Sue Swift's Blog: Welcome Back, Suzie!, page 18

http://victoriablisse.co.uk/sunday-snog

This wedding snog comes from my bestselling (oh, how I LOVE that word!) book Temptation in Tartan. This isn’t too much of a spoiler, for the marriage of convenience occurs early in the story.

But first, here’s what the book is about:

She had to marry a monster…

Rumors had followed the chieftains of Clan Kilborn for centuries. Said to be descended from the Viking Berserkers, they were ferocious in battle, known for tearing off the heads of their enemies and drinking their blood.

But English noblewoman Lydia Swann Williston would marry Kieran, Laird Kilborn, to bring peace to the Kilborn lands after the horror of Culloden and the brutal pacification. A widow, she also brought needed wealth to Clan Kilborn. For her part, eighteen-year-old Lydia wanted children. With her husband killed at Culloden, she would make a new life in the Highlands.

The old chieftain of Clan Kilborn also died in battle, and she hoped that the new young Laird would lack his ancestors’ ferocity.

She was wrong.

And here’s the snog:

The tiny chapel had been a good choice on her mother’s part. Without the attendance of family and friends, using any of the larger, more popular churches would have been frightful. Set offside the main kirk, the chapel, with only a tapestry depicting Christ’s birth, was by contrast cozy, comfortably holding the few attendees: Lydia’s cousin, her mother, plus Kieran’s cousin Dugald Kilborn. Kier’s cousin shared what she guessed were family traits: tall form, dark hair and that strange, pale skin. P’raps the Highlands weren’t sunny.

The local cleric stumbled over the words of the standard Church of England ceremony, and Lydia guessed that her mother had insisted upon the ritual that was familiar to her rather than what local custom preferred. Then the fellow

available at http://www.jasminejade.com/p-10121-te...

spoke a few words in Gaelic and asked her to do the same. She obeyed, stumbling over the unfamiliar sibilants.

She cast a frightened glance at Kieran, hoping he wasn’t angry. She hadn’t meant to mock his people…their people. But he watched her, the slight smile curving his lips the sole betrayal of his mood. His eyes twinkled reassuringly before one lid dropped, an unmistakable wink.

She completely lost the thread of what the priest had said and stopped speaking. Instead she simply stood there and stared at him, blinking in confusion.

His grin stretched wider and he picked up where she’d left off, repeating the Gaelic with calm certainty. He took her hand and placed his wrist next to hers. His skin felt cool and a little damp, as though he were sweating with nerves, but his face showed no hint of anxiety.

The cleric wrapped cloth around their wrists and their hands were even closer. Despite the tightness of the binding, he turned his forearm to grasp her fingers. His hold was firm and determined.

She looked down. His hand and hers were pale as dawn,  indistinguishable in color. Where did she end and Kieran begin?

His fingers tightened, and she relished that, noticing his size and strength compared to hers.

Gasps came from the onlookers and again she blinked, confused. Then she noticed that the bright swatch of fabric that the cleric had twisted around them was tartan. It bore two shades of blue crisscrossed by bright yellow and red stripes.

Forbidden, but Kieran had dared.

She met his eyes again and he leaned toward her to whisper in her ear. “I couldna resist yer dowry, kylyrra.”

His breath tickled her ear. Then he shifted to kiss first her forehead, then her cheek and mouth, just as he had before, giving her an extra buss on the lips. Affectionate rather than blatantly lustful, and she liked that.

Then he raised their bound hands high and kissed the back of hers. His dark eyes surveyed her with a serious regard and even a little possessive pride. “Yer mine, now.”

That evoked a shiver. But why?

Published by Ellora’s Cave earlier this month, Temptation in Tartan reached #1 on the All Romance Ebooks bestseller list for historical (other) romance and spent a full week in the top five. Its sequel, Desire in Tartan, is in process.

For more of Sue Swift/Suz deMello’s books, check out her sites. They can be reached from http://www.sue-swift.com and http://www.suzdemello.com

 

 

 

The advent of digital publishing and the proliferation of ereaders have allowed people to read what they want, when they want and wherever they want. No more disapproving glares from people on planes offended by a sexy book cover! And the digital publishing revolution have allowed the growth of alternative markets that would have been unthinkable a couple decades ago.

Many writers are filling the reading vacuum. Tara Lain is one of them.

Author Tara Lain

Introducing Tara Lain:

Tara Lain never met a beautiful boy she didn’t love – at least on paper. A writer of erotic romance, mostly ménage and male/male, Tara loves all her characters, but especially her handsome heroes. A lifelong writer of serious non-fiction, Tara only fell in love with EROM in 2009 and, through perseverance and lots of workshops, had the first novel she ever wrote published in January of 2011. Then she capped off the year by being voted Best Author of 2011 in the LRC Awards and had her Genetic Attraction Series named runner-up for Best Series of 2011! A very good year. After an exotic life of travel all over the world and work in television, education and advertising, Tara settled in Southern California with her soul-mate husband and opened her own small marketing business. She paints, collages, and started practicing yoga “way before it was fashionable”. Passionate about diversity, justice, inclusion and new ideas, she says her tombstone will read, “Yes”.

Have You Read a MM Romance?

Hi everyone. I’m Tara Lain and I write The Beautiful Boys of Romance. I love all my characters but most especially my handsome heroes. If fact, I love heroes so much I always have two of them. I write MM and MMF erotic romance. My special thanks to my friend Sue for inviting me today because I’m celebrating the release of my new MM romance, Beach Balls.

Have you ever read a MM romance? If not, here are a few reasons you might want to give it a try. You may be surprised how much you enjoy it. After all, the average reader of MM romance is a woman between 30 and 60. And most writers of MM romance are women. Surprising, huh?

I had never read M/M romance until a few years ago.  In fact, I didn’t even know that M/M fiction existed and, if I had known, it wouldn’t have occurred to me to read it. I didn’t own an e-reader so I bought my paperbacks from Amazon. But I did like erotic romance. I discovered an EROM author I loved named Jet Mykles. I read one of her Dark Elves series, a M/F book, and really enjoyed it so I kept reading. When I ran out of elves I ordered a book called Heaven Sent. I didn’t pay a lot of attention to the description since I knew I liked the author. Imagine my surprise when it arrived and was a M/M book. Two, in fact. It was an anthology of two books called Heaven and Purgatory, both M/M. I started to read, kind of looking over my shoulder to be sure no one was watching!  I loved it!

Now I write my Beautiful Boys of Romance in all descriptions. My new release is an LGBT contemporary erotic romance called Beach Balls about the powerful attraction between developer lawyer and an environmentalist. They meet underwater so they don’t know they’re natural enemies–until later.  Beach Balls is part of my bestselling  Balls to the Wall Series which includes Volley Balls and Fire Balls. As you can tell, I’m thoroughly hooked on writing MM fiction. Here’s a few things I’ve learned reading and writing male/male books:

Male/male books have fewer gender stereotypes. It’s not unusual in these books for both men to be hunky alphas, for one of them to be more effeminate but still very dominant, or any combination. My artist character in Fire Balls is tiny and effeminate but also a black belt in karate and a dominant in bed.

Fire Balls by Tara Lain

If you are a female reader, you don’t have a woman in these books with whom you automatically identify so you get the experience of identifying with a man.
If you’re a gay man reading a M/M book, you get to see your world imagined by someone who has no limitations of your real life constraining the fantasy. No “but that never happened to me so it can’t happen.” You get a bigger fantasy.
You get to see two men (or more if you read my books LOL) in love which is very cool. It’s not the same as women in love with men. It’s just not. Since, for many male couples, marriage and family isn’t yet the common practice (hope it will be soon), the relationship has to be about more than security or fulfilling family or societal expectations.
Gay or bisexual men still bear huge burdens of discrimination so, even if those issues play a small role in the story, you get to admire the bravery of men who declare their love for each other.
Men can be just as sappy and emotional as women. I know. I read MM romances by male writers too.  The deeply felt emotions pour from the pages and the ever after is just as happy.
And, of course, the simplest reason. If like me you adore men, then two (or three) is better!

And just think, if you own an ereader, you don’t even have to glance over your shoulder to see who’s looking!  LOL I hope you’ll let some beautiful boys creep into your reading among those alpha males and feisty females.  Bet you’ll be a convert too.

Here is an excerpt from Beach Balls to whet your appetite:

Beach Balls by Tara Lain; MM Contemporary

Available  from Amazon, ARe

Adam James is so far in the closet he could find Narnia. But coming out would threaten all he’s built as the lead attorney for WMA Development, and the million dollars he can get when he finishes pushing  a big land remediation project through the City Council. Then on an early morning scuba dive, Adam meets a tall, lean rebreather diver named Sky who makes him want to live a different life. But Adam’s dreams are shattered when he walks into the council meeting and finds the fire-breathing environmentalist who’s screwing up  his chances of winning is none other than that same beautiful man. Sky Sea Mickeljohn doesn’t compromise, so how could he find himself lusting after a damned developer? And what happens when somebody open’s Adam’s closet door? These two better start telling the truth if they’re ever going to find world peace.

Movement. Was that a diver? Adam swam toward the wavering outline. No bubbles. Couldn’t be a diver. A shark? Excited, he swam closer. It was a person. The diver’s wetsuited back was to Adam. The tall, lanky guy seemed to be studying something closely.

How the hell did he get around so freely? His tanks were small, light. Rebreather tanks probably. That system reused the exhaled oxygen and scrubbed the carbon dioxide. Rebreathers didn’t need such big tanks because nothing was wasted. And no bubbles. Adam had never seen a rebreather rig up close. Not a lot of sports divers used them.

Who was this guy? He might as well be standing in his backyard he looked so at home. And what was he doing?

Adam floated a little closer. He caught his breath. Ah, an octopus. The guy was looking at an octopus. Maybe better to say he was kind of dancing with it. The octopus still had a few of its arms inside a hole in some coral but the rest were waving from side to side. Kind of like it appreciated the guy but was telling him not to come too close.

OK, Adam was losing it. Anthropomorphizing an octopus.

He wanted to see better. His bubbles flowed upward as he swam closer. The other diver turned,  his movements languid. His hand rose up toward Adam, warning him off.

Well hell, it wasn’t his octopus. Adam swam to the right, and the guy blocked him. Asshole. Adam rushed to the right again and got around him just in time to see…the octopus pull back into its hole and disappear. Shit!

Beach Balls by Tara Lain

He turned toward the guy. Hell, all he’d wanted to do was see the fucking octopus. He put his hands on his hips trying to show his pissoffness. The guy shook his head and waved his arms at Adam. Double asshole. Adam turned back toward the hole where the creature had vanished. Maybe he could get the critter to come back out. He swam forward.

A hard hand grabbed his arm. Damn.Who did this guy think he was? Adam whirled as ferociously as the ocean, a mask, regulator, and two huge tanks would allow, and the other diver backed off with his hands up. Adam frowned and then realized how stupid that was. The man couldn’t see his expression. The octopus was completely invisible, so there wasn’t much going on. Adam wouldn’t get in an underwater fist-fight over a vanished cephalopod.

The other diver was still watching Adam closely.

Shit, he was done. No octopus. No peace. He might as well go back to Carly’s and have sex. With a push of his foot, he swam toward the surface.

A half hour later, he lay on the sand still annoyed about the asshole and the octopus. Why had the guy been like that? They could have shared the creature.

Oh, well. He should go back inside and get another hit of Gary, but it felt good just lying on the sand. He’d purposefully chosen a stretch of beach without many kids. Less noise, but still close to Carly’s.

He raised himself onto an elbow. Everyone else would be up by now. Way up. Maybe he’d see who he could find. If he was honest, Gary was almost too much of a good thing. The guy swore he wouldn’t care or be jealous. Of course, Adam had heard that before. He glanced over at the kayak full of Carly’s scuba gear. Might as well get to it…

And there he was. Rising from the sea like some merman. Not a bubble. Not a ripple. The diver just appeared, manifested by Neptune. Was he the octopus guy? He had to be. A tall, slim figure strode through the shallow water navigating the surf like it wasn’t there. Like it couldn’t drag him down and out to sea.

He stopped at the waterline and pulled off the tanks, unfastened the hood of his wetsuit and shoved it back, then shook his head like a dog and fluffed out light brown curls that surrounded his head like a halo.

Perfect, because from this distance the guy’s face looked totally like an angel. Wide eyes, full lips, and high cheekbones that gave him a slightly hollow-cheeked look.

He walked a few more steps and dropped the rig then dragged down the wetsuit, revealing a long, lean body, thin but well-muscled like a long-distance runner. He must spend a lot of time in the sun if he was a diver, but his skin was only a pale tan. Man, under his bathing suit he would be alabaster. What else was under that bathing suit?

The diver was so mesmerizing Adam forgot to be pissed. The guy started to gather up his stuff. Adam jumped up. “Excuse me.”

The angel face turned toward him. Neutral. Maybe he didn’t recognize him from the underwater encounter.

Adam took a couple steps toward him. “Hey, I’m the guy you chased off the octopus down there. I know you got there first and all, but hell, all I wanted to do was see the thing. You didn’t have to make a huge deal out of it.”

A crease appeared between the arched eyebrows. “Your bubbles. They were bothering her. I had been coaxing her out for over an hour and then you came barging in like some hippopotamus.” The guy picked up his tanks and started walking.

“Wait!”

Angelface stopped and looked back.

OK, why had Adam stopped him? What did he want? “I’m, uh, sorry. I didn’t realize. I just saw the thing and really wanted a better look.”

“There’s a nice aquarium in Long Beach.”

E-mail:                   [email protected]

Website:              http://www.taralain.com

Author blog:       http://taralain.blogspot.com

Book blog:           http://beautifulboysbooks.blogspot.com

Goodreads:        http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4541791.Tara_Lain

Savvy Authors:  http://www.savvyauthors.com/vb/member.php?2398-Tara-Lain

Twitter:               http://twitter.com/taralain

Facebook:           http://www.facebook.com/people/Tara-Lain/100001514105686

FB Page:         http://www.facebook.com/pages/Tara-Lain/205042046209804

Amazon:          http://www.amazon.com/Tara-Lain/e/B004U1W5QC/

B&N               http://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/Tara-Lain?keyword=Tara+Lain&store=book

ARe     http://www.allromanceebooks.com/storeSearch.html?searchBy=author&qString=Tara+Lain

http://victoriablisse.co.uk/sunday-snog
The first manuscript I wrote remains one of my most popular books. I don’t know why– Walk Like a Man is a really simple boy-meets-girl tale. You decide if it’s worthy of its enduring popularity.

Here’s the blurb:

Macho quarterback Jim Wellman meets his match in bright and sassy physical therapist Marti Solis, who goads him out of his wheelchair, pushing him to walk again. Unlike every other woman Jim has wanted, she refuses to jump into the sack with the celebrity athlete. Though attracted to his bedroom smile and rugged good looks, she’s intimidated by his fame and turned off by his arrogance.

Can Jim become the lover Marti needs? Can he learn to walk like a man?

Set in California’s beautiful Napa Valley, this multicultural romance delivers humor and pathos, sparkling dialogue, layered characters, a heroine to root for and a hero who’s pure fantasy.

Here are the cover and the smooch

Jim smiled back, taking her in. The white lace blouse Marti wore concealed her slender body while it outlined her curves. A strapless bustier peeked through the lacework. His curiosity teased. He didn’t know if Marti liked sexy lingerie. He sure hoped so, and wanted to find out right away.

Offering her his arm, he walked her down the hall to his suite. He closed the door of his room behind them and took her into his arms, stroking her back. One hand freed pearl buttons from tiny loops. He opened the shirt while softly kissing her lips, and ran his fingers over the pale amber swells of her breasts where they thrust from the bustier.

She murmured against his mouth, “I’m scared.”

Walk Like A Man
http://tinyurl.com/6mn6hr9

“Scared of what?” he asked, still caressing her breasts. He lifted one out of the bustier and rubbed his thumb over the tender nipple. It puckered instantly. He bent his head to nibble at the enticing nub.

“Someone may come in,” she said weakly.

“Door’s locked. You’ll keep your job today, sweetheart.”

“But—”

He stopped her protest with a kiss, then loosened his hold. “Marti, I’m not into forcing you. Whenever you feel uncomfortable, just tell me to stop.” He stroked her cheek. “I promise you won’t be sorry.”

She hesitated.

“Make a choice, now.” He knew she didn’t want to tell him ‘no.’

She gulped. “I’ll stay. For a while, at least.”

Jim tried not to let his surge of masculine triumph show on his face. “That’s all I ask.” He walked her over to his big bed and lowered her onto it, gazing down at her.

She had never looked so exciting. The high-collared blouse contrasted with her flagrantly exposed breast. She was mind-numbingly sexy. His Halloween costume–a pirate outfit–made him feel like an outlaw ravishing a prim and proper Victorian virgin.

Erect and flushed, her nipple glistened where he had licked it. Her hair partially escaped from the old-fashioned style, framing her face with soft wisps that begged for his touch.

Jim joined her on the bed so they lay side by side. He captured her in his arms and kissed her mouth thoroughly, voluptuously. He groped at her side to find a row of buttons securing the high, tight waist of her skirt, and unfastened them as she stroked his chest through the pirate’s shirt. Arousal sparked through his body like electric shocks with every caress of her knowing hands.

He again took her breast with his mouth, sucking the nipple before gently nipping it with his teeth. It rose, hot and hard on his tongue, and he tugged on the sexy little point. She was tasty as hell and he wanted to eat her right up.

Sue Swift/Suz deMello is the author of sixteen novels plus a number of short stories and articles about writing. Her current release, Temptation in Tartan, is an ARE bestseller.

http://sensualreads.com/

The fine folks at three related sites,  CataRomance.com, SensualReads.com and SingleTitles.com are sponsoring a blog hop from now until June 10. They’re giving boxes of books away, and every participating author is giving something, whether swag, a print book or an ebook. I’m giving away an ebook to a randomly chosen, lucky commenter–and this giveaway opportunity is open to anyone, regardless of where you may live.

The people at this site have always supported my books, even back when I was writing traditional romance for Silhouette– a looooong time ago. So I’m happy to support them.

So here’s a little about my other June book release–this isn’t fiercely erotic, like Temptation in Tartan. Walk Like A Man was my first manuscript and, as such, is a simple boy-meets-girl, boy-gets-girl, boy-loses-girl, boy-gets-girl back story. It’s been quite successful, but I don’t know why. Maybe readers prefer simple to entangled, but these so called “simple” books are very hard to write. The more that happens to my characters, the more I have to write about. So simpler is harder. In general, I like my characters to have a mystery to solve or a danger to confront while falling in love. It’s easier.

So here you are, for your reading pleasure: Walk Like A Man.

The blurb:

Macho quarterback Jim Wellman meets his match in bright and sassy physical therapist Marti Solis, who goads him out of his wheelchair, pushing him to walk again. Unlike every other woman Jim has wanted, she refuses to jump into the sack with the celebrity athlete. Though attracted to his bedroom smile and rugged good looks, she’s intimidated by his fame and turned off by his arrogance.

Can Jim become the lover Marti needs? Can he learn to walk like a man?

Set in California’s beautiful Napa Valley, this multicultural romance delivers humor and pathos, sparkling dialogue, layered characters, a heroine to root for and a hero who’s pure fantasy.

The excerpt:

“Mr. Wellman, you’re not concentrating.”

Jim glared at his physical therapist. He was concentrating so hard the top of his head was gonna blow off. Didn’t she get it?

His life was on the line. He had to walk again, because he’d lose everything if he couldn’t. His legs had shattered eight months ago at the Pro Bowl in front of a TV audience of millions. His career as an N.F.L. quarterback had shattered with them.

Jim searched for her nametag, but couldn’t see it through the sweat dripping into his eyes during this first painful therapy session at the rehab center. He leaned against the parallel metal bars and rubbed his forehead dry with his wrist, then peered down at his therapist.

A small woman, his brunette taskmaster had a cute pointy chin and greenish eyes. Her nametag, pinned over her left breast, drew his glance; the breast, small but perky, spiked his hormones. “Miss, er, Marti, I’m trying very hard.” His glance shifted to her ringless left hand.

“Staring at my hand won’t help.”

She’d caught him. Embarrassment made him hotter and sweatier. He couldn’t help his habit. Whenever he met a pretty woman, he automatically looked at her left hand to find out if she was free. “Just checking for a ring.” Concluding that Marti was available, he grinned at her and waited for her to smile back.

“I’m not available,” she snapped. “Mr. Wellman, if you don’t want to focus on your recovery, it’s nothing to me.”

Jim gaped.

She turned and pointed at his wheelchair. “You can sit there like a fat, useless blob for the rest of your days for all I care. In the meantime, I have other patients. Patients who care.” Pivoting, she walked to the door, her steps decisive.

He recovered, managing a laugh. “Good try, but you’re as transparent as glass. What happens now? Does Katrin pat me on the back and play the good cop?” He glanced at the other therapist, a pretty blonde with a big, square rock on her ring finger.

Marti returned and gave a little shrug. “Well, it was worth trying.”

Walk Like A Man
http://tinyurl.com/6mn6hr9

“Yes,” Jim said. “Very entertaining.”

“Now that the banter is over, can we get back to work? I want you to focus, Mr. Wellman. Focus on the muscles of your legs, how your feet feel on the floor.”

Jim glowered at his sarcastic little slave driver, who glared back, not giving an inch. He swallowed his annoyance and focused, tensing then relaxing his leg muscles. Damn, it hurt! But it was a good hurt, the hurt of muscles on the mend. Jim knew and welcomed that ache. After eight months, it felt great to finally get out of the wheelchair. He looked at his therapist for guidance.

“Now, push your feet into the floor and stand up straight.” Marti’s voice rose. “Come on, I know you can do it!”

Jim hitched his pants and pushed, stubbornly willing his legs to hold his weight. Clutching the parallel bars, he hauled up his body, using the strength in his shoulders and arms. The championship ring on his right hand clattered against the metal bars. The clank cut through his harsh, raspy breaths.

He placed his feet onto the floor beneath his body. For two exhilarating seconds his legs held firm. Joy shot through him. He pictured himself running down the field, escaping a horde of linebackers and passing for a touchdown. Then his ankles buckled. His sweaty hands slipped off the bars, and he collapsed toward the floor.

Marti and Katrin grabbed Jim on his way down, breaking his fall. “Be careful,” Katrin said, as the two therapists guided him down to the mat. “Let’s not get hurt.”

Jim sat limply, shoulders bowed, letting his head drop into his palms. Thirty years old, and my life’s in the toilet. He rubbed his damp face as he bit back a string of pungent curses.

“Let’s try just the one leg,” Marti said. “Mr. Wellman, there’s nothing wrong with your left leg that a little exercise won’t cure. Your file says that ankle healed months ago. It’s the right that’s giving us problems. Katrin, let’s get him up again. Tommy, help us out.”

A male attendant came forward to assist. Jim gritted his teeth against the ache as the trio helped him get onto his feet. Sweating, he leaned against one end of the therapy bars.

“Katrin, let him go. Hold on now, Mr. Wellman.” Marti backed away to the other end of the bars. Her hazel-green eyes narrowed, and her little chin reminded him of a feral cat. She was as focused as any feline on the hunt.

“Come on, come to me, Mr. Wellman.” Marti raised a clenched fist. “Come on, I know you can do it!”

Held by her compelling gaze, Jim found himself responding to her intensity. A sudden superstition came over him: this was the moment where it all had to happen. He’d walk now . . . or never.

Tension thickened the air. Sucking in a deep breath, he went for it.

Miraculously, his left leg held when he pushed down hard, grabbing onto the parallel therapy bars with both hands. He clenched his jaw and took a couple of quivery, hesitant hops toward Marti.

Katrin and Tommy burst into applause. Sighing with relief, Jim leaned against the parallel bars as Marti slipped a supporting arm around him.

“Yes! Excellent! Excellent job!” she cried. “Okay, that’s all for right now. Good work.” She smiled up at him. Again he noticed the sharp little chin, but ignored her catlike aura as Tommy pushed out Jim’s wheelchair. “Not that,” his therapist said. “Get a walker. No more chair.”

Katrin turned, raising her eyebrows.

“He’s too dependent,” Marti said. “The wheelchair is the reason he can’t bear his own weight anymore. He should have been out of that chair as soon as the left ankle healed. Someone with Mr. Wellman’s excellent physique should have made far more progress by now.” She loosened her right arm from around his waist to give him an impersonal pat on the shoulder.

Jim slid his left arm around her so he wouldn’t fall, keeping a steadying grip on the parallel bars with his right. He managed to keep a grip on his resentment as well, though he didn’t like her condescending little pat. He wouldn’t let this woman treat him like a child.

“That’s not his doctor’s orders,” Katrin pointed out.

Marti folded her arms across her chest. The frown that creased her mouth didn’t look good with the chin. “I’ll talk to the doctor, but in my professional opinion, the wheelchair is contraindicated.”

Jim turned and lifted her chin so she’d have to look him full in the face. He jutted his head down toward her. “I’m sorry, but I won’t use a walker.”

“Excuse me?” Marti’s face was less than four inches from his.

Keeping his arm around her shoulders, he fingered her chin with a practiced hand. A slight tremor ran through his therapist’s slim body.

****

If you like what you read, check it out at http://tinyurl.com/6mn6hr9 or at my site, http://www.sue-swift.com

Two of my books, one a new book and the other a reprint–were published a few days ago, on June first.

I’d known for quite some time that Walk Like A Manwould be released that day, but received the final file the day before and the book cover on the day the book was published. Needless to day, that created a number of issues regarding

Walk Like A Man
http://tinyurl.com/6mn6hr9

promo.

As for Temptation in Tartan, Ellora’s Cave surprised me by giving me a pub date within a couple weeks of turning in the edited manuscript. And I found out by looking at the site (!?). Not ideal.

But after freaking out for a couple of minutes, I swung into action and emailed everyone I knew (okay, that’s an exaggeration, but you get the picture) and asked if they’d help me with a blog tour.

Authors are wonderful. Within minutes (and this is not an exaggeration) a number of people had responded, and I thank them all so very very much:

Catherine Cavendish

http://www.catherinecavendish.com/2012/06/vampire-clan-wages-war-in-highlands.html

Crystal Kauffman

http://crystalkauffman.blogspot.com/

Linda Andrews

http://lindaandrews.wordpress.com/2012/06/01/temptation-in-tartan-by-sue-venice/

Maria-Claire Payne

http://maria-clairepayne.com/will-his-bride-say-i-do-or-bite-me-welcome-suz-demello

Victoria Blisse

http://victoriablisse.co.uk/blog/suz-demello-blog-swap

Lisabet Sarai

http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com/2012/06/temptation-in-tartan.html

available at http://www.jasminejade.com/p-10121-te...

And upcoming:

sensualreads.com

Fayth Devlin

Morgen Bailey

Viajera del Mar

Maggie Nash

Mary Hughes

Sue Lyndon

Romancing the Genres

…and more!

Not bad for an off-the-cuff effort. Then I discovered a wonderful group of writers who will trade such things as Amazon likes and tags, FB posts and twitter feeds. I also asked my friends to help, and I’m gratified to say that a lot of people responded. Who helped me? Almost impossible to list but I’ll try:

Cindy Spencer-Pape, Regina Duke, Patricia Kay, Debra Holland, Nina Pierce, Linda Golden, Sylvia McDaniel, P.O.

Dixon, Elysa Hendricks, Donna Tunney, Helen Scott Taylor, Linda McLaughlin, Felice Fox, Thea Hutcheson, Suzanne Welsh, Leanne Tyler, Marie Higgins, Cindy Woolf, Carolynn Carey, TC Archer, Misty Dietz, Marika Weber, Cyndi Faria, Pamela Turner, Kristy Swords.

I also sent everyone who helped me an individual email if I could. If I’ve left anyone out I do apologize.

So we’ll see when the royalty statements come in if all this activity has helped! I think it has. Already Temptation in Tartan has reached and maintained a solid Amazon sales ranking, which is great for a book that appeared on Amazon late (ugh) and without a cover (double ugh). I”m working on these issues right now.

BTW…if anyone out there thinks (1) a career as a writer is easy money, or (2) your job as a writer is done when you’ve finished the manuscript…this blog should tell you that you’re sadly mistaken. There’s nothing easy about this job, and not a day goes by that I contemplate doing something easier, like, say, digging ditches with my teeth or cleaning toilets at a truckstop.

Say hello to the prolific Victoria Blisse, who’s written a hot vamp series. Check out The Vampire’s Choice, Point Vamp Book three.

A crazy vampire or an ice-queen human, it’s not much of a choice but it is the one Kyle has to make.

Kyle may be undead, but he still lives at home with his Gran and works in a supermarket stacking shelves with his mates. His life hasn’t changed much, apart from being dead and having to suck blood from live humans to survive.

Luckily he knows The Point, a vampire bar where the humans are hot, tasty and eager to please. Well, most of them are. Janine is the exception. She is cold and distant, but from the first time he meets her, Kyle is smitten.

But he has a problem. A hot but crazy female vamp has got him in her sights and she’ll stop at nothing to get him all to herself.

Kyle has a decision to make and it will change his afterlife forever. Who will he chose?

Reader Advisory: This book contains Blood Sucking, Neck biting and other violence. Find it here:

http://www.total-e-bound.com/product.asp?strParents=&CAT_ID=&P_ID=1646

Excerpt:

“Twice in one night, Janine. You’re a rampant rabbit.”

Janine sent Tony, the guard vamp, a look to curdle milk at fifty paces.

“Hey, Tony,” I whispered, when Janine had walked through to the rooms, “is Sharon on tonight?”

“Not working, no, but she comes in on a Saturday for a drink, if you know what I mean.”

“Oh right, ta.”

“I’ll tell her you asked when I see her later—”

“No, no, no, it’s fine. Don’t say anything.”

I couldn’t afford to belabour the point with him as I had to run to catch up with Janine. We went into room nine again and she started to strip.

“Janine, can’t we take it a bit slower?”

“Why?” She looked puzzled.

“Well, you’ve just been sucked. I don’t want to over drain you. Oh, that doesn’t make sense, but you know what I mean. I don’t want to drink too much and kill you. ”

“I’ve been sucked four times in a night before now, I can take it, but you remember the score, right? No touching me except to suck and you have to wait until I am ready.”

“Why won’t you let me touch you?” I asked. It really did confuse me.

“Oh, you’re not special, big boy. No one touches me.” Her face was held in anger, but her eyes softened with sadness.

“No one ever?”

“None of your business,” she snapped.

“Sorry, but you intrigue me.” I walked over until our noses almost touched.

“If you touch me I walk out of here and leave you wanting.”

“Janine, if I wanted I could reach out and snap your neck before you’d have time to even think.”

I don’t know what had made me so aggressive. It wasn’t like me at all.

She gasped, looked down and whispered, “You wouldn’t, though, would you?”

“No. I like you.”

“How can you like me? You barely know me.” She let her simple, A-line skirt slip down. It landed with a soft thump around her feet.

“Well, call it an instinct or something. You’re different, you’re gorgeous and you make me curious.”

“Believe me, if I didn’t put up the whole mysterious front, you’d not look at me twice.”

“Janine, stop it. You’re beautiful. Your hair calls for me to curl it in my fingers.” I ran my hand along the outline of her head without touching it.

“Your lips are plump and tempting. I want to kiss them until they’re dark red and aching from the attention.”

Her chest heaved, but she said nothing.

“Your skin is so pale and soft, I want to run my fingers over it. I want to tweak your rosy red nipples until they peak and darken. I want to grab your curvaceous hips and pull you to me.”

I rested my hands millimetres away from her hips.

“I want to turn you round, bend you over and spank that plump arse of yours. It screams out to be reddened. I know you’d love it; you’d cream over my lap and beg for more.” I swear I didn’t know where the words were coming from, they just spilled out of my mouth, but every one I uttered was the complete truth.

“And I want to fuck you. I’ve seen the pretty pink of your pussy, the soft wetness within your secret folds. I want to lick you until you scream, then I want to fuck you, feel your cunt squeeze around me until I come.”

Our gazes were locked, and my hands still hovered over her hips. I was torn. I didn’t want the electric lust between us to break, but I couldn’t hold out against my need for very much longer. If I touched her, what would she do? She was so adamant she didn’t want to be touched.

“Can I do all that, Janine? Do you want it? Do you want me to touch you?” I had to have an answer from her. I needed to know that she wanted it as much as I did.

Her tongue darted out and wetted her lips. I waited. I guess it should be listed as one of a vampire’s super strengths—though patience is not thought of so very highly, it is a virtue and great things can come to the vamp who waits.

“I’m scared,” she gasped, her vulnerability painted on her face. I ached to comfort her.

“I won’t hurt you,” I whispered.

“That isn’t what scares me,” she sighed, “but I do want you.”

“Then let me touch you,” I begged. “I want you too.”

If I’d blinked I would’ve missed it, but her head dipped in acquiescence and I gently laid my hands on her hips and pressed my lips to hers. I struggled to keep afloat on the river of lust and desire that washed over me. I’d never felt so connected with anyone before. I kissed her harder and deeper and gripped her hips tighter. I didn’t want to let her go. It was Janine who made the first real move. She reached up between us to pull on the buttons of my shirt.

I followed the lead of her fumbling fingers and reached round behind her to unfasten the clasp that held her black bra in place. It slid down her arms and, after she’d pulled open all my buttons, she let it fall to the floor. Our mouths never parted. They danced over each other all the time, as if when we stopped kissing we’d run out of energy to go any further.

Not one but TWO books are released today.

Available June 1 from Ellora’s Cave
http://www.jasminejade.com/p-10121-te...

Here’s the 4-1-1:

Re: Temptation in Tartan:

She had to marry a monster…

Rumors had followed the chieftains of Clan Kilborn for centuries. Said to be descended from the Viking Berserkers, they were ferocious in battle, known for tearing off the heads of their enemies and drinking their blood.

But English noblewoman Lydia Swann Williston would marry Kieran, Laird Kilborn, to bring peace to the Kilborn lands after the horror of Culloden and the brutal pacification. A widow, she also brought needed wealth to Clan Kilborn. For her part, eighteen-year-old Lydia wanted children. With her husband killed at Culloden, she would make a new life in the Highlands.

The old chieftain of Clan Kilborn also died in battle, and she hoped that the new young Laird would lack his ancestors’ ferocity.

She was wrong.

Walk Like A Man
http://tinyurl.com/6mn6hr9

And there’s also Walk Like A Man:

Macho quarterback Jim Wellman meets his match in bright and sassy physical therapist Marti Solis, who goads him out of his wheelchair, pushing him to walk again. Unlike every other woman Jim has wanted, she refuses to jump into the sack with the celebrity athlete. Though attracted to his bedroom smile and rugged good looks, she’s intimidated by his fame and turned off by his arrogance.

Can Jim become the lover Marti needs? Can he learn to walk like a man?

Set in California’s beautiful Napa Valley, this multicultural romance delivers humor and pathos, sparkling dialogue, layered characters, a heroine to root for and a hero who’s pure fantasy.

I hope you love my books!

I met the very talented and witty Jeff at the meetings of a local book group, where he keeps us in stitches every month with his clever, funny comments. He published his first novel, The Second Life, in 2006, and was writer/actor in a comedy sketch show that ran for three seasons on cable markets in the eastern and midwestern USA. He’s also worked as a graphic designer and a teacher.

His latest book is Out of Dark Places. Here’s what it’s about:

Writer Jeff Gephart

For Lukas Willow, the only fate worse than death… is life.

Lukas was once a musical prodigy, but his life took a vastly different turn when he discovered that he possessed unexplainable clairvoyant powers.  Haunted by troubling visions, he has become an alcoholic recluse, his life suspended in a stagnant state of paranoia and self pity.  When the mysterious Katie Reiker, a beautiful but emotionally scarred young woman, shows up on his doorstep, an unconventional relationship begins to develop that might just save them both.  Time is running out, however.  An impending natural disaster that only Lukas knows about forces him to make a difficult decision that will affect the lives and futures of everyone in his town.

This poignant and captivating novel about the importance of making connections explores the paradoxes of finding hope, forgiveness, and redemption, even when faced with the fatal condition of being human.

And here’s an excerpt:

CHAPTER ONE

It’s 4:56 in the rain.

Any other day, any other kind of weather, and it’s just a few minutes before five.  Almost happy hour.  But 4:56 in the rain is different.  Nothing good happens in the rain.

Perhaps she’s not coming, Lukas thinks to himself.  Staring through the thick windowpane as the rain cascades over it in billowy sheets is like watching the world from behind a waterfall.  Not as magical, but just as isolating.

Lukas’s eyes drift toward a particular patch of soggy grass close to the house in the backyard.  The waterfall effect makes it difficult to judge distance, but Lukas knows the spot well.  He wonders if archaeologists a few generations from now will dig up that spot and unearth tiny pieces of antiquated stereo components, put them on display in a museum somewhere, and marvel at the primitive way in which twentieth century humans lived their trifling lives.

Lukas Willow’s footsteps, ordinarily loud against the ancient oak hardwood floor, have trouble competing against the nearby sound of water raging through the tin gutters as he makes his way across the unlit parlor.  The furnishings are sparse.  A coffee table with a deep brown finish centers the symmetrical layout of the room, and it matches the end tables on either side of a dilapidated maroon sofa.  All three surfaces are barren, covered only by faint stains which have alternately darkened and lightened scores of small circles and half-circles onto the wooden surfaces.  The room smells as quiet as it looks.  Cold, like the rest of the house.  Lukas sets a wet glass down on the left end table and creates another dark circle.  He grabs the Glenfiddich and drains the last drops of liquid from the bottle into his glass.  Placing the empty bottle gingerly into a wastebasket near his feet, he stoops to look for ice cubes in the adjacent mini freezer.  This freezer should sit higher, on top of something, he thinks.  Knees don’t bend like they used to.

A sudden tapping rattles the glass part of the front door.  Lukas is undeterred by the interruption; his ice cubes are frozen together into one misshapen conglomeration.  Scanning his dusty surroundings, he retrieves a brass letter opener from a nearby countertop and chips off a few chunks of ice.

Again the knocking, louder this time, almost urgent.  He scoops the ice gently into his glass, making sure not to spill, and uses the letter opener to stir.  Wearily, he straightens his legs and ambles toward the front door.

Katherine Reiker looks older than twenty-one.  Her hair, when not soaked and matted to her head, is probably the same dark brown color as her upturned eyebrows.  Her narrow, wiry shoulders are shivering.  “Mr. Willow?” she asks, but Lukas has already turned and started walking back inside.  She follows.  “I’m Katie,” she says, pausing just inside the door to shake off some of the excess wetness.  “I’m sorry I’m so late.”

Even drenched, she’s pretty.  It’s so easy for twenty-one-year-old girls to be pretty.  Late Katie.  “I have a doorbell,” Lukas says.

Out of Dark Places

“I’m sorry,” she says.  And it sounds like she really is.  Lukas feels a stab of uneasiness.  That didn’t come out right.

“I have somewhere to be, but you can take a quick look to get an idea of the place if you’d like,” Lukas says, still listening to the rain.  This isn’t the sort of rain that just happens to fall; it is hurtling toward the earth, determined, as if each drop has its own vital mission to accomplish upon landing.  If nothing else, he likes the sound of serious rain; it goes well with Scotch.

“That’d be great,” Katie says, and a lopsided smile stretches across her face that almost mutes the rain.

Lukas turns and crosses the stone floor of the alcove toward the staircase, passing by a two-level bookshelf built into the wall that displays only two identical layers of dust.  Although the uneven wooden stairs look like relics, they register barely an audible creak as Katie follows him up.  The clacking of her clogs against the rigid wood, however, is deafening.  At the top of the stairs, Lukas pauses outside the door, motioning for Katie to go inside.  The walk up the stairs has left him lightheaded.  Too many drinks, possibly.  Too few trips to this part of the house, probably.  Not enough drinks…definitely.

The girl steps lightly into the old apartment-style room and looks around, as if silently assessing its livability.  The doorframe is low, and Lukas would have to slouch his lanky frame to pass under it, but he stays just outside, on the landing.  He has no interest in the old room; he knows it well.  It hasn’t changed much since he’d rented it as a student, long before he bought the house.  Not much has been added.  A few items have been removed.  But everything has changed.

“I was excited to see your ad,” Katie says, her slender fingers delicately examining a discolored pine desk in the corner.  The room is a humble space, with a slanted ceiling and a lone window shrouded by a dusty film that suggests it hasn’t been disturbed in years.  A twin-sized bed, lumpy and thin, sits on cinderblock supports across from the desk, and has been covered by boxes and warped stacks of papers, bundled with roughly tied twine.  Lukas had mentioned over the phone that he had been using the room primarily for storage, and had promised to clean it out, but he hadn’t yet gotten around to it.  Standing in the doorway, Katie shrugs awkwardly, and Lukas has no idea how to interpret the gesture.  She scans the room again, smiles, and says, “I wasn’t sure I’d be able to find a place this close to the start of the semester.”

“You got good and soaked out there,” Lukas notes.  He feels old.  Particularly in a college town, particularly beside Katie.  So young, soaked and she doesn’t even care; she’ll bounce back.  “Umbrellas aren’t as popular as they used to be, I s’pose.”

“Actually, I have one, but I was running late and forgot it.”  Katie turns to meet his gaze, then quickly turns away.  She stares pointedly at the old piano bench, inconspicuous upon first glance from its neglected spot beneath three boxes of yellowed paperback books.  “Then I forgot to bring the address with me and went to the wrong house at first.”  Forgetful Katie.  Free-spirited maybe.  Still young enough to get away with it.  She runs her fingers through the wet, shoulder-length strands of her hair, and paces around the room, scanning each direction as if looking for something in particular.  “God, I must look ridiculous,” she says with a sheepish grin.  Lukas catches himself on the verge of smiling.  Somehow, her remark didn’t sound as phony as it should have.  Funny how a pretty girl’s self-consciousness somehow makes her even prettier.  She stops and faces him.  “Aren’t there any mirrors in this place?”

The question catches Lukas off guard.  He gulps down the last watered-down sip of Scotch and shakes his head.  He doesn’t need to run a mental inventory of the house’s supplies.  “No,” is all he replies.

Catch up with Jeff and find his books at:

http://www.jeffgephartwriting.com/

https://twitter.com/#!/@Jeff_Gephart

http://www.amazon.com/Jeff-Gephart/e/B004WH7CSA/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/out-of-dark-places-jeff-gephart/1100178590?ean=9780984639205&itm=1&usri=out+of+dark+places

Thank you, Victoria Blisse, for continuing to provide this showcase.

Today I have for you a snippet from my forthcoming novel, Temptation in Tartan, which will be published by Ellora’s Cave on June 1.

Here’s what it’s about:

She had to marry a monster…

Rumors had followed the chieftains of Clan Kilborn for centuries. Said to be descended from the Viking Berserkers, they were ferocious in battle, known for tearing off the heads of their enemies and drinking their blood.

But English noblewoman Lydia Swann Williston would marry Kieran, Laird Kilborn, to bring peace to the Kilborn lands after the horror of Culloden and the brutal pacification. A widow, she also brought needed wealth to Clan Kilborn. For her part, eighteen-year-old Lydia wanted children. With her husband killed at Culloden, she would make a new life in the Highlands.

The old chieftain of Clan Kilborn also died in battle, and she hoped that the new young Laird would lack his ancestors’ ferocity.

 She was wrong.

And here’s the snog:

Edinburgh, 1747

Lydia looked at the man who’d accosted her. How had she failed to notice him before? Bold he was despite his sober dress. Wigless, his straight hair was unfashionably long and darker than a moonless midnight. However, his apparel would rival that of the most stylish London dandy. He wore black, which would have seemed funereal but for the richness of the fine velvet. Lace lavishly trimmed his cuffs, falling over his strong hands like spider webs over granite. Stocking-clad calves, exposed beneath black breeches, were finely turned and muscular.

His eyes also matched his garb, while his skin formed a stark contrast. Though quite pale, he was unusually attractive. His subdued attire couldn’t hide the girth of his chest and his potent masculinity. Taller than the other men in the room, he dominated the space around him.

“Yes, I’d like that,” she said. Widowhood had compensations, and one of them was being able to walk alone with a gentleman without incurring the censure of society…or of her mother, who was gossiping with a newfound friend.

His sudden smile was like the sun breaking through clouds. He opened the glass door and the breeze swirling through lifted strands of his hair that had worked loose from the dark ribbon at his nape. Lydia was seized by the absurd desire to stroke back those wayward locks. She fluttered her fan to conceal her nervousness.

The mysterious stranger took her free hand and led her into the garden surrounding the Menhardie mansion. The broad summer moon cast shadows that shifted with the breeze, so she could see little but could scent much—the fragrance of plants and newly turned earth, the attar of roses she’d touched to her pulse points and, daringly, between her breasts. Most of all, she drew in the male aroma of the stranger who’d taken possession of her hand, a scent reminiscent of midnight and secret longings.

He led her deeper into the knot garden. Trees, swishing in the breeze, blocked the manse from her view. She inhaled sharply, realizing she’d walked willingly, alone, with a man she knew nothing about, into what was not only a compromising position but possibly a dangerous one.

As though he sensed her fear, he released her hand. “Would ye wish to sit?” He waved his hand at a stone bench.

She touched it with a forefinger. Moisture seeped through her glove.

“Dinnae fash yerself.” The stranger sat and held out his arms. “Come here.”

Available June 1 from Ellora’s Cave

She hesitated. “I’m affianced. ‘Twould offend my new husband.”

“No one can see us, and I’m just asking ye to sit.” His gaze was not merely open and guileless, but oddly compelling.

He seemed so kind, and her worries so silly, that she complied, moving closer. He reached for her waist to help her arrange her skirts and panniers. Finally she’d settled onto his lap, sitting crossways so she was looking at his chiseled features, distinct in the moonlight, as pale as new milk.

A strange energy thrummed through her body. She was acutely aware of the firm, muscular thighs beneath her, for she had never sat on a man’s lap before. Neither her father nor her husband had asked for or taken this intimacy. Did she like it? She wasn’t sure and became even less sure when the stranger, who had one arm touching her waist already, slid his other wide palm up her calf toward her knee.

Though his touch sent a tremor of desire shafting through her being, it unnerved her even more. She squirmed but he held her fast.

“Lassie, what worries ye?”

“You are taking liberties, sir, and we…haven’t been introduced.” What a stupid thing to have said. He must think her a fool. But what did it matter? She’d never see him again.

He chuckled. “Let’s just say that I’m a man who finds you quite alluring.”

Alluring. Lydia blinked. William had never said that.

“Remember, I’m affianced.”

“Ye’re here with me. Do ye love him?”

She cleared her throat. “We’ve never met.”

“Then ye’re sharing a stolen moment with a man you…dare I say a man you like?” He flirted, but his voice held a dark timbre that seduced her soul. And yet a note of humor, kindness even, tinctured his tone.

She hesitated, then looked into his eyes and was immediately calmed. She said, “Yes. You may dare.”

“And what else may I dare?” The hand on her leg rose to her face to play with a curl, stroke her cheek. She quivered and her breasts swelled, her nipples rubbing against the lawn of her shift. Flesh for which she had no words, the secret place at the junction of her thighs, heated, tightened, moistened.

She shifted on his lap, opening her legs and leaning forward a trifle, and that sensitive, secret spot rubbed against his leg, bringing a charge of pleasure she hadn’t known before. She hid her gasp behind her fan.

He smiled at her, his eyes knowing… Did he understand how powerfully he affected her?

This was wrong, wrong. She had to stop.

“Your eyes are warm chocolate on a chilly day.” His voice was as soft as the breeze, as soft as his caress down her cheek to her mouth, which he traced. “Your lips are a temptation that I cannae resist.”

“You presume much, sir.”

“Aye, I do, but I feel I know your heart.”

If he knew her heart, then he knew it beat faster than a racing stallion’s hooves.

He inclined his head toward her. His lips were carved marble in the moon’s silver rays. “Ye desire me, do ye not?”

“Desire isn’t enough.” She’d desired William, and her marriage bed had been either empty of her husband or the scene of brief trysts devoid of pleasure. She wouldn’t be seduced by a handsome stranger. What for?

“Please.” He asked, but then he took. His mouth felt cool on hers but with a touch of fire beneath. That fire raced through her, igniting parts of her she hadn’t known could feel such heat, such rapture. She gasped again from sheer surprise, and something intruded between her lips… Before heaven, was that his tongue?

No, Lydia thought. This isn’t me.

She reached for his wrist to slide her fingers toward his elbow. She wrapped her hand around his arm and dug her thumb into the muscle just in front of the joint.

He yelped and jerked away, dumping her off his lap. She landed gracefully, stood and stepped back a pace.

“Good,” she said. “I must have hit just the right spot.”

His eyes were amazed. “Where did a lady like ye learn such a trick?”

“My brother taught me.” She couldn’t help shooting him a triumphant smile as she tucked her fan into her reticule.

He shouted with laughter. “Ye’ll do, yes, ye will! Ye’ll make a fine wife.”

“I beg your pardon?” she said stiffly.

He grinned at her. “I’m Kieran.”

She gaped at him.

“Kieran Kilborn,” he added helpfully. “The man ye’ll marry.”

*****

If you like the book, be sure to preorder it at:

http://www.jasminejade.com/p-10121-temptation-in-tartan.aspx

 

 

The little brown toad sat there and stared straight ahead. Goodness alone knew what it was doing on my front step anyway. The river was at least a quarter of a mile away, but it just sat there, all alone, in the dark, and croaked at me.

“Poor little thing. Are you lost?” I asked, heedless of what any passer-by might think of this strange conversation between a linguistically challenged amphibian and a thirty something woman at eleven o’clock on a summer evening.

Cat Cavendish

“Crrrk! Crrrk!” he replied. Well maybe it was a she, how would I know? But the obvious failure to ask directions after taking a wrong turn seemed to indicate a tendency towards male behaviour that was markedly unfeminine. Anyway, with that, he hopped off the step and out of my life forever.

So, why the toad story?

Because, that night The Adventures of Henry the Toad and All His Friends was born. A children’s story, with certain allusions and parodies that adults would appreciate, Henry was about a little toad who was swept down the river during a mighty flood. Separated from his entire family, the lonely little toad (are you reaching for your hankie yet?) meets Woodrow, the smallest field mouse in the whole world, and the unlikely pair become best friends. What follows is a collection of adventures featuring a cast of animal characters, designed to keep well knownHollywood actors in voiceovers for life. And all of this in the delightful rural setting of Tanglefield Wood.

I would like to say it went on to make me a fortune, but, following a promising and entertaining correspondence between Henry and a very nice man at Canongate Publishing, nothing eventually came of it. I still have the stories though!

Cold Revenge

As with most writers, I am frequently asked where my inspiration for a particular story has come from and the answers are many and varied. Cold Revenge—my horror novella about four couples who really shouldn’t have accepted a certain dinner invitation—was born out of a chance conversation with my husband when the quotation ‘revenge is a dish best served cold’ was mentioned (I forget in what context). A light bulb flashed in my head and I said, “What if it really was a dish? A cold dish?”

The Demons of Cambian Street was inspired by the apartment we live in, which is very old, haunted and contains a creepy, rambling walk-in cupboard. It is pitch dark in there…except for some small red lights.

Cambian Street

Say A Little Prayer was inspired by a dream I once had, where I was sitting on my bed and one wall of the bedroom had become a glass partition. On the other side of this, some famous dead celebrities, including Jim Morrison, were staring at me. They seemed concerned about something.

I have been inspired by trees, the Iron Men sculpture on the beach near my old home, cats, newspaper articles, you name it. In fact, I was just reading this article the other day…but that’s another story!

Cold Revenge has recently been published in a paperback anthology as Cold Sparks, along with Peter Giglio’s A Spark In The Darkness and is available from:

 Amazon.com 

Barnes and Noble 

Catherine Cavendish lives in North Wales with her husband and a slightly eccentric tortoiseshell cat. She has had a lifelong fascination with the paranormal which intensified when she herself saw a ghost. She is currently working on more paranormal stories and a novel featuring a circle of ancient standing stones. To find out more about/connect with her:

http://www.catherinecavendish.com/

            https://www.facebook.com/CatherineCavendish

            https://twitter.com/#!/Cat_Cavendish