’S SONG
The Beauty of the Beast
