Friday"s How He Does It featuring Guy Ogan #MFRWauthor

We all know there are six elements of fiction. Who, What, When, Where, Why and How. I believe the first five lead to the sixth which for me is plot. What's your take on this?

1.      How do you create your characters? Do you have a specific method?

A. Okay, this will get "weird" right out of the gate! My characters come to me in dreams, daydreams while awake and actual dreams while asleep. You can call it "my Muse" speaking to me or "channeling" speaking through me, I'm okay with either. What is perhaps more unusual is that I have no way to know WHY I'm writing them into the novel, often until much later. Roger, the research physician was a perfect example. In the first book he becomes not only a key player but an extremely important friend to my character "Gary." I don't let friends die without a fight so I had to try to keep him "alive" didn't I? 

2. Do your characters come before the plot?

A. Yes, they introduce themselves in my dreams, I write them down, then the actions they perform "come" to me often well after they're introduced. A "bit player" can suddenly become a key element to the action later in the novel in which they are introduced or even in a later novel.

3. Do you know how the story will end before you begin? In a general way or a specific one?

A. The basic "plot" is revealed when my characters "visit." This is why I can tell you the title of the forth novel in the series before I even type one word into my computer. The title is, "Immortal Relations, REVENGE!" Spoiler Alert: the mates of the Vampire Gang that was destroyed at the end of book one are out for vengeance and so are leaders in both Communist China and Marxist Washington. Not a healthy combination being on the "hit parade" of a group of pissed-off vampire females and nations with major military power who want your head on a plate!  

   

4. Do you choose settings you know or do you have books of settings and plans of houses sitting around?

A. Because of the real-world "tryst" my late father had at the end of WW-II while he was stationed in Prague, CZ that had to be the starting point for "Immortal Relations" the first novel. The actions in both England and Russia, with a little in other European countries, such NATO Headquarters in Harlen, a part of Brussels, Belgium, came out of the actions in that first setting. The second novel, "Immortal Relations, Love and War" again started in Prague with major action in areas of Russia, NATO HQ., China and its waterways, Japan and to a far lesser degree Washington D.C. The setting for the third in the series, "Immortal Relations Coming Out," where the guardian vampires (having saved mankind from a possible nuclear war) discuss coming out to the human world, takes place starting in Prague but quickly moving to Cayuga, Canada (fairly close to Ontario). Washington D.C. is involved (not in a good way) but a wedding takes place in Russia with a honeymoon in Las Vegas (in a very good way). Spoiler Alert: Terra Firma is not the only place from which threats to mankind can come!

5. Where do you do your research? On line or from books?

A. This will sound somewhat egotistical, but militarily I have a great deal of knowledge and also know how, for politicians and others, "power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely." Having been in the field of psychology and studying in the field of human growth and development my knowledge in the field of medical research is fairly good as well. Where research is needed, I tend to go on-line and "Google" the specific topic. I'm now working on a story for my granddaughter (totally removed from my normal vampire genre') about dinosaurs - my granddaughter loves dinosaurs.  When I need the name of a specific dinosaur I look it up in a book I purchased, "Uncover the Prehistoric World, DINOSAURS" or "Google it" for additional information.

6. Are you a draft writer or do you revise as you go along and why? Do you sketch out your plot or do you let the characters develop the route to the end?

A. To the extent that I feel comfortable altering the story (I felt totally uncomfortable altering the "explicit togetherness" in the first book - the sex got a bit "over the top" for my prudish upbringing and my wife was NONE TOO PLEASED). I tried to explain that the sex wasn't meant to be salacious but to show that vampires don't have the sexual "hang-ups" of humans. I believe she was most upset by the fact that she knew that "Gary" was ME! I did try to tone it down, but just really couldn't do much...it was like I was altering the story as it was "given" to me! The characters develop the route to the end, I'm just a scribe when it comes to a lot of the story, but I can flesh out some details. In the second book, the one I recommend as a starting point for those who have a dislike of sex in stories, I was allowed to tone-down the sex because the first book had established the difference between the views on sex between vampires and humans. Spoiler Alert: In the second book, Gary has read a vampire novel in which the mated vampires exchange "love-bites" which heightens the experience; Magdalena confirms that this isn't just some author's creation that exchanging both blood and venom in this manner can indeed increase fervor, but while when Gary and Maggie try it the sex is even more fantastic, Gary has no memory of what transpired after the fact. Thus, since the novels are "first person" the only descriptions are what Gary is told. This greatly reduces the "explicitness" in the second and third books.   

Thursday's Hero - Jules from A Spicy Seduction by Janet Lane Walters

A Spicy Seduction

Chapter 1

Jules Grayson sat behind the mahogany desk in his office. “Why me?” He propped his elbows on the leather desk pad.

“Trust me,” Tony said.

Jules stared at his friend. Trusting others wasn’t part of his personality. “Why can’t one of your other friends be best man at your wedding?”

“They come in pairs. Lauren doesn’t want her friend to feel out of place. You’re the only bachelor left in our circle.”

And he intended to stay that way for a long time. “So why do I have to meet her now? The rehearsal would suit me fine.”

Tony grinned. “Trust me. You’ll like Grace.”

Jules straightened. He used to know a girl named Grace. She’d been the only one who had turned him down. Just thinking about her brought memories of a time and place he didn’t want to remember. “I really don’t want to cross the river.”

“Just for this weekend meet and two days for the wedding.” Tony rose. “What do you have against the village?”

“Do you have to ask? The group home. Your father rescued me from false accusations.” Jules clenched the steel letter opener. “I’ll come. Some time on Saturday, do the meet and greet and leave Sunday morning.”

Tony paused at the door. “There’s a plus. You won’t have to enter the village. My house is a couple of miles away.”

“Go. Let me get some work done.”

“Saturday.”

“Yes.”

Moments after Tony left Mrs. Jamison entered with a stack of mail. She dropped the pile on his desk. “Buzz when you need me.”

“Will do.” He slit the top envelope and groaned. Not what he wanted to see. Before leaving for her honeymoon, Allie Blakefield, editor of Good Cookin’ Magazine had given him an assignment. Having contracts signed wasn’t his usual chore for the Good Magazine Group but he’d agreed. Allie wanted the owner of Cupcakes Sweet and Spicy to agree to a feature.

With three letters and four phone calls the woman’s answer had been no. Allie returned Monday. Today was Friday.

His hand hovered over the phone. A call wouldn’t work. He’d already tried several times. A visit to the bakery might do the trick. He didn’t want to go there. The bakery was in that place. He sucked in a breath. Never leave a job undone was his rule.

When Allie asked, he’d figured obtaining the contract signature was a no-brainer. What bakery wouldn’t want to be featured in a national magazine? He’d had a failsafe plan. Mail the contract. Make a phone call or two. Answer questions. Contract signed. Hadn’t happened. Time to spread some charm.

Jules buzzed Tony’s cell. The moment his friend answered, Jules’ gut clenched. Though he hated asking, he would. “Jules here.”

“You are not backing out.”

Jules chuckled. “You’re right. Just wondering if I could come tonight. Have some business for Good Cookin’ across the river today.”

“No problem. I’ll call Lauren. What time?”

“Around noon. I’ll drop my bag off, see to business and swing back.”

“Good enough. TGIF. I’ll be home around three. Good luck with your whatever.”

“Sales pitch.” Jules disconnected. He shoved two copies of the contract in his briefcase and tended to the rest of the mail. Nothing urgent. The clock chimed the half hour.

With briefcase in hand he paused at his secretary’s desk. “I’ll be out of town until Monday. Buzz my cell if anything needs to be handled quickly and take the afternoon off.”

“Will do.”

Jules waved. When he thought of his destination his stomach churned.

A half hour later he sat in the driver’s seat of his Jeep. He clutched the keys in his fist. Waves of nausea assaulted him. He gulped a breath. He could do this. Two events had forced the trip across the bridge to the Hudson River village where he’d grown up. The day ten years ago when he’d left he’d vowed never to return. Trouble comes in three. Not that business and a wedding were the problem. Trouble existed in memories of the place where his life had imploded.

His weekender and briefcase sat on the passenger’s seat. He’d packed enough clothes for the weekend.

You can do this. The words spiraled in an unending chain in his thoughts. He shoved the key in the ignition, revved the engine and drove from the underground garage. As the vehicle emerged into the light, Jules grinned. Something about being above the sedans and coupes made him feel powerful. He wove through traffic heading for the upper deck of the George Washington Bridge. Hard rock poured from the speakers.

A glance at the sky showed gathering clouds. Snow predictions meant an early covering of white over city sidewalks and brown suburban lawns.

Not long after hitting the Palisades Parkway the feeling of doom he’d pushed aside leaped into his thoughts like the demons kids feared lurked in the closet or under the bed.

He gripped the wheel. The vehicle veered right. If he didn’t calm down he would run off the road or into another car. He spotted the turn-off for an overlook and pulled into the parking lot.

Get a grip.

Jules climbed down and walked to the railing at the edge. He stared at the gray waters of the Hudson. A blustery wind slapped his face. Across the river he saw the skyline of the city where he’d rather be.

You can do this. The mantra rang in his head. He revised his plans. Drop case at Tony’s. Visit Bakery. Charm owner. Obtain signature. Today’s plan sounded right.

He returned to the Jeep and soon entered the flow of traffic. After leaving the parkway he sped along the winding road and finally saw the turnoff to Tony’s house. As he reached the development he located his friend’s massive house. He pulled into the long driveway, grabbed the overnighter and strode to the door.

Lauren answered the ring. She held her infant nephew on her hip. Jamie burbled.

“Hello to you.” Jules stepped inside and kissed Lauren’s cheek. He ruffled Jamie’s hair. “I gather the man warned you.”

“He did. Good to see you but you cost me ten dollars.”

“How?”

“Bet Tony you’d find a way to bail and here you are a day early.”

Jules winked. “I’ve come to convince you to run away with me.”

She laughed. “Just like those old rumors. When I think of the days in the group home, I cringe. I wonder how the Pattersons got the idea we were together.”

“Pure invention ala Charlene.” He put a finger on her lips. “No talk about those times or places.”

“Fine. I’ll show you to a guest room.”

Jules hung his coat in the foyer closet and followed her past the living room to the wide staircase. Why had Tony bought such a large house? He’s asked his friend for a reason weeks ago.

“For the kitchen. It’s a cook’s dream.”

Lauren opened the door of a room just beyond the stairs. Jules dropped the bag at the foot of a massive four poster bed. Warm shades of brown and green gave a cozy feel to the space.

“The bath is through this door and connects to a second guest room.” Lauren cracked the door. “Since you’re the only guest you won’t have to worry about locking the door,”

Jules shook his head. “Just how many bedrooms are there?”

Lauren laughed. Seven counting the master, nursery and the third floor suite.”

“And baths?”

Four on this floor. One in the suite. Two powder rooms on the first floor and one with a shower in the basement. Thank heavens there’s a cleaning service. Would take me a month just to vacuum and dust.”

Jules followed her downstairs. “I need to do a bit of business for Good Cookin’. Means going to town.”

“Five Cuisines?”

“No. I’ll tell you at dinner. What time do we eat?”

“Six thirty or so. Do you want lunch?”

A lump filled his stomach. “I’ll grab something in the village.” Maybe when he finished at the bakery his appetite would return.

She patted his arm. Had she sensed his uneasiness? “There are some great places. Want me to recommend one?”

“I’ll manage.”

He snagged his coat from the closet and left. Cupcakes, here I come.

When he reached the village he saw Christmas had arrived. Probably between Halloween and Thanksgiving. The shops bore lights and festive decorations. The light poles were wound with red, green, gold and silver.

He made a turn and found he’d driven down the street where the group homes were located. He gripped the wheel. His two years at the boy’s home had been a drag. Circumstances had made him a ward of the court. His attitude had brought him here.

His stomach lurched. He slowed to a crawl and rolled past the pair of houses separated by a fence. This trip along memory lane had been a bad idea.

You can’t go home but this had never been his,

A stray bit slipped into focus. Grace two years younger than he was, pretty. He’d flirted with her and decided she would be his next conquest. With laughter she’d turned him down leaving him to fend off the girl he’d had no desire to screw.

With a groan he turned the corner and looked for a parking space. His plan formed. Charm Ms. Sutton. Get her signature. Return to Tony’s.

A flurry of snowflakes dotted the sidewalks with dark circles as they melted. 

Wednesday's Writer's Tip - Revision and the Story Question #MFRWauthor

The story is finished and you've written the end. Now comes the time for revision and polishing. They are  two different things so we'll look at revision first. There are a lot of things revision involves.

Looking at the story line. Does it follow through from beginning through the middle to the end. Have you jumped the tracks and suddenly the story becomes convoluted enough to confuse the reader? Have you shown the story question in early enough and can this be answered with a yes or no? How this is done is important. Can Joe prove he didn't kill his wife is one kind of question that falls into the yes or no kind of story question. Can Laura find love is too broad and is one of the maybe kind of answers. Can Laura convince Joe she's worthy of being loved is a better one and calls for a yes or no conclusion.

Look at the scenes and see which have an impact on the story. If they don't have a meaning that goes toward the ending of the story, cut them out. See if the scene drives the character forward with their present actions or points the need to find a new way to solve their problem.

Come to the concluding scene and check to make sure the question is answered either yes or no. Make sure the characters actions and reactions are what brings the story to a satisfactory end. There's nothing worse than someone stepping in at the end to solve the story question for the focus character.

Look for the loose ends and see that they're tied up. Nothing worse than having a loose end flapping when the story ends leaving the reader with questions.

Tuesday's Inspiration - Based on a quote from On Becoming a Novelist

I've reached the end of John Gardner's On Becoming A Novelist and the final quote made me smile. "The true novelist is the one who doesn't quit."

Over the years I've been involved with so many writers and some of them were brilliant writers but they quit. This has always troubled me. How can someone give up something they enjoy doing? For many of them rejection was the reason. For others they didn't hit the Times best seller list, so they bailed. Others let life get in the way of doing what they enjoyed. Maybe they no longer enjoyed the day by day putting words on paper.

I did put my writing career on hold for a time for about 10 years, I didn't write anything but ideas since I'd returned to work as a nurse, But during that time I stored up many things and watching people at their best and worst gave me ideas. Also being around doctors allowed me to ask questions about things that might feature in stories in the future. Medical conditions, blows to the head, amnesia and other things I found to be of help when I retired and began writing.

I wasn't worried about hitting the best seller list but I did look forward to hearing from a reader about one of my books. When the NY markets became harder to crack I found electronic publishing and books that are 15 years old are still selling. I've seen this with other writers as well. So what's the trice.

Imagination, persistence, love of the written word. So if you want to be a novelist keep writing and find new and different ways to display your works.

Meandering On Monday with Janet Lane Walters #MFRWauthor #amwriting

Meander 1 - Promoting is hard work. Must get another book up on Maniac Readers page. I've been putting it off for days. Sometimes it seems like more work is done on promoting than on writing. Seems is the keyword. I really write more than I promote. But if I didn't, I would have nothing to promote.

Meander 2 - I fear my Kindle is dying. It doesn't seem to recharge and I was in the middle of a book. First it tells me the battery is low and then it says to connect to a power source to continue reading. When I do, the fool thing returns to the first message. Will have to investigate and get in touch with experts.

Meader 3 - Toth's priest is shaping up to be a very adventure filled story and I'm having fun writing the story. Have a magic scene coming up and another love scene plus the start of a fight. All in one chapter. Am on the draft where I'm filling in the blanks and that sometimes takes a lot of time and other times flows smoothly. Writing is like life.

3 Blog Visit Sunday discoveries by Janet Lane Walters #MFRWauthor

http://www.digitalbookworld.com/2014/new-poll-finds-majority-of-americans-read-ebooks

http://bwlauthors.blogspot.com/2014/05/seventeen-writing-secrets-shared-by.html

http://mfrw.blogspot.com/2014/05/moderating-mfrw-facebook-group-making.html

Saturday's Excerpt from Hard as Ice by Victoria Barbour

Excerpt from Hard As Ice by Victoria Barbour

Tink. Tink. Tink.

It was funny how such a little sound could ricochet off one’s head so that it felt more like a mallet walloping thunk thunk thunk.

Daphne Scott scrunched her face in agony as she tried to tune out the sound that had permeated her slumber. How much time had passed since she’d laid her head down on the sofa to rest a little in her drunken state?

Her atypical condition paired perfectly with the events that had led to it. After all, the marriage of her bold, big brother, Campbell Scott to petite and perfect Elsie Walsh was anything but typical. From their whirlwind engagement and wedding on the same day to the impromptu concert by superstar musician Asher Corbin for the entire community of Heart’s Ease, population two hundred and thirty-three (thirty-four if you now added Cam to the mix), the day was a combination of all things unexpected. Which was why she, a self-styled big city gal and socialite, wasn’t all that shocked to find herself in the middle of a drinking contest with not one, but four women she’d never met until sometime in the wee hours of the seemingly never-ending party that was the wedding reception.

Through the pounding of her head, she recalled with horror the way her increased drinking had made her Scottish accent thicker. Of course, the more her new-found lady friends drank, the harder their Newfoundland dialect was to understand. To an outsider the conversation must have been unintelligible. Suffice it to say there was a lot of boasting about drinking, nationalities, and men.

At one point in the evening Daphne’s mother, who had a strict three dram of Scotch limit, had tried to get her daughter to follow her up the stairs of the luxurious Heart’s Ease Inn and go to sleep, but Daphne had proclaimed with a waggling finger, “I am thirty years old, Mum. You are not the boss of me.” Her mother might have protested if her husband hadn’t led her away.

She didn’t think anyone had noticed when she’d accepted the invitation of Elsie’s third cousin Violet for the small group to head back to her house for a night cap. Two hours later, as the sun rose above the wide harbour of Heart’s Ease, Daphne’s last thought before she fell asleep on Violet Walsh’s sofa was that she could indeed drink more than the girls.

Tink. Tink. Tink.

Damn it. She was going to have to open her eyes and put an end to the infernal racket. The evil sun beaming through a nearby window was also conspiring against her slumber. She blinked a little to try to focus, while her head immediately began to violently protest the light.  She found the source of the noise in the kitchen, which was open to the living room. A Greek god was sitting at the table, stirring his cup of tea while looking at a tablet of some sort. It wasn’t the sort of thing she’d ever imagined Greek gods doing, but this one seemed to be quite relaxed.

She shifted on the sofa, aware that her dress had ridden well up past her knees. The god looked up.

“Sorry. I tried to be quiet,” he said. “You looked pretty solidly asleep there, so I thought I could grab a bit of breakfast without waking you.”

Daphne rubbed one hand over her eyes and down her face, trying to wake up.

“What time is it,” she said, shocked that her voice croaked. Just how much had she drunk the night before?

“A little past ten. You want a cup of tea?”

She stretched. “No thanks. I better find my way back to the inn before my parents call in the troops.”

“You want a ride?”

She felt like asking if he had a chariot pulled by Pegasus tucked out back, but figured he wouldn’t understand. This blond-haired, bluish-grey-eyed Adonis of a man looked as if he’d been chiseled on an urn somewhere.

“I think the walk would do me good,” she said, as she searched around for her coat and shoes. She couldn’t help notice that he was staring at her as she pulled on the four-inch heels. So what if she was five foot ten without shoes. She loved heels and didn’t care how tall they made her. They made her legs look good, and that was all that mattered.

“You won’t be walking far in those this morning.” There was nothing subtle about his slow survey of her body from toe to head. “Or in that dress.” He stood and grabbed a thick plaid jacket. It looked like something a lumberjack would wear. Not that she’d even seen a lumberjack, but she was a die-hard Monty Python fan.

She was about to demand why he thought her unable to walk when she looked outside. Snow covered the ground. She would swear that it hadn’t been snowing when she left the inn.

As he walked past her she realized he was taller than she’d initially thought. He towered over her. No one towered over her, not even Cam who was by all accounts pretty tall.

“Watch your step,” he said, heading outside. “It might be a little slippery.” He left the door open and disappeared from sight.

As Daphne reached the door she was assailed by the cold wind. The sun was shining, but the snow was dancing in little sweeping drifts as the wind blew. Her unidentified chauffeur was starting a large black pickup truck that looked as if it had seen better days. Her first step nearly landed her on her rear. Her saving grace was the door frame, which she just managed to grab.

“Jesus, I’m sorry,” he shouted as he got out of the truck. “Don’t move.” He hopped over the fence that separated the walkway from the parallel driveway. “You alright?”

She shivered, but whether it was from the cold or the thrill that shot through her arm when he touched her, she couldn’t be sure.

“Those shoes are not Heart’s Ease friendly,” he said as he ushered her to the truck. “You women and your fancy shoes.”

“Well, it’s good that I’m not going to be here any longer than I must, isn’t it,” she said, riled by his comment. She knew her voice was clipped.

“Woah, lady.” He raised his hands in the air. “I come in peace. I was just saying—”

“I know exactly what you were saying. Men always think whatever a woman wants must be frivolous.”

She waited for his response but he was silent. Instead he turned up the radio and backed out of the driveway.

Daphne felt like turning it down and saying more, but she didn’t have the wherewithal. She was tired, hungover, and now cold. There was no point getting into an argument with this man, regardless of how good looking he was. In fact, that was likely his problem. He wasn’t used to a woman talking back to him. Bet he was the sort that women just went along with because he was so damn delicious looking. Well, Daphne had known plenty of hot men in her life, and she’d never minced her words. She prided herself on speaking her mind and not bottling up her emotions. It was just a good mental health practice.

The drive from the house where she’d woken to the inn may have taken two minutes. If the town road hadn’t been covered in snow, she could have managed. The long driveway up the hill to the inn was clear of snow and the path to the door was immaculate.

“Thanks,” she said as got out of the truck.

“No problem. Enjoy your shoes.”

She stopped. Turned. Stared at him.

He had a wide grin on his face. And then he winked. “See ya around, Mary.”

“My name is Daphne.” Her hands were on her hips.

He leaned over to the passenger side and reached out to grab the door handle. God, his arms were long! “Watch your step, Mary.” And he closed the door.

Friday's How She Does It featuring Victoria Barbour

. We all know there are six elements of fiction. Who, What, When, Where, Why and How. I believe the first five lead to the sixth which for me is plot. What's your take on this?

My order is a little all over the place, but like you, the how/why or the plot, comes from the first four. Typically my process begins with the Where, mainly because I know that all of my books will have a connection to Newfoundland. The when is also a bit of given since I write contemporary romance. It’s normally always the present for me. The who and what usually develop at the same time. Now that I think about it, I think the How and Why also develop simultaneously. I’ve never thought of my storytelling process in this way, so this is a fun question.

 2. How do you create your characters? Do you have a specific method?

My characters first appear when I start my first draft. Someone will enter the room and I start to think about who they are. What’s their voice? What do they look like? What are they feeling at this moment? What’s one thing about their character that would never change? What’s something about their character that must change? These are all questions that are floating around in my subconscious as I write them. I start to figure out my characters as I poke around inside their heads. What are their thoughts? How do they talk to people? These things help me gain an understanding of them. I used to pre-build characters a long time ago. But then I realized that I was trying to fit them into stories that they had no business being in. Now I let the story dictate the character. It’s always interesting for me to see how they react to the situations I put them in.

A good example of how my characters can develop in surprising ways in the character of Asher Corbin. He first appeared in my novel Against Her Rules. In my head, and in my heroine’s head, he was no good. I had an idea of who he was and all the reasons why we’d hate him. And then he showed up in the book and I found myself liking him. So much so that he’s been in every book so far. Each time we see him changing, becoming a better man. So that by the time he got his own novel (21^st Century Rake) he deserved to find his happily ever after.

 3. Do your characters come before the plot?

 I think they develop together. As a pantser (someone who writers by the seat of their pants, planning as I write) it’s all happening at the same time. I’m currently working on a novella and while I know all the characters, the plot took some time to figure out. But I already know the plot for Book 5 in my Heart’s Ease series, and know one of the characters. The heroine is still an unknown at this point. I like it that way.

4. Do you know how the story will end before you begin? In a general way or a specific one?

 Loosely speaking, all romances end the same, with a happily ever after. So I generally know that much. For me, I get stuck in the middle of my books if I’ve over thought the ending too much. The middle becomes about how to get my characters to the place they’re supposed to be. I’m happier when I’m letting them take me to the place they’re meant to be.

   

5. Do you choose settings you know or do you have books of settings and plans of houses sitting around?

 I mainly write what I know, or what I’ve dreamed up in my head. That being said, I’ve spent a lot of time looking at houses online, and looking at floor plans because I have a natural case of house envy.

6. Where do you do your research? On line or from books?

 Both, although these days I do a lot more online research than book reading. Depending on what you’re researching, you have to be careful of your sources. Historical research for me means checking the sources of anything I find online. I’m a stickler for academic jounals, which is likely a holdover from my days of studying history at university. To be honest, the best online research I do these days is in terms of fashion. I’m hopelessly unfashionable. So when I want my characters to look awesome, I go online and find their clothing. It makes describing what they’re wearing much  easier. I also love Google for helping me with weird questions that arise when I’m writing. When I was working on Hard As Ice, I googled “Can you have sex with a concussion.” Turns out you can. I would have had a hard time finding that answer quickly in a book. Although I suppose I could have asked my doctor. He gets a kick out of having a romance author as a patient.

7. Are you a draft writer or do you revise as you go along and why? Do you sketch out your plot or do you let the characters develop the route to the end?

 I’m a pantser, for sure. I’ve managed to kill my inner-editor for first drafts, but I will go back and revise issues that arise during writing my first draft, just so that I don’t miss it later on. I normally have my first draft that I send to my editor and crit partner. Then I edit based on their initial thoughts. Then I send it to my editor again, and out to Beta readers. Then I do a final edit again. Back to my editor. We both proof like mad. And then out it goes to the universe.

Victoria Barbour
Contemporary Romance Author

http://victoriabarbour.com
https://www.facebook.com/victoriabarbourromance
Twitter: @vickibarabour

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18044883-against-her-rules

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Against-Her-Rules-Hearts-Ease-ebook/dp/B00I911T70/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1392140119&sr=1-1&keywords=victoria+barbour

Thursday's Hero - Tony from A Surprising Seduction by Janet Lane Walters #MFRWauthor

Tony stood at the foot of the stairs. What had just happened here? He would have taken her like an animal in rut. Not his style at all. Slow seduction with every move orchestrated brought great rewards. His body throbbed with need and frustration. He wanted her beneath him while he pounded his way to a peak of elation.

Whoa. Where did that thought arise? He didn’t know her. He didn’t like her. There’d been a single meeting four years ago at Jim and Carrie’s wedding. Granted Lauren had changed, at least in appearance. Could a runaway rebellious teen change into a solid citizen? He had grave doubts.

Sure her blond hair no longer had blue and green streaks and didn’t flow to her waist. The nose and lip rings were gone. She didn’t wear tight skirts so short little was left to the imagination. The first time they met she’d dressed like the hooker he believed she was. And he had been tempted.

He had to fight this insane attraction. Why had Jim allowed her to be named as one of his son’s guardians? From all he’d seen, she seemed to have a rapport with the boy he didn’t have. Babies had never been his thing. Still, he couldn’t permit Lauren to have custody of the child. Not with the lifestyle he felt sure she followed.

On Wednesday and Thursday evenings he’d called the condo. Both times the phone had been answered by a person claiming to be the sitter. When he asked when Lauren would be home the answer had been “late.” He definitely knew what that meant, especially when the sitter had refused to tell him where she was.

The opening notes of Beethoven’s Fifth sounded. He pulled the phone from his pocket. “Mark…You got the message…Wish I could…Matt can take my place. Tell him the teacher and the shopkeeper are hot……Good luck…Call me when you get back.” He laughed. “I’ll be playing Daddy…Not sugar. To my nephew…Ciao.”

He broke the connection and sank on the couch. He would miss his best friend’s wedding but leaving here before his right to the baby’s custody was clear wouldn’t do. He groaned. Visions of the hot babes he’d met the last time he stayed at the inn in Vermont danced in his thoughts. While he was stuck here instead of scoring with one or both women, Matt would enjoy the pair. That was an event to regret.

No sense thinking about what might have been. He called the number of the agency he hoped would provide an instant nanny. The sooner one was in place the happier he would be. The moment the news about the accident and the deaths reached him, he had called.

“Tony Carlin here. Mrs. Bunch, please.”

A moment later the pleasant voice of the woman greeted him. “Mr. Carlin, I’m sorry there’s been no action taken on your request. You haven’t visited the agency to complete the paperwork so I can finalize the choices.”

“Why can’t I do this over the phone and through emails?”

“Agency policy. If you can stop by the office on Monday at one, we can complete your application and I can arrange interviews with our currently available candidates.’

“One PM. I’ll be there.”

“Oh, just to warn you. Since the nanny will be a live-in she must have her own room and a separate one for the infant. Most of our women insist on at least one weekend day off.”

When she stopped talking, he hung up. He had no choice except to accept the agency’s demands. How soon would the boy be ready for nursery school? At that point the nanny would only be needed for evenings and nights. He found a scrap of paper and made a to-do list. His brow wrinkled. There was another option. He could let Lauren share custody.

He nodded. Let her have the infant on weekends. A frown tightened his brow. Was that a good idea? Might put a spike in her ability to earn a living. He leaned against the back of the sofa. Maybe something could be arranged, like what she’d refused not so long ago.

Laughter reached him. Lauren appeared with the child in her arms. She dropped a blanket on the deep blue carpet and crouched to straighten the cloth. She added some toys and rattles.

“Watch him while I start laundry.” She dashed upstairs and returned with a basket. She entered the area near the door into the garage.

“We need to talk,” he said.

She peered around the wall. “I know.”

“I’ll be staying for the weekend. Since I must be at the office Monday morning, I’ll leave Sunday evening. You should plan to move out by next weekend. I want to sell the condo and put the money in trust for the boy.”

The look on her face puzzled him. She stepped toward the couch. “I don’t live here. I’ve stayed because it’s important for Jamie to be in familiar surroundings. I’ll ask my landlady if she minds having a baby in the apartment. I can move his crib and dresser there.”

“Wrong. I’m taking the boy to the city. I’ve arranged for a nanny.”

“Jamie. His name is Jamie.” She strode forward. “Did you forget we have joint custody? I refuse to allow my nephew to be shoved in a cell with a strange woman so you can forget he exists.”

Tony clamped his lips together and sought an answer. He didn’t trust her. He knew what she was. “I refuse to let you drag a different man into his life every night.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I know how you earn a living. If you’d like I’ll pay you for two nights.”

“Excuse me.” She fisted her hands on her hips. “You know nothing. You’re making assumptions and that makes you an ass.” The words spat like bullets.

The baby cried. Lauren scooped him into her arms and held him close.

“Mama. Dada.”

“No, love, not today. Just Auntie.”

His sobs slowed. “Tee.” He buried his head against her shoulder.

Tony stared at his hands. He didn’t understand her anger. Couldn’t she admit the truth? Guilt for making the boy cry swamped him. “We’ll discuss this later.”

“Just remember I want what’s best for Jamie. If I must I’ll fight you.”

“I want the same for the child. If you fight I’ll win and you’ll be exposed.”

She whirled and walked away. Her black slacks fit perfectly, showing her narrow waist and curving over her delectable ass. His cock surged to attention. He rose and then sank back. He wouldn’t chase her and prolong the argument. He gulped deep breaths. No way would she win the battle over custody. He would have sole charge of the baby and he would have her body writhing beneath him.

The phone rang. He grabbed the receiver on the first ring. A man spoke. “See you tomorrow at eight.”

“There’s no need. Matters are handled.” Tony hung up and chuckled. He would definitely handle the situation when she learned she had no date. But the lady wouldn’t be disappointed.

Wednesday's Writer's Tip - There Is No Magic Wand #MFRWauthor

 Wouldn't it be nice if there was a magic wand and one could wave it and there's the book and an author born in an instant without all the hard word? No choices just abracadabra and the the story was finished and you're an author. Not necessarily so.

When one sets out to become an author, there is no boss. Maybe years after beginning, the author has a publisher pushing for more and more stories. The writer's boss is the writer. This means to be a successful writer you have to set your goals and keep on day after day. Many writers have other jobs, the ones that keep food on the table but setting a regular time to write is important. Finding the time that's right for you and once found, stick to it.

Another thing to remember is to set quotas and stick to the quota you've chosen. Maybe one page a day is what you can manage. So your goal is 365 pages for the year. At the end of the time, there will be a book. Finding a place to work. Doesn't mean you have to have some fancy office. If your place to write is on the kitchen table from six to seven AM, make this your place and time. Years ago when I began writing, I did have a room of my own to write. I was also raising a grandchild while her mother worked. She became my gatekeeper and by the time she was a little over a year old, she would tell people, "Go away. Grandma's making words." This is what you need to say to people when you're having your time and place for writing.

Don't push yourself to become a demon writer. This can make the words become harder. You know what you're capable of so stick to it. If one book a year is the most you can do, or even one every two years, stick to that. If you're one of those who can write 2, 3 or however many a year chose your own pace and don't let what others accomplish trouble you.