Hey everyone. Long time no speak. Busy month. I’ve been getting a book ready to publish at Smashwords, plus activating a blog on my site. I hope you’ll stop by at my blog after you’ve stopped by The Bradford Bunch. I plan to have contests and during October I’m having a Chill Me Thrill Me Halloween event with guest authors blogging every day. That’s almost 31 chances to win ARC’s, paperbacks and other goodies just in time for Halloween.

Good news! Hideaway is out in paperback at Ellora’s Cave (www.jasminejade.com) Hideaway is one of my Special Investigations Agency stories. It was one of those books that demanded to be written. The heroine is a writer, too. She’s also hiding away to rid herself of writer’s block. What happens next is danger, adventure and some weird paranormal stuff with a seriously hot Irish hero. You can also get Hideaway as an ebook.

Here’s the blurb and excerpt to tantalize you. Enjoy.

**

Love can be a bitch…

Romance author Gina Aames has hit a low point in her career. Sequestered in an isolated mountain cabin, she hopes for inspiration. She lapses into a fantasy featuring her old college friend, gorgeous Ryan “Irish” Ahern. When Ryan appears at her door, unconscious and packing a weapon, her instincts tell her Ryan brings danger with him. At the same time, her body and heart yearns for the cocky agent.

Love can be dangerous…

Ryan awakens in a cabin with a woman who claims to have known him for ten years but he can’t remember her. All he knows is the pretty woman who fires his libido stirs protective instincts inside him, and his intuition tells him peril lurks around the corner.

Love can save the day, or break a heart…

Something unholy draws nearer, and as they escape into a shadowy realm unlike anything they’ve seen before, only their scorching connection and answers to an incredible mystery can save Ryan and Gina from a terrible fate.

***

Another thump hit the door, hollow and disturbing. She licked her lips, her heart pounding like a triphammer.

“Who is there?” Gina asked with conviction.

When she received no answer, she wondered if a bear or other large creature had found its way to her door. Gina didn’t know which to be afraid of—human or animal interference.

She undid the deadbolt and left the safety chain hooked. Slowly, she inched the door open and peered around the side. A head of thick black hair appeared at foot level. Not a disembodied head, but one attached to the big, gorgeous body lying on the porch. A body belonging to a man she’d know anywhere.

Ryan Ahern had materialized right from her fantasy straight into reality. “Oh my God.”

He moaned and she undid the chain to open the door completely. Ryan flopped onto his back, half in the door and half out, his eyes closed. He clutched a nasty-looking firearm in his right hand. Stark fear gripped her.

Stunned into immobility by Ryan’s abrupt appearance, Gina stared at him.

“Shit,” she murmured as she knelt by his supine body and felt for a pulse in his tanned throat.

A steady beat under her fingertips sent a sigh of relief between her lips. Glancing over his formfitting blue T-shirt and worn blue jeans told her nothing about his condition. No blood. No tears in his clothing. The weapon gripped in his hand like a lifeline shouldn’t have surprised her—he’d joined the same government agency Tara’s fiancé Marcus belonged to. Was Ryan on assignment?

Thunder growled, and moisture scented the air. She had to remove him from the elements. Placing one hand on his stubble-rough cheek and one on his shoulder, she tried to rouse him. Damn, but his muscles felt solid. Big and invincible. She palmed down to his muscular chest and her breath caught as he heaved a soft moan. Laced with pain, the sound worried her. Nothing mattered now but making certain he was all right.

She placed both hands on his chest. “Irish? Come on, Ryan. Wake up.”

His eyes popped open, and he sat up so fast she toppled back on her ass with a squeak and grunt. His eyes, mountain-sky blue and ringed by thick black lashes, latched on to her without remorse. An angry gaze pinpointed her like a laser. A weird little thrill tumbled in her belly at the intensity in that expression. She’d become so used to warmth and acceptance in his gorgeous eyes—the fierceness in his gaze startled and aroused her in a whole new way. Wow. She’d had rare glimpses of his kick-ass-and- take-names personage years ago, but this glaring, forceful man startled her. She stood rapidly.

“Who are you?” His voice, a raspy, deep sound tinged with a hint of Ireland, always sent tingles straight to her stomach.

“Who am I?” Her echo sounded incredulous. “We’ve known each other for a long time. How can you ask that question?” He blinked, his gaze turning a bit unfocused and confused. “I found you lying on the porch up against my door. Did you hit your head?”

He scrambled upright, his muscles fluid as a panther as he came to his feet, still in possession of the gun. He towered over her, his gaze laser strong. He swayed and his eyelids flickered as he leaned one shoulder against the doorjamb. While he defined black Irish with his tousled, collar-length black hair, blue eyes and normally pale complexion, he’d acquired a tan in the last couple of years during the summer.

She approached him as she would a wounded animal. “Ryan, why don’t you sit down?”

He glared at her then his eyelids flickered again.

“Oh, no you don’t,” she said in alarm, afraid he’d pass out. Quickly, she went to his side. Ignoring the gun he still clutched, she slipped under his arm. “Come on. Lean on me.” To her surprise, he did as told. She staggered under his weight as they wove their way to the leather couch. She eased him down. “Here. Lie down.”

She expected him to protest, but his gaze turned foggy. He slid sideways onto the pile of pillows, his eyes closed. She scooped his heavy legs up onto the couch, and he sprawled in a male abandon both defenseless and primal. He still possessed the weapon, his arm lying over his stomach. God, if she tried to take it from him—no, that wasn’t a good idea. She hurried back to the front door and closed it, then returned to the couch.

Apprehensive about touching him again, she got down on her knees beside the couch. Slowly she brushed a tangle of thick hair away from his forehead. She gently touched the pulse point in his throat. His pulse beat rapidly under her fingertips. She didn’t see any blood or obvious bruising.

“Ryan? Ryan, can you hear me?”

Worried, she stood and went to the kitchen to get a cold cloth for his forehead. She had to try to rouse him and obtain medical attention. Reaching into a small cabinet, she retrieved a cloth and then went to the sink to wet it. After soaking it thoroughly and squeezing the cloth out, she turned around.

“Oh, shit!” she gasped, startled.

Ryan stood not that far away, just beyond the kitchen counter, weapon in hand. Muscles tensed, he represented uncompromising masculinity. Once a soldier, always a soldier described him.

No one compared to Ryan Ahern. Every line of his body boasted tensile strength and sinew. Corded muscle bunched, flexed and made sensual promises. She recalled one day when she saw him chopping wood during the summer. Raw power had drawn her eyes to the long lines and distinct masculinity in each powerful swing as he brought ruthless metal down into wood.

“Ryan, what happened? Why are you here?”

He turned toward the front door with a jerk then stalked in that direction. He swept the door open and surveyed the wilderness outside. He closed the door and locked it with a firm click, engaging the chain.

“Damn it.” He rammed the deadbolt home. “This might not hold for long once it finds out where I am.”

“It?”

He continued to stare at the door, as if expecting something to crash through it any minute.

Fear returned as she watched his broad back ripple with strength. “Ryan—”

“Lady,” he said as he swung back toward her, “we don’t have time to play games. We’re in serious trouble.”

**

Until next time, everyone have an awesome day.

Hey everyone! I was supposed to blog about DARYK HUNTER (Book 1: Daryk World trilogy) and DARK, DEADLY LOVE way before July 4. Unfortunately my website got a virus and I didn’t want anyone to catch it, so I kept mention of going to my website off the net that day. Problem is fixed, though, so all is well. If you haven’t seen my awesome, awesome new website, you must go take a look at www.deniseagnew.com.  I lurve it. The collage screams, “Denise’s books!” The colors are ones that I gravitate toward. The navigation is simple. All things I like when I visit an author site. Plus, if you don’t already get my newsletter, join up and you’ll also be automatically entered in my monthly contest. In July you could win a pretty Victorian type bracelet.

In the meantime, I’m excited to chat about Daryk Hunter and Dark, Deadly Love. I know…a lot of usage of Dark in there. Luck of the draw that the books came out side by side.

Dark, Deadly Love released yesterday, July 13, at Samhain Publishing www.samhainpublishing.com. I’m thrilled that this story is coming back under a new title with this delicious new cover.

I adore the new cover. It says sensuality, it says historical romance, it says London, it says scary. It captures everything I was trying to create. DARK, DEADLY LOVE delves into the minds of the victims—the prostitutes that were killed. This book possesses elements of a dark, intense, gritty historical story. I wrote the story the way I love to read dark historicals, capturing a grisly time in England’s history. But it is also a true historical romance, with an American heroine with psychic abilities and an aristocratic hero.

Releasing today, July 14, at Ellora’s Cave www.jasminejade.com is DARYK HUNTER, the first story in my DARYK WORLD trilogy. This is my first foray into fantasy/sci fi romance. In this trilogy restrictions dissolved completely. Where else could I combine hot alpha male heroes with strong heroines, dragons, two super continents, opposing belief systems, dangerous creatures and high adventure? There are glaciers, deserts and jungles in this world, too. Three heroines in three books meet each other on a ship and became fast friends. A huge wave tears apart their sailing ship. They’re separated from each other but found by three seriously hot men. Daryk Ones. Men trained to protect the innocent and keep the peace because of their superior strength, their intelligence, and their ability to defend the people against dragons. What I’m loving about the fantasy is creating an entire world that is just my own, and hopefully one readers will respond to as well. These tales are erotic romance, so there’s always the added challenge of writing the erotic into the story in a way that is believable to me.

For more information, blurbs, and excerpts from DARK, DEADLY LOVE and DARYK HUNTER, stop by my website at www.deniseagnew.com.  You can also see larger copies of the stunning book covers.

To celebrate the release of this book, I’m giving one copy of a trade paperback from my backlist. Answer the following question today and I’ll pick a winner at random later this evening:  What draws you into a novel so strongly you’re tempted to stay up all night reading it?

Denise A. Agnew, Interview
By Michelle M. Pillow

Denise A. Agnew, fiction author of over thirty titles, loves to write about a diverse range of subjects, from paranormal to time travel, romantic comedy to romantic suspense, contemporary to historical. She attributes the fact that she has lived in Colorado, Hawaii, Arizona and the United Kingdom to giving her a lifetime of ideas. Her newest idea, an erotic paranormal romance/suspense novella, Meltdown, released in ebook this November from Liquid Silver Books.

* * * * *

Q: In your book, Meltdown, you delve into the world of psychic abilities. What inspired you to write about this?

Denise: Some of my books, but not all of them, have a grain of psychic truth in them. I’d heard of more than one person who can predict earthquakes because something physical happens to them. In my story, the heroine works in Earth Sciences and seismology, so she’s grounded in science. She has headaches that come a couple of minutes before a quake hits. I wanted to explore the conflict that would create. Her colleagues probably wouldn’t believe her. She doesn’t have enough time to really warn anyone about a quake. She knows it’s going to happen but she’s helpless. How does she react? How would the hero, who is a firefighter, react to this?

Q: Why do you think readers, and society in general, are fascinated by the paranormal?

Denise: Humans want to explore mysteries or they want answers to strange things they’ve experienced or read about. Mystery is a part of life.

Q: What are your favorite paranormal shows, movies and books?

Denise: Fringe, old X-Files, old Millennium episodes, loved Journeyman. Movies include The Shining, The Exorcist, and so many others. As for books, there are way too many to list.

Q: Do you believe in the supernatural? Or are you a skeptic?

Denise: I believe in the supernatural. I’ve had things happen to me and other people I know. I have one foot in the practical world and one in the supernatural. I balance healthy skepticism with that belief.

Q: Have you ever had a paranormal experience?

Denise: My most vivid experience was on New Year’s Eve back in the 90’s. We were in Edinburgh, Scotland and took a tour of the South Bridge vaults. I’m not claustrophobic but in one room I was instantly terrified. I was sweating, heart going two hundred, and I wanted out of there. I kept my anxiety to myself. When we left the relief was instant. I was compelled to research the experience and discovered that many other people had the same freak out in the same room. To this day I wonder what happened. When I toured other underground/basement type areas in Britain while I lived there, I never felt that way again.

Q: What does the future hold for your paranormal writing?

Denise: I’m writing a werewolf trilogy as well as a historical series that has heavy-duty paranormal elements. While I love to write about a variety of things, the paranormal is always going to be there, lurking in the background, ready to jump out. Maybe, if I do my job, I’ll scare the beejeebers out of the reader. It’s what I do.

Thanks for joining us, Denise!

You can learn more about Denise and her books at her website, www.deniseagnew.com or at her publisher, www.liquidsilverbooks.com.

Interviewer Michelle M. Pillow is an award winning author writing in many romance fiction genres. She can be found at www.michellepillow.com.

Denise’s paranormal titles –
Primordial
Dangerous Intentions
Treacherous Wishes
Bridge Through the Mist
Eclipse
Dark Fire
Night Watch
Haunted Souls
www.deniseagnew.com

Awards-
4 ½ Stars Top Pick RT Magazine for Primordial
EPPIE win for best historical romance in 2001 for Love From The Ashes

Hey all! The title of this blog describes me best today. Sleepy and in need of real caffeine. Here’s what I learned this week. Things sometimes switch gears on you halfway through the week, and you wake up one morning groaning because you thought it was going to be an easy week and it turns out to be more challenging than you anticipated. (See Denise grab some more caffeine. See Denise suck in some coffee then remember it’s decaf. Gah!) Well, I can hope that the slight bit of caffeine that’s left in there wakes me up. My dog is sleepy, too, but that works in my favor. At seventeen months, he’s still got plenty of spunk. He was at doggie day camp yesterday, though, and that wore him out in a good way.

Aside from all of that nonsense, what’s happening in my writing world? Well, I’m waiting to post the fantastic cover for my novel Dark, Deadly Love which comes out July 13 at Samhain. Need the approval and then I can advertise it. I’m excited that this novel will be out again. It was originally published almost ten years ago under the title of Midnight Rose. Soon I’ll post an excerpt on this blog.

What else is happening in my writing world? Let’s see…I just turned in the first book in my fantasy trilogy to my editor at Ellora’s Cave, and I’m deep into the second story. This week I’m slacking a lot, though, because I just need some time off.

Second to that is a weird idea I have for another trilogy that I don’t even know when I’ll get time to write, but I’m very intrigued by it. It incorporates some seriously scary paranormal elements with romance. Let’s just say it’s not light paranormal, but much more edgy, dark and not for the faint-of-heart.

Speaking of that, are you going to see any summer movies? Did you go to Iron Man 2? I’m planning on seeing Robin Hood and Prince of Persia. Those are the two I want to see the most. Also, what are you reading and what are you planning on reading?

Last but not least, did I show you guys this neat cover? It’s for the print version of Clandestine. I lurve it!

Until next time, take care and enjoy yourself.

Where Does All That Creativity Come From Anyway and Other Writerly Questions.

That’s what I almost called this blog. Instead, my tired mind said it was time to simplify and the title you see above is what you get. What on earth is that photo you might ask? It’s a dig I participated in back in Colorado in ‘88. Yeah, way back then. Anyway, to me writing is sometimes like archaeology. Some authors have to dig and dig and dig to formulate what they want to write. Me, I let the mood take me where it wants to take me.

That brings me to the point.

What is the number one question I’ve been asked when people learn I’m an author?

Where do you get your ideas?

People wait with anticipation, hanging on my words until—they hear my answer. I don’t know.

Honestly, I’ve formulated many ideas from subjects I find interesting. My interest in Jack the Ripper led me to write Dark, Deadly Love (Samhain Publishing July 2010-was titled Midnight Rose), and my interest in the San Francisco Earthquake of 1906 led me to write Love From The Ashes. An interest in the Eastern State Penitentiary led me to write the historical romance Before The Dawn (Samhain Publishing 2011) and my desire to write a book set in Roman Britain produced For A Roman’s Heart (Samhain Publishing January 2011).

Yet not every story was inspired by the idea of a place or event. Sometimes a character will pop in and ask for a story.

Second to that question is often, Where do you get the ideas for your love scenes?

Uh…duh. I get them from a variety of ways including my imagination.

And the one question that burns in everyone’s mind.

How hard is it to get published?

There isn’t an honest and clear answer for this question, so I’m not going to answer it. There are too many variables to give a definitive.

Then there comes a question that always makes me wince internally.

When are you going to write a real book or when are you going to write a serious book?

Okay, so the answer to these questions requires two different answers. Sort of. A real book as opposed to a print book? Books are books whether they are an ebook or print. I have both. A serious book? You mean a literary work? Well, that’s not what blows my skirt up. I’ve got to write what I feel in my heart, and right at this time that doesn’t include literary. Writing is in my soul, and even when a mad monster comes along and I consider not writing another book, I know that isn’t likely. What I do know is that a writer should write the things that make them feel good in their heart and  make certain they’ve defined for themselves exactly what that is. Otherwise it’s too easy to let the rest of the world decide for you.

What things do you do in your life even when people around you might question it?

Hey everyone! I timed this blog well today. Two things going on in my world right now. Today is the day that the first book in my Hot Zone series, MALE CALL (Samhain Publishing www.samhainpublishing.com), is available on the free Kindle books program at Amazon. So stop by and type in Male Call by Denise A. Agnew or go to the Kindle list of best sellers and see if it has popped up there already. After that, I hope you are so intrigued by the military heroes I created for the series that you’ll buy all the other books in the series. By the way, I hope to have yet another story in the series out someday. No word on that yet, but it is written.

Now on to different news.  I’m writing my fantasy romance novel, the first in a trilogy that will be coming out at Ellora’s Cave. The trilogy is called Daryk World, and the first book is Daryk Hunter.

This is my first foray into writing fantasy romance, but it isn’t exactly foreign territory because I’ve written other paranormal romance. I consider fantasy romance just one spectrum of the subgenre. What I’m loving about the fantasy part is creating an entire world that is just my own, and hopefully one readers will respond to as well. These stories are erotic romance, so there’s always the added challenge of writing the erotic into the story in a way that is believable to me. I don’t do slot A into tab B sex scenes. Nope. They have to be unique to the characters and foremost the love scenes have to be in the right place for the story. No quota of sex scenes designed to be thrown in to make sure there’s enough sex. Nope.  I can’t write a story like that. What I have to do is be in the right frame of mine, whether it’s with the right music and my mind open to the possibilities. I have to ask the characters to speak to me and tell me what they want to do.

The three heroines in the three books all met each other on a ship and became quick, fast friends. A huge storm tears apart their ship, and that’s where they’re lost from each other but found by three seriously hot men. Daryk Ones. Men trained to protect the innocent and keep the peace because of their superior strength, their intelligence, and their ability to defend the people against dragons. Yes, there are dragons in my world and other toxic creatures too numerous to mention right now. There are glaciers, deserts and jungles in this world, too.

The heroes from the next two books have small guest shots in the first book. That in itself isn’t a problem. I wanted readers to know a tiny bit about these men so hopefully they’ll clamor to read about them later. Rayder Tyrus, who is the hero of the second book, Daryk Rogue, is definitely a rogue. He’s a disgraced Daryk One, a man who should be a warrior and hero to his people but is essentially undercover with slave traders to exact revenge for his sister’s death. He popped into the story when I didn’t expect him to and demanded to be written right NOW. And he’s hot. Very, very, very hot. I had to send him off on an important errand so he’d leave me alone for now.

Eryk Gauth is the hero of the third book and he’ll have complications of his own in Daryk Warrior, but in this first book he’s popping in pretty quickly. He may show up again later in this story. I never say never.

Once again I remind myself my best stories are when the unexpected happens. When something I didn’t foresee jumps out and says, “create me.”

In the meantime, stop by Amazon, because Male Call is only free until the end of March.

See you all next time!

Pamela Clare's latest romantic suspense novel.

Hi everyone! Sorry we’re late posting this morning. Today I’m happy to introduce a guest blogger, Pamela Clare. Pamela is the extremely talented author of a kick butt romantic suspense series as well as mouth-watering historical romance. She creates multi-dimensional characters, wonderful plots, and edge-of-the-seat thrills in her romantic suspense and her historicals. Today Pamela is giving away a paperback of one of her books, so be sure to comment. She’ll be back later today to pick a winner. .:) Without further hesitation, I introduce one of my favorite authors, Pamela Clare.

***

For two years, I’ve gotten daily e-mails from readers anxious to know when my next I-Team book would be out. That day came last Tuesday. After two long years, my I-Team series continues with Naked Edge. A contemporary romantic suspense novel set in the Colorado Rockies, Naked Edge tells the story of Navajo journalist Kat James and Gabe Rossiter, the park ranger who saves her life when she’s injured in the mountains.

The story is was inspired by my own near-fatal climbing accident in 1994 and the years I spent reporting on events in Indian Country — two completely unrelated things that I drew together to tell Kat and Gabe’s story.

Write what you know, they say, and I know what it’s like to fall 40 feet and almost die in the mountains. I know what it feels like to slip and know that you might well have taken your last breath. I know what sounds like when your own bones break. And I know how desperate a person can feel when they realize that they are almost completely helpless.

I was backpacking with my father, a lifelong climber, when it happened. We came to a cornice of snow and ice that we hadn’t anticipated. Lacking the right gear for climbing ice, we decided to give it a go anyway. It was no problem for my father, who simply kicked footholds in the ice and climbed 20 feet down to the steep slope of talus and boulders below. But it didn’t go so well for me.

I slipped from the top, and the game was over. I remember hearing my father shout for me and thinking I might die. I remember hitting rock over and over again and knowing that I was being hurt, but not feeling a thing.

In the hours that followed, I went from being barely coherent and in shock to realizing I had no choice but to keep climbing, even though I couldn’t stand. Readers will recognize Kat’s attempt to crawl to a trail where help could find her with my own effort to crawl, dragging a broken leg through the snow, to a safe place where I could rest while my father went for help. Fortunately, both Kat and I were rescued by a ranger on his day off who just happened to be nearby.

In my case, the ranger was named Rick. I haven’t seen him since. In Kat’s case, the ranger is Gabe, and meeting him changes both of their lives.

Kat’s Navajo heritage is drawn from more than a decade of reporting on news from Indian Country. The Navajo reservation is a 12-hour drive from my house, and it’s a drive I’ve made countless times over the years, hoping to bring awareness about Native concerns to a mainstream audience.

I was hesitant to write a Native heroine because I feel there’s a great responsibility that comes with depicting someone from another culture. I didn’t want to resort to stereotypes, nor did I wish to portray Navajo culture inaccurately. And let’s face it — no amount of time on the rez can make up for the fact that I am was not born and raised Navajo.

Still, the character of Kat came to me, and I was committed. I drew on my own memories of events and ceremonies, using as the outline for the story actual events that I reported on, including the desecration of a sweat lodge ceremony in which Native people from several Indian nations were participating together.

You’d think that, with all of this real-life experience in my mind, I’d have written Naked Edge quickly. Wrong! Somehow the fact that it felt so real to me made the writing an even slower process than usual. I felt so strongly that the details needed to be correct and that the characters, especially Kat and Gabe, had to embody the world I’d seen.

I doubt any of this will really matter for readers. What matters to them is being able to pick up the book and lose themselves in a love story. And Naked Edge is a love story. It’s a story about two people who meet under strained conditions and go on to mean more to one another than they could possibly imagine. With the Rockies as the backdrop it tells the story of one man’s courage as he puts his life on the line to protect an innocent woman from killers — and one woman’s selfless fight against the past to save the soul of the man she loves.

Written with real sweat and blood, I hope it’s a story that will stay with readers for a long time.

Here’s the cover blurb:

What do you do when desire drives you to the very brink?

The day Navajo journalist Katherine James met Gabriel Rossiter, the earth literally moved beneath her feet. Nearly killed in a rockslide while hiking, she found her life in the tall park ranger’s hands. Although she can’t forget him she thinks she’ll never see him again. She is crushed when she recognizes her rescuer among the law enforcement officers raiding a sweat lodge ceremony one night, throwing her and her friends off Mesa Butte, land they consider sacred.

Gabe long ago swore he would never again lose himself to a woman — not even one with long dark hair and big eyes that seem to see right through him. But from the moment he first sees Kat, the attraction he feels is undeniable. Appalled by what he has been ordered to do, he’s determined to get to the bottom of recent events at Mesa Butte and to keep Kat safe.

But asking questions can be dangerous — almost as dangerous as risking one’s heart. And soon Kat and Gabe’s passion for the truth — and each other — makes them targets for those who would do anything, even kill, to keep Native Americans off their sacred land.

For excerpts, go to www.pamelaclare.com and blogspot.pamelaclare.com.

I’ll be giving away a signed copy of Naked Edge today to one lucky person who posts. And although I’ll be at work, I’ll do my best to answer any questions anyone might have.

And thanks to Denise and the Bradford Bunch for letting me blog with you today!

Pamela Clare

**

Thank you Pamela! It’s a pleasure having you with us today.

Inspired by mountains near my home.

All last week I tried to think of a topic for a blog entry, but couldn’t seem to think of a thing. Yesterday, while serving as a panelist on dialogue in historical novels, it hit me. I had a hot topic.

Society works hard to tell us there is only one way to cross a T.

I’m here to tell ya, there is more than one way to peel a banana.

Have patience. This does have something to do with writing, I promise you.

Since I was a child, I’ve been bombarded by messages that say there is only one right way to do things. Clean a house, make a cake, play a game, make a friend. Failure was not permitted, but it happened to me anyway. My experiences with attempting to fit in and do things the right way started at childhood, but it lingered way beyond that. Mathematics says one plus one is two. A word can only be spelled one way. Peer pressure demanded there was only one right way to dress and speak. Any deviance from the norm meant there were consequences to pay.

Internally, I chafed against that advice even as I did what I was told and tried to do it the “right” way. As an avid reader, I sometimes came across books written by Irish, British, Australian, and Canadian authors. I noticed they sometimes spelled things differently than Americans, like flavour instead of flavor, honour instead of honor, or tyre instead of tire. My young brain started mixing up the spelling. So what did my teacher do? Instead of noticing that her student was spelling things the British way and explaining that Americans spell it differently, she told me the British way was wrong. Yep. Wrong. My mother was angry that the teacher told me this, but I don’t recall my mother getting on the teacher’s case.

Know what I found out? Sometimes you could get the answer without doing it the way the teacher said (and I don’t mean by cheating). My brain hates things in linear. I’m much more likely to just pull the answer out of midair without understanding how I got the answer. As a very right-brained individual, I sucked at math. Sucked big ones! When I was fourteen, my vocabulary and comprehension when it came to reading was tested at college level. School administrators were friggin’ baffled. They decided to test me to see why I had a difficult time with math. I could have told them, if they’d asked. My second grade teacher ran her class like a boot camp. There was abuse in the classroom, but that’s a whole different story. I’d learned in that class to be helpless when it came to understanding math. After all, failure was not an option and there was only one right way to do it. Since I couldn’t get the answer the teacher’s way, or get the answer as quickly as the other children I failed. If failure is your only result, pretty soon you give up.

Anyway, back to this figure-out-what-is-wrong-with-this-kid test. On a lark, I imagine, the school psychologist asked me two questions I shouldn’t get correct because I hadn’t taken Calculus or Trigonometry. I got the right answer by pulling it out of thin air. Her mouth flopped open. The psychologist told my mother that she had a very smart daughter, but that said daughter was an enigma. Okay. That helped a lot. (See Denise pulling sarcastic expression.) No one could figure out why a supposedly highly-intelligent child couldn’t do math. They stuck me in a special class with kids who had trouble reading. Go figure. But it was in that class that I discovered my love for writing. I’d always read voraciously, and had done well on essay tests. I adored writing stories, and from that point forward I was always writing something. Sometimes it was poetry, sometimes it was short stories, sometimes it was an entire handwritten, eighty page gothic novel. I was hooked.

As an adult, when I decided I wished to write for publication, I took short story writing courses, novel writing courses, and also attended workshops through my Romance Writers of America chapter. All of it in pursuit of the right way to create a novel. Once I got published, I figured that all of that learning had paid off. Last year while I attended yet another novel writing workshop, it dawned on me it was time to stop taking courses and stop listening to the messages that said there is only one right way to write a novel.

Why?

It sucked my creativity right out of me! I discovered that all the outlining, plotting, and synopsis writing didn’t do jack for me. That’s not the way my brain works. My brain is only happy when it can create unfettered, without a ton of rules to pin it down. Structure, in my mind, means a lack of creativity, not a flourishing of ingenuity. This is why outlining or writing a synopsis beforehand means I don’t want to write the novel afterward. Writing the book without a surefire plan is the easiest way for me to write the best book I can.

So, this last week while I was telling writers how to put sizzle into their novels, or how to write historical dialogue, I sometimes felt like a fake. Because all you have to do is read a novel that doesn’t follow the rules and understand there was something about that novel that got a publisher’s attention. Didn’t matter whether they broke all the rules or not. Who was I to tell writer’s how do anything? Plus, I’m not the best at explaining to others how I do things. For me creating is organic and comes out of thin air. How do you explain that to other writers and have it make sense?

That being said, here’s my advice to writers out there. Yeah, read all those how to books, take all those workshops, but realize that at some point you have to decide when to stop listening to the right way to create a book and just write it.

So when have you broken the rules and the norms to satisfying results?

Marshall's Law available now from Samhain Publishing

How was everyone’s New Year’s celebrations? Hope you had a great time. New Year’s Day was special for me. I had a book come out that day. MARSHALL’S LAW is a reprint, but I’m so glad it’s out again. I really, really like this book.

How often do you read a romance novel where humor, paranormal and suspense are mixed? For some editors, that could be a problem. Often readers want a similar experience in their reading. A suspense is a suspense. A humorous novel is a humorous novel. What if you just want a good story and it happens to have more than one element in it? In the case of my latest release, MARSHALL’S LAW (Samhain Publishing www.samhainpublishing.com), I started the novel like I do all my others. A kernel of an idea. A crazy notion. A plot idea. A character idea. Then I run with it. As a true by the seat of the pants author, this means things can creep into my novel by surprise. When I write a novel it’s an organic process, not a preperpared or outlined thing. My brain simply hates the linear, logic motion required for outlines. I wrote MARSHALL’S LAW a long time ago, yet when I read it now, I feel very satisfied with the story. I was on the mark with this one. This book has more humor than any of my other books, I think, but the suspense is hard core and the sexual tension between the hero and heroine is thick.

I’ve never found writing humor easy, and I can’t do it on demand. But something about the hero and heroine in this story made it easier. Here’s a scene I particularly like. It’s got the heat and the humor mixed.

If Dana Cummings was inclined to list the best ways to meet men, having one arrest her for burglary—during a tornado, no less—wouldn’t be in the top ten. Dating isn’t high on her agenda, period. She’s sworn to never again fall for know-it-all men with fiery gazes and devastating smiles. Besides, she’s only in Wyoming to help her eccentric aunt find out if horny ghosts really do haunt the family bed. And hopefully bust a hellacious case of writer’s block. Extracurricular activity with a gruff, hunky lawman is off limits, even if he does fire her libido. Witnessing too much of life’s seedy side led Brennan Marshall to live by three simple rules: work hard, play hard, and never fall for a sweet-faced female with a witty tongue and snappy comebacks. Especially the ones with a dollop of vulnerability—like Dana. But their razor-sharp sexual tension cuts right through his defenses and leads them on a dangerous journey. One that will test the limits of their beliefs—and could cost their lives.

**

“What did Lucille tell you about these strange occurrences plaguing her?” he asked, leaning his arms on the desk.

“She called my mother a few weeks back. Mom said Aunt Lucille had this trembling voice, like she was scared. That’s not normal for Aunt Lucille. She bends under pressure but never gives in. She’s one tough lady. Anyway, Aunt Lucille said that she’d heard noises in the attic and in the basement. Especially the basement.”

“What kind of noises?”

Dana wished she hadn’t opened her mouth and mentioned the basement. “Uh…well…” She glanced up and saw he waited, twiddling his thumbs like he had all day. “You’re not going to believe this but—”

“Trust me, I’ve heard just about everything at least once.”

“Not this you haven’t.”

He tossed her a smile. “Humor me.”

“Okay. You asked for it. You know that big…uh…heart-shaped bed downstairs?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, she started hearing people having…” She squirmed in her chair and made a face.

“Go ahead. People what?”

“People having sex. She heard people having sex on the bed. But when she went downstairs there was no one there.”

Marshall never twitched. Yet Dana saw the suspicious twinkle in his eyes before he managed to smother it. Instead, he did something much more disturbing.

Rising from his chair, he came around the side of the desk and paced the broad area behind her chair. She craned around to watch him.

“What kind of sounds exactly?” he asked.

Her chair made an obnoxious protest as she turned it so she could observe his purposeful stride. Eight big steps one way, eight big steps back. Eight big steps one way, eight big steps back.

“I’m going to get hypnotized watching you do that. Would you mind taking a seat?”

He increased his pace. “I think better this way.” He came to an abrupt halt, leaned against the wall, cocked one booted foot across his ankle and hooked his thumbs in his belt loops.

She gulped. Good thing he wore that flannel shirt. If he’d stood there in that tight T-shirt—

“What kinds of sounds?” he asked, jerking her back to the real world.

She couldn’t say it. Come on, Dana. You aren’t a blushing teen talking to a boy in high school. Spit it out.

When she didn’t answer fast enough, he walked toward her and rested his hands on the arms of her chair. She leaned back, inhaling a quick, startled breath.

“What are you trying to hide from me? Maybe you know something about the sounds?” The query came filled with subtle, sensual nuances that caused his voice to vibrate in his chest and made her tingle in places that shouldn’t be tingling.

In defense she crossed her arms. “Of course I’m not hiding anything.” When he glared, she took the plunge and elaborated. “You have heard people having sex before, haven’t you, Marshall? Gasps. Sighs.” She shrugged. “Grunts. Moans. She said it’s like people having sex, and they never get to…you know.”

A thunderstorm seemed to build in his eyes, but not the kind that promised rage. The type that guaranteed sinful, daring pleasures. She’d never seen a man look at her this way. Predatory and intense all at once, ready to eat her alive. No mistaking that look.

His lips parted and she stared at his mouth.

“No, I don’t know,” he said. “Why don’t you tell me?”

A tiny, rebellious corner of her almost refused to speak. What could he do to her anyway? Spank her?

A hot blush swept into her face. Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy. Marshall’s devouring gaze cruised over her face. His attention landed on her lips.

Crazy arousal spiraled through her, and she leaned forward until they almost touched noses. Dana couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so out of control and so turned on all at once. Hell, she’d never felt this way before. “These…these horny ghosts or whoever they are never get to finish—”

“Coming?”

Her entire body felt like it might go up in flames. Oh man! Why couldn’t he have said something like climaxing? Did he have to use a word that described the nitty gritty?

“Yeah. That’s it,” she said, licking her lips and swallowing hard. She slumped in the chair.

**

In the next scene I layered on the heat because this couple demanded it.

Marshall stepped forward and without preliminaries tugged her close. Dana’s hands found purchase at his powerful shoulders. His arms slid around her waist, and before she knew it he had her plastered closer to him than peel on a banana. Taking a chance, she gazed into his eyes. Warm, sinful flutters entered her stomach and made her want to shift closer to him.

She licked her lips. “I thought you had to work.”

“Just got off.”

“Did you really send Logan to keep an eye on me?” She wanted to feel indignation, but couldn’t.

“Not exactly. He said he’d be here, and because of your case, he’s keeping a close watch for strange activity. You qualify as strange activity.”

“Thanks, Marshall. Remind me to write you out of my will.”

He nodded toward Aunt Lucille, who did a slow waltz with an older man. “I really want him to keep tabs on Lucille, but he’ll also keep a watch on you.”

He tugged her against him, and it forced her arms to slip around his neck. Moments ago she’d appreciated Logan keeping his distance. Now she allowed Marshall to press tight against her from chest, to groin, to thighs, to knees. Dana shivered, but not with cold or distaste. She stifled a groan of pleasure. Maybe she could give in, for a while, to the overwhelming physical attraction churning in her gut. Perhaps one night of—

No!

Her excruciating relationship with Frank Bevans all those years ago had served to spoil her on men for the last several years. Besides, a one-time bed session wouldn’t solve the intermittent craving she had for male companionship. She hadn’t known a man’s lovemaking in almost ten years, but her body hadn’t forgotten what it felt like. Something deep inside always reminded her of her sexuality and that she hadn’t lost her human needs along with her broken heart. Dana eased away from old memories. Her broken heart mixed with the shame and guilt she experienced when she thought of Frank.

Not a good time to reminisce.

Marshall’s gaze slid down to her low neckline and warmth filled her face. He swept a heated glance over her that almost melted her knees. Her feelings jumped from amazed to excited. Inhaling deeply, she caught his warm, spicy scent. How can I think about a man’s crazy-making sensuality at a time like this? But she did. His eyes held a thousand mysteries and made her want his protective embrace. Brennan Marshall inspired fantasies of satin and velvet pillows piled high by a roaring fireplace, popcorn and hot cider. She didn’t dare go further than that. Venturing deeper into fantasy meant visions of him naked in bed. With her.

No. That went way over the top.

He nodded toward her neckline. “That’s an interesting piece of jewelry. I haven’t seen too many women wear a ring on a necklace.”

She almost touched her Dad’s ring. “Thanks.”

“Old boyfriend’s college ring?”

Dana let out a tiny laugh. “No. Not hardly.”

She half expected him to probe for answers like a good cop would. Instead, he kept his mouth clamped shut.

When Clint Black and Lisa Hartman sang about love forever more, Marshall moved her a little faster, drawing her into a sinuous, sensual tempo. The man danced with a sexual rhythm that sent her libido into trip-hammer overdrive. Continual heat washed through her as his body slid against her in ways that made her want him.

Stop, Dana. Don’t give in to some odd hormone rush. It doesn’t make any sense.

“Are you going to stare at me like that all night?” she asked in defense. “Or do I have to drag that information out of you too?”

“Don’t try driving a hard bargain with me, Dana. Logan’s here as a consultant. That’s all you need to know.”

“What is he? A psychic?”

Marshall closed his eyes for a moment as if he might lose patience. When he opened his eyes, he slipped his right hand a little lower on the material covering her hips. Any lower and he’d cup her butt.

She doubted he’d do that in public, but the hint of the forbidden made her want to squirm. She made a tiny, uncontrollable shimmy with her hips.

His hand moved back to her waist. Damn! Damn!

“I don’t think he’s got a psychic bone in his body,” Marshall said.

“A sex therapist?”

He jerked his head back almost as if she’d slapped him. “What?”

Dana’s hands slid down to his shoulders. “A sex therapist. You know, they—”

“I know what a sex therapist is.” His eyes narrowed, his brows lowered. “Why would you think Logan is a sex therapist, for God’s sake?”

She shrugged. “Well, maybe we need someone to decipher the noises coming from the heart-shaped bed.” She dragged her gaze back to his and observed his heightened color. “Are you embarrassed, Marshall?”

“Why would I be embarrassed?”

“You never know. A man your age might find the topic—”

“My age? How old do you think I am?”

“Forty?”

He cursed softly. “Thirty-six.”

“Keep your voice down. Someone will hear you.”

Marshall tightened his grip around her waist and she felt nothing but a powerful chest and the unmistakable hint of his…arousal. Oh, my lord. This time her face flamed.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“Uh, nothing.”

“Huh.”

“You know, I think ‘huh’ is universal man language. Guess we haven’t progressed that far from the cave.”

“Huh.”

“See what I mean?” Once on a roll, though, she found she couldn’t stop baiting him. She shifted gears. “Logan is a striking man.”

He grunted. “I’ll let him know you said that.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“How are you going to stop me?”

“I…” She didn’t have a clue, and she almost whacked his shoulder with her fist. “Don’t tell him.”

“All right.” Something challenging, angry, and yet excited flew through his gaze. She saw it all and it made her stomach tingle with equal urgency. “But it’s going to cost you.”

***

I hope you enjoyed a small look into MARSHALL’S LAW. Stop by my website at www.deniseagnew.com and be sure to enter my monthly contest.

Happy New Year everyone!

Maneater available December 14 at Ellora's Cave

Hey all! Wishing you all a fantastic holiday season. I can’t believe it’s December already! This month I’m talking quickly about my upcoming release December 14, MANEATER. MANEATER is a crazy little novella that started off my Special Investigations Agency series at Ellora’s Cave www.jasminejade.com. It was in the Winter Warriors Anthology and is being released again December 14 as a single novella download. The Special Investigations Agency is a secret government agency that deals exclusively with paranormal threats. In this first story we meet Mac Tudor and Destiny Tremayne, who’ve been hot for each other for a long time. This story features danger, adventure, humor, bizarre goings on, romance, and of course…seriously hot sex. Here’s an excerpt to suck you in. WARNING: This excerpt is explicit NC-17.

Destiny hesitated at the gym interior entrance with her hand resting on the doorknob. She frowned at the goofy Santa someone had plastered on the door. She could return to the locker room and dress and then leave.

Sure. Then Quinton will put in papers for your transfer, and you know he doesn’t threaten if he doesn’t mean it.

Annoyed with her conscience, she took a deep breath and twisted the door knob. She’d come this far and tangled wits with Mac Tudor on more than one occasion since the first time she saw him. Working with Mac would be bad enough, but their cover story made Destiny consider jumping off a ten-story building.

Buck up. You’re an SIA agent.

Right. She walked into the room.

A man stood with his back to her as he completed the graceful movement of T’ai Chi. Every flowing position defined muscles in his arms and legs. He finished and swung around, an alert cat-like grace in his big, muscular body. Like a man used to taking down the enemy with economic, lethal force.

When his deep brown eyes captured hers, the same thing happened that always occurred whenever she saw him.

Her heart almost stopped, her breath seized up, and her knees felt weak.

Damn it.

He advanced, his stride assured and not the least hurried. She swallowed hard. A dark blue muscle shirt covered his chest, but left his arms and stomach bare.

No man on this planet deserved to have such a gorgeous body. Wide, muscular shoulders commanded attention. The short cut of his shirt revealed a sprinkling of hair down over his rock-hard abs and into the waistband of his shorts. Without remorse she allowed her gaze to wander over his body. Mac also possessed the best-looking muscular legs she’d ever seen.

Oh, yes. She understood why the section secretary couldn’t keep her eyes off him.

Destiny had felt his muscular legs brush against her when they’d danced last Christmas. She’d also felt the undeniable arousal pressed against her stomach as he’d moved her about the dance floor. More than enough evidence that, although he couldn’t stand her, his cock liked her very much. Worse than that, she’d wanted his spike-hard cock buried inside her. Thrusting.

To her mortification her face flamed.

“Tremayne.” His voice rumbled, husky, deep, and sexy enough to curl a woman’s toes at fifty paces.

God, how she hated him.

She started toward him and they met near a punching bag. Barely a foot and a half separated them. She tilted her head up a little to look at him. Although she was five feet eight inches tall, he must be at least six feet four inches.

Her gaze snagged on those disgustingly dazzling eyes ringed with thick lashes. Bedroom eyes, hell. Tudor’s gaze said he could make her come anywhere, anytime, and she couldn’t do a thing about it.

Orgasm by remote control.

A smile escaped her lips before she could stop herself.

“What’s so funny?” he asked softly.

She shrugged one shoulder, unconcerned. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

A curious, but unwilling-to-give-into-it expression touched his face.

And, oh, that face.

Craggy didn’t describe his countenance. No one would dare call him merely handsome, because the description didn’t do justice to his presence. He was too hard, too rough-and-tumble. Too masculine to ever be thought of as a pretty boy.

Combine Mel Gibson and Hugh Jackman, throw in a little Colin Farrell for good measure, and you got Mac Tudor. His short hair waved, and she imagined if it grew longer it would explode out of control. Tudor possessed a beautiful nose, neither too large nor too small. His mouth was made for kissing, the lower lip the tiniest bit bigger than the upper. Perhaps to show a little defiance toward convention, he often kept a little five-o’clock shadow along his firm jaw. Today was no exception.

His hot, admiring attention slid over her breasts, down to hips, to her legs. She could feel the burn in his devouring look right through her clothing. A flush spilled into her stomach at the heat in his perusal. She swallowed hard, determined not to be the first one to speak again. She realized with a shock they had stared at each other almost a full minute without saying anything.

Mac gave her a crooked smile that probably sent lesser women into a faint. “Looks like you’re stuck with me for the long haul, Tremayne.”

He edged closer. She sucked in a slow, deep breath to calm her reaction. “Unfortunately. Don’t think I didn’t try to get out of it.”

“I’ll bet you did.”

“Since Quinton thinks we’re the best pairing for this case, we’ll have to accept it and proceed.”

He nodded. “Then let’s get it on.”

Destiny wanted to scream at his penchant for double entendre. She could tell him where he could shove it. Maybe if she hacked off Mac enough he would leave, then she could go to Quinton and say Mac made the decision not to work with her. Once Mac transferred out of Colorado, she could breathe easier.

Sure. Like that would happen.

“I’m not fighting you today,” she said.

“Could have fooled me. It looks like you’re dressed to kick some major ass.”

She wore her usual workout attire of T-shirt and shorts, her hair pulled back into a ponytail. “I’m here to work out.”

“So let’s work out.” A teasing grin touched his mouth, and he started to circle her like a lion homing in on prey.

“What are you doing?”

He continued to walk around her, and his warm, spicy scent teased her nose. “Maybe you’re afraid to fight me.”

Every alarm went on a high alert status. “What did you just say?”

His swagger owned complete assurance. “It’s understandable. I’m stronger and quicker. I’d win easily.”

Warning, imminent blast likely.

Common sense told her she couldn’t allow him to goad her into taking up his challenge. “Of course you’re stronger, but that doesn’t mean you’re the better fighter.”

“So you’re saying you can beat me?” He kept circling her, the space between them getting smaller and smaller. “I think you’d get hurt.”

“I don’t need to prove anything to you.”

“Oh, but I think you need to verify something to yourself.”

She’d fought men before and won, but never another SIA-trained agent, and never a man as powerful as Mac.

But she couldn’t turn her back on his challenge, or give Quinton a reason to send her to the outer reaches of Mongolia.

She attacked.

Mac blocked her arm movements, coming in with a quick feint that sent her sailing over his shoulder. She flipped and landed on her feet.

“Oh, baby,” he said as he whirled around, his eyes turning hot with danger. “Do that again.”

**

Stop by my website at www.deniseagnew.com for another excerpt and my monthly contest. Once again, wishing you all a fantastic holiday season! To all a wonderful New Year. See ya in 2010. Wow, it feels weird saying that.