The Duende and the Muse Release Day!

by Cate Masters
To celebrate the release of my short Faery (fantasy) story from The Wild Rose Press, I’m giving away a PDF copy today to a random commenter on my blog. I'll announce the winner tomorrow at 9 p.m. (Eastern) Just share something about your muse – or duende, as the case may be. Does inspiration light upon you like a butterfly? Or strike like a bolt of lightning, sizzling along your nerve endings, burning your fingertips until they’re forced to pound it out on paper or a keyboard? Sometimes the best stories come out like that, jumping from our head to the page almost fully formed.
The Duende and The Muse was a little of both. It started as a lightning strike, and I tweaked it a bit later, after it had cooled off a bit.
And if you don’t win today, if you purchase it (or Seventh Heaven, my Vintage Rosette), you can enter The Wild Rose Press’ contest to win a Sony eReader. Details are here.



Cate Masters’ short stories and flash fiction have appeared in various web zines and press sites. Visit her online at www.catemasters.com, http://catemasters.ning.com/ or www.catemasters.blogspot.com or friend her on Facebook

Three weeks till Seventh Heaven’s release!

By Cate Masters
On March 19, visit http://catemasters.blogspot.com/ for a chance to win a copy of Seventh Heaven! That’s the day TWRP will release my Vintage Rosette story set in the late 1960s. I incorporated the music I loved while growing up in the Lambertville/New Hope area, where the story is set. The hero, James, is named for James Paul McCartney (pardon me, I should say “Sir” these days), my childhood idol. The Music Circus existed until the late Seventies, and Judy Collins did perform there, as she does in my story. But I won’t give too much away – you’ll have to come back on March 19 to try to win a copy, or go to the Wild Rose Press site and purchase a copy!
The excerpt follows the trailer, below.



Here’s the excerpt:
James stands in the open doorway. The choker gleams from his neck. “I came by to say thanks.”
The distance she’d felt between them last night is gone. His warm eyes search hers, reaching again for a connection.
“I didn’t know it was you.” She steps from behind the counter. No more barriers between them.
He closes the door. “So. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. It looks good. It’s an--”
“An ankh. I know.” Something seems to be holding him back, but somehow she knows she must be patient, let him come to her.
“The Egyptian symbol of eternity.” She doesn’t know what to do with her hands, and her breath is jagged. “Sorry. I mean, Ben told us. It really stinks you’re leaving.”
He runs a finger across a glazed jug. “Bad timing.”
She clasps her hands in front of her. “I guess it’s never a good time…”
He glances up and flashes a switchblade smile. “I mean, I wish we had more time.” His soft voice rushes at her like the wind and billows the sails of her heart’s rocky boat.
The air thins, seems rarified. “Me, too.”
He takes a step closer. Time feels maddeningly slow. She wants to run to him, fill her arms with him.
She folds her arms. “I hope you’ll write me, if you get a chance.”
“Yeah?”
He’s within arm’s reach. His gaze flows over her inch by inch, over every curve and hollow.
The floor needs sweeping. And needs to be smaller. Or his steps need to be more expansive. “Sure, I’ll keep you up on the local gossip. Send you goodie packages.” A lock of her hair. A photo of herself so he’ll think of her every day. And night.
His eyes lock on hers. “That’d be nice.”
“We’re going to miss you around here.”
“You will?” The timbre of his voice rumbles inside her like an earthquake.
With his last step, he is so close her skin tingles with his heat. “No one can make a margarita like you.”
He fingers her hair, tucks a strand behind her shoulder. “Come back tonight. I’ll make you all the margaritas you can drink.”
In her head she is already there, sipping at a wide-rimmed glass, serenaded by Dylan in the background, James attending to her alone. “OK.”
“See you about seven, then?”
She smiles. “Seven it is.”
He backs toward the door, slowly, as if still taking her in. The silver ankh winks in the light as he turns to leave.

Visit Cate Masters online at http://catemasters.ning.com/ or http://catemasters.blogspot.com or friend her on Facebook (as C.A. Masterson)

Going with Gravity's release date!

Isn't it fun to find good news in your email? My Champagne Rose editor, Cindy Davis, emailed me with the release date for Going with Gravity - July 15. Wooot! I can't wait. This is my first release with the Champagne Rose line of The Wild Rose Press.
Here is the blurb and excerpt:
Blurb
Publicist Allison Morris plans her own life – what’s left of it – around the life of her boss Michelle McCarter, the ex-wife of a famous rock star. When Michelle needs emergency public relations patchwork in Hawaii pronto, Allison arranges a flight to the dream destination. At the airport, she meets Wes Hamilton, a six-foot-three sun-bleached blond whose blue eyes and dazzling smile rekindle her fizzled-out sizzle. A world-renowned surfer, Wes captivates her with his charm and wit, though his easy fame and on-the-edge lifestyle are the polar opposite of her own. When their jet loses its fuselage in mid-air, she takes advantage of what she thinks are her last minutes alive with Wes. The plane lands safely. Wes takes care of her when her carefully constructed life begins to unravel. When Michelle accuses Allison of using Wes to gain fame for herself, Allison’s world falls apart in an explosive confrontation. Wes is waiting with open arms when she has nowhere else to go, but can Allison learn to stop planning and go with gravity?

Excerpt
Allison pulled her portfolio from her laptop case and set it on her lap, afraid to open it. As soon as the articles had arrived on her fax machine, she’d shoved them into her bag, then hopped in the shower. Delay tactics only worked for so long. The moment of truth had arrived. She opened it and thumbed through. Eleven pages. Eleven. And these were only the newspaper articles from the past two days. TV and online news sites surely covered more. And then there’d be the inevitable blogger. Uncontrollable, overly opinionated and accountable to no one, they were the worst.
Michelle had arrived on Oahu with a bang, and then had the audacity to blame Allison for not doing her job to quell the media. She held up one photo of a topless Michelle prancing in the surf, laughing. Rumors and innuendo could be stopped with logic and tact, but to downplay this photo, she’d need a good explanation. When Michelle’s logic and tact failed her so obviously, Allison had to wonder about her mental state.
A hulking figure filled the aisle, stowing his bag in the overhead compartment.
Those shorts. That shirt.
It was him.
He checked his ticket, looked at her and smiled. His blond hair fell across his forehead as he sat next to her, his shoulder bumping hers. “Hello again.”
For two years, she’d rubbed elbows with stars of all magnitudes without so much as a blink, and fended off paparazzi following the wife of megastar James McCarter.
With two words, she’d been reduced to the rank of dreamy-eyed teeny bopper.
He smiled, raised an eyebrow.
She realized, then, she hadn’t responded. And her mouth hung open.
Make that drooling dreamy-eyed teeny bopper.
She flashed a smile. Think. Damage control is your business. Put it to good use for once.
“Hi.” Oh, yes. Very witty. What a deft deflection of his charm.
She turned back to her articles, but sensed the weight of his stare.
He frowned at her reading material. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to read over your shoulder. I take it you’re a closet fan of the poor little rich girl?”
“In the same way I’m a closet fan of train wrecks, I suppose. I guess you’re not a fan.”
“Of hers?” He chuckled. “God, no. She’s awful. Her publicist should be shot.”
Shot. Of course. Working fifty-five to sixty-five hours a week wasn’t enough to keep the spin spinning fast enough for the rest of the world. The one guy who’d interested her in the past two and a half years thought she made a good candidate for execution. Her life was in such a rut, she’d need mountain climbing gear to get out.
“If you’re a fan, I didn’t mean to offend.” Sincerity had wiped the smile from his face.
“Actually, I’m..” She turned and smiled, “…her publicist.”

Visit Cate Masters' blog and Ning site, or friend me on Facebook!

My first review!

I found this on the Wild Rose Press site today - how exciting!

Cinderella Dreams [Rose Petal]

Cinderella Dreams is a sweet, emotional story that held my attention the whole way through, and made me smile several times. I love the characters, especially the hero, who drew me in from the first moment he appeared.
Wendy Davy

Wow, thanks, Wendy! Cinderella Dreams was a fun story to write. Your 5-star review means a lot, especially coming from another Wild Rose author.

September is Vintage Rose month at the Wild Rose site. Cinderella Dreams (are tough to shake) is a free read - go on over and download yours now! Other Vintage Rose titles are discounted ten percent in September, too. What a great way to get acquainted with some of the other great Wild Rose authors!

My second cover from The Wild Rose Press!

Funny how getting something good in your email can brighten up a dreary day. This morning I received the cover art for my story, The Duende and the Muse, to be released by The Wild Rose Press.


Another outstanding cover art work by Nicola Martinez! Thanks so much, Nicola!

This story's one of my favorites, since it's about a frustrated writer. But the main characters are Melinda the Muse, who's also frustrated with the writer, and Devon, a duende, or demon muse.

Here is the story blurb:
Melinda the Muse's student isn't writing much these days. When Devon the duende shows up, is he there to steal her student, or her heart?

And here is a sneak preview:
Melinda is startled when she notices a dark figure leaning against a booth across the aisle. He stands out like a charcoal etching against the background of clouds – harsh outlines, jagged features. Menacing yet compelling. He smiles, and lightning flashes from his dazzling white teeth, zinging through her.
She’s never seen a muse like him, but he must be one – otherwise he wouldn’t be here. He wouldn’t be stepping toward her with the intensity of a jaguar, a laserlight in his eye, teeth bared in a hungry smile.
This guy looks like a Vanity Fair ad – layered hair mussed just so, sandals with a jacket and jeans that fit really well. She runs her hand across her belly to quell the tiny pinpricks. She’s been so busy with work lately, she hasn’t met anyone new.
“Who’s that?” Her wings can’t beat fast enough to cool the heat rising from deep inside her.
Calliope turns to Euterpe. “Oh my. How did he get in here?”
Euterpe squints in his direction, then furrows her brow. “A duende. They’ll let anyone in these days.”
That explains it. Melinda’s heard of them -- said to be a combination of charm, magic, inspiration, fire, magnetism – and demon. Muses were warned at an early age not to take up with duendes. Tales of muse-duende liaisons were fraught with disaster and downfall – for the muse. Duendes managed to carry on unscathed, though their methods of inspiration could be deadly for their students.
The thought vanishes quicker than a flicker of sunlight on water as he moves toward her and says hello in a voice whose timbre resounds within her.
“Hi.” She stares, entranced by his dark beauty.
His smile envelops her. “I’m Devon.”
She extends her hand. “I’m Melinda. So nice to meet you.” Fire sparks in her fingers as he takes her hand in his, then leans to kiss it.
A tingling crawls up her arms and neck and into her head, where it scrambles her thoughts.
His gaze lingers on her lips, and they quiver open like a rosebud blooming in sunlight.
His voice is like a hot wind in the desert. “The pleasure’s all mine.”
Oh, she doubts it. “Are you here for the entire weekend?”
His glittering black eyes wander across her body, sending a shiver of molten heat to her core.
Oh, she’s in trouble. Deep trouble.
A smile flickers on his lips. “Now I wish I were. I have other business, unfortunately.”
Her voice wilts like a thirsty flower. “I’m sorry to hear that.” She clears her throat. “You know, because the sessions look so enticing this year.”
“Yes, enticing.” He leans closer, close enough to kiss her. The center of his eyes swirl like a gathering storm.
“Melinda,” Euterpe croaks. “The first session is beginning. You should get a good seat.”
Melinda’s more stern than she intends. “I’ll be right there.”
Devon backs away, one bare foot at a time. “Enjoy MuseFest. Maybe I’ll see you around.”
Yes, yes, please, Zeus.
“Maybe.” She follows Calliope and Euterpe to the tented area where signs blink the schedule and announcements.
He’s still watching her. She can tell by the heat traveling up her thighs.
When it fades, she glances back. He’s gone.
The cloud feels so much emptier, though muses teem through the air.

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