Behind the Book Mania ~ Author Spotlight on Vonnie Davis

Hiya folks, thanks for stopping by. 

If you don’t know my guest today you are in for a treat. One of the first authors I met when I stumbled into the world of publishing, I was humbled by her generous spirit of friendship, especially considering how very talented she is at the keyboard. I actually won a copy of her title ‘Storm’s Interlude’ in a contest and gleefully sat down to read. I couldn’t put it down. As a survivor myself, I was enthralled by the premise and the way the heavy issue of a cancer battle was balanced so tastefully with the heart pounding, steamy romance. So, pull up a chair and help me welcome my friend and fellow Wild Rose Press author, Vonnie Davis.

 

Happy Thursday, Mac and ALL you lovely book lovers. We’re moving into Spring, the energizing time of the year. Don’t you just love it? The white magnolia tree at the corner of our front porch is blooming, and I am thrilled, especially since we had snow on Monday. Mac, thank you for opening your blog up to me, so I could share my writings with your readers.

My pleasure, Vonnie. I’m stoked that you’re here. Can you tell? *grin* So, what was the germ of the idea behind Storm’s Interlude?

Often a snippet of a visual enters my mind. With Storm’s Interlude, it was a woman driving on a deserted road at night and a man, wearing nothing but a cowboy hat and boots walks toward her. I mentally saw this snippet five or six years before I began writing the story. There are several such snippets filed in the dusty recesses of my mind.

And what a snippet it was. Great opening scene. What is the first book you remember loving?

A book about an intelligent crow. Don’t ask me the title. I was in second grade at the time.

You’re forgiven. I can’t even remember being in the second grade. Where is the oddest place you’ve ever pulled out a book?

A zippered compartment in an empty suitcase.

So, that is where that book went! LOL Besides a critiquing partner, is there someone you let read your manuscripts before submitting?

I belong to a writers’ group and am the red-headed stepchild because I write romance and not literary works. I suffer through having my work torn apart, often crying on the way home. Consequently, I share only scenes I have concerns about, say those with several characters in it. I’m always worried I’ll confuse the readers with multiple people speaking. Fortunately for me I’m married to a writer and a protective one, at that. As people are making comments, he puts his arm around me and whispers words of encouragement. When he feels I’ve had enough or can see the steam coming from my ears, he speaks up. “If you’re through hanging my wife on the cross, tell her something positive about her writing.” One lady once quipped she saw nothing redeeming in my writing. Calvin has yet to forgive her. <grins>

*grinning back* Calvin sounds like a keeper. I would have been tempted to smack the critical cow. Oh, you weren’t finished. I’m sorry, proceed.

The only person who gets to read the entire manuscript is my agent. She does a line-by-line edit, asking hard questions like “why is she reacting this way?” She makes me delve deeper into my characters’ psyches. We go back and forth with the manuscript two or three times before she feels it’s ready to “shop out.”

So, cats or dogs?

We have a cat, Jazzie Miles Davis, known as Baby Puss for short. I’m not saying he’s spoiled, but he has his own Twitter account and often tweets that he needs people to send him snacks. Calvin grumbles because the cat has more followers on twitter than he.

I’m with Calvin. Out-tweeted by a cat is too embarrassing to be born. *Whispers, You go, Jazzie!* Since first becoming published, what was the biggest ‘Woot’ moment you experienced?

My first review. I cried. All writers hope their book will be enjoyed, perhaps even loved, but we carry so much self-doubt about our work—at least I do—that when someone says they love it, we are truly astounded. Talk about “warm and fuzzy”? Oh yeah!

Nice! But wait, I don’t like to think about potential reviews and you can’t make me. Think of something else, Mac. Oh, I know, what is your typical writing session like?

I’m retired, so I am free from so many obligations other writers have like children still living at home and/or outside job. I write every day. The first few hours are spent answering emails and visiting blogs. Then I read over what I wrote the day before, making little tweaks, and then I move forward.

Twice a week Calvin and I take a writing day. We go to Bob Evans for breakfast. The waitresses there know us and hook me up to an IV of coffee. I’ve dedicated a book to them for all their kindnesses. I write while Calvin reads the paper and fiddles on his iPad. We spend a few hours there and then move to a coffee shop where I log in a few more hours of hard writing. Then on to a restaurant for supper and I write there, too. 

I often tell the story about writing my first sex scene in a restaurant. I was deep into the moment with Storm and Rachel. Our waitress was refilling our glasses of iced tea. “What’cha writin’?” Before I thought, I told her I was writing a sex scene. “Oh?” She stepped behind me and began reading over my shoulder. “Oh my.” Her breathing got heavier. “Oh my gawd.” She leaned over me to get a closer eyeful of my scene. “Lawd, have mercy!” She bustled off. Later I was at the dessert bar and overheard our waitress talking to her co-workers. “I’m telling you she was writing hot, up-against-the-wall sex.” My ego balloon puffed up. “…and she was OLD, too.” Ego hisses out of balloon.

Oh my God, you have me laughing so hard. Having read that scene, I have to agree with the up-against-the-wall sex, but I hope you didn’t leave her a tip! Best advice you were given concerning your writing?

Calvin told me to write what I enjoy reading and to keep writing. The more one writes, the better they become.

Yep, Calvin’s a keeper. Tell us a little about Storm’s Interlude please.

Blurb:

Nurse Rachel Dennison comes to Texas determined to prepare her new patient for a second round of chemo. What she isn’t counting on is her patient’s twin brother, Storm Masterson. Despite her initial attraction, Storm has two things Rachel can’t abide: a domineering personality and a fiancée. Half Native American, with the ability to have "vision dreams," Storm dreams about Rachel for three nights before her arrival. Both are unprepared for the firestorm of emotions their first encounter ignites. Ultimately, it is Rachel’s past—an abusive, maniacal ex-boyfriend—that threatens to keep them apart…and Storm’s dreams that bring them together again.

I mentioned earlier a visual snippet I got several years ago. Here’s how I turned it into the beginning of my novel.

Someone swaggered out of the moonlit night toward Rachel. Exhausted from a long day of driving, she braked and blinked. Either she was hallucinating or her sugar levels had plummeted. Maybe that accounted for the male mirage, albeit a very magnificent male mirage, trekking toward her. She peered once more into the hot July night at the image illuminated by her headlights. Sure enough, there he was, cresting the hill on foot—a naked man wearing nothing but a black cowboy hat, a pair of boots and a go-to-hell sneer.

         Well, well, things really did grow bigger in Texas. The man quickly covered his privates with his black Stetson. Rachel sighed. The show was evidently over. Should she stand up in her Beetle convertible and applaud? Give a couple cat calls? Wolf whistles? Maybe not.

          She turned down the music on the car’s CD player. Sounds of crickets and a lonely bullfrog in the distance created a nighttime symphony in the stillness of this isolated stretch of country road. Lightning bugs darted back and forth, blinking a display of neon yellow glow. 

            The naked man strode toward her car, and Rachel’s heart rate kicked up. Common sense told her to step on the gas, yet what woman wanted to drive away from such a riveting sight? Still, life had taught her to be careful. She reached into her handbag and extracted her chrome revolver. Before he reached her car, she quickly slid her gun under the folds of her skirt.

Just let him try anything funny—I know how to take care of myself.

           Both of his large hands clasped his hat to his groin. His face bore annoyance and a touch of chagrin. “I need a ride.” By his bearing and commanding tone of voice, she guessed the man was used to giving orders and having them followed.

         Her eyes took a slow journey across his face. Even in the moonlight, she could see traces of Native heritage. His shoulder-length ebony hair, too long for her tastes, glistened against his bronzed skin. Proud arrogant eyes sparked anger.

Because Rachel believed in indulging herself, she allowed her eyes to travel over his broad shoulders, muscular chest and tight abdominal muscles. She saw a thin trail of dark hair starting below his navel, knowing full well where it ended, and fought back a groan. Her eyes slid back up to lock on his. “You need a pair of pants, too.” Knowing her voice hummed with desire, she cleared her throat, hoping the naked man hadn’t noticed.

He looked up at the sky for a beat. “Just my freakin’ luck! A birthday party gone bad, and now I’m bein’ ogled by some horny kid with damnable blue eyes.”

What the heck was wrong with her eyes? She quickly glanced in her rearview mirror and saw nothing amiss. She narrowed those “damnable blue eyes” and sneered. “Look, buster, I’m not the one prancing around Texas naked as a jaybird. I’ll have you know I’m hardly a kid.” She glanced down at the black cowboy hat. “And, furthermore, stop hiding behind that big ol’ Stetson. From what I saw, a French beret would do the job.”

There, let the arrogant fool stew on that while he strutted back to whatever rock he crawled out from under. She slammed her car in gear and sped off.

She swore she wouldn’t look in her rearview mirror. Nope, she would not look. Like a magnet emitting a powerful homing signal, her eyes slowly slid to the glass surface. He was standing where she’d left him, his Stetson tilted back on his head, his hands fisted on his narrow naked hips and his mouth moving. He was no doubt cussing her out.

*Snickering and thinking I should have passed out fans at the door.* Well, Vonnie, where can we find Storm’s Interlude, and you?

BUY LINKS:

Wild Rose Press; http://bit.ly/zBsUyl

Amazon: http://amzn.to/wWibTe

I blog at Vintage Vonnie and would love to have you sign up as a follower. www.vintagevonnie.blogspot.com

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Behind the Book Mania ~ Author Spotlight on Sarah Grimm

Hi folks, 
I'm so glad you could stop by to help me welcome fellow Wild Rose Press author, Sarah Grimm. The lovely and talented Sarah has graciously consented to visit a bit and tell us about her latest release, After Midnight. Izzy and Noah's story has received some sweet reviews, with good reason. So, without further ado...

Good morning, Sarah. Thanks so much for being here. Ready? Here we go...

Most authors begin writing because they love to read. Is this true with you and if so, did you write your first book because you were inspired, or because you thought, hell, I can do better than this!

For me it was inspiration. I love to read and do so as often as possible. When I read I’m inspired to sit down and write. In fact, whenever my characters stop talking to me and I find it hard to put words on the page, I pick up a book and start reading. Pretty soon my characters are back, insisting I return to their story.

Got to love those pushy voices in the head. They have agendas of their own. Was your road to publication a hair-raising, pothole ridden mountain pass, or a well-tended superhighway?

Definitely a hair-raising, pothole ridden mountain pass.  About five years ago I submitted a romantic suspense to a publisher who had just received RWA recognition, and they accepted it. I wasn’t with a big NY publisher, but I didn’t care. I was going to be published.

When the publisher began having problems, I was one of the authors who saw it coming but was helpless to do anything about it. My book had just been released, and they’d accepted my second book on proposal. After they folded, I stopped writing for a while. The joy was gone. Thankfully, I’m back to it and having more fun than ever before.

Ugh! What a nightmare. I can imagine how difficult it would be to press forward under those circumstances, but I, for one, am glad you overcame the trauma. What is the first book you remember loving?

Socks by Beverly Cleary.

Meow! Sounds as if your love of books started early. You did read it as a girl, right, not just recently? Sorry, kidding. Ahem, never mind. Where is the oddest place you’ve ever pulled out a book?

A Thanksgiving gathering at the in-laws. (horrible, I know) I was just so bored – sports in one room and conversations about fashion and clothing in the other - that I buried my face in a book and retreated to my happy place.

Well now, I can’t think of a better time and place to pull out a book and find your happy place. (If you're here MIL, I wasn't speaking from experience. Really, I wasn't) Okay, this next question is two part, and just me being nosy. If I knew then what I know now, I would have… and I wouldn’t have…

If I knew then what I know now I would have finished a book, instead of just a few chapters, much sooner. There’s nothing quite like holding your book - something you created - in your hands. It’s surreal! 

I am so with you there! Oh sorry, you weren’t finished. Go ahead.

What I wouldn’t have done is allowed what happened with my first publisher to stop me from doing what I love.

Amen! Which of the characters you’ve written most resembles you, and why?

Honestly? None of them. My characters come to me like a new friend, sit down and begin talking to me. They’re fully formed when they arrive and never much like me.  I guess it’s a bit like a young child and their imaginary friend. Imaginary friends usually have these grand, interesting lives–lives that are nothing like the lives of the child who imagines them. That’s what my characters are like for me, totally different than I am, which makes it that much easier for me to ‘lose’ myself in their world. 

*Blinking while the light bulb flicks on* Wow, I feel like I’m listening to Yoda. You just expressed my experience in a way I never quite could, oh wise one. I'll be using that if you don't mind. So,what was the germ of the idea behind After Midnight?

Teenage fantasies about meeting and marrying a rock star, combined with the maturity to know that a twenty-something musician is not happily-ever-after material. Add to that the picture in my mind of a woman alone in a bar, playing the piano. That picture spawned a series of 'what if' questions which led to After Midnight.

I can attest your words paint that picture beautifully.  I loved that hazy moment of unexpected interest in your intriguing opening scene, with Izzy alone at the piano while Noah watched. *Sigh*

Please give us a little peek at After Midnight.

Blurb:

Thirteen years—that's how long Isabeau Montgomery has been living a lie. After an automobile accident took her mother's life, Izzy hid herself away, surviving the only way she knew how. Now she is happy in her carefully reconstructed life. That is until he walks through the door of her bar...

Black Phoenix singer/front man Noah Clark came to Long Island City with a goal—one that doesn't include an instant, electric attraction to the dark-haired beauty behind the bar. Coaxing her into his bed won't be easy, but he can't get her pale, haunted eyes nor her skill on the piano out of his head.

Can Noah help Isabeau overcome the past? Or will her need to protect her secret force her back into hiding and destroy their chance at happiness?

Excerpt:

     His shirt sleeve slipped down as she pressed the warm cloth to his skin. She shoved it back out of the way.

     “Wait,” he said as it slipped a second time. He reached his arm over his head. Fisting his hand in his shirt, he pulled it off.

     There was something so inherently male about the move that she didn’t look away. Then, once he stood before her wearing nothing but his jeans, she couldn’t look away. He was built. His body was sleek, smooth, and leanly muscled. Lightly tanned, with hard six-pack abs and a dark blonde line of hair that started below his navel and trailed down to disappear beneath the waistband of his jeans.

     Not that she was looking.

     Or drooling.

     There was no doubt about it, he looked better than most men half his age.

     “Is something wrong, Isa?”

     Arousal clouded her mind. Her body thrummed with it. “What? No.”

     But as she pressed the cloth against his skin, her hands shook.

     She tried to keep her focus on the task at hand and off his chest, but it was right there. Suddenly she was hyperaware of the heat coming off him, of the scent of musk and man that swam through her senses.

     “So what do you think?” he asked, his voice a whisper against her temple.

     She thought she wanted to reach out and see if his skin was as soft as it looked, his body as hard. She swallowed. Her dry throat stuck together. “What do I think?”

     “About the tattoo.”

     “The tattoo?” Perfect. She sounded like an idiot. Heat flooded her cheeks. She could feel his eyes on her and knew he noticed. He had a habit of watching her in a way that made her toes curl, her stomach turn over. She’d caught him doing it on more than one occasion and knew if she tipped her head up, she’d catch him doing it now.

     So she focused on his tattoo, and smiled.

     Thomas had given him a small skeletal body, wings and a halo above the over-sized and even more animated skull. “It’s perfect.”

     Trading the wet washcloth for a clean, dry one, she patted his arm dry, then applied a thin layer of ointment. “There you go.”

     “Thank you.” Reaching up, he tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear.

     Her breathing shallowed when his fingers grazed the side of her throat, caught as his other hand settled on her hip. Slowly her eyes raised, moved up his throat, past his dangerously tempting mouth, before she met his gaze and felt a punch of awareness.

     “You have the most beautiful eyes,” he said, and shifted just a little closer.

     Never had her eyes been called beautiful. Strange? Yes. Beautiful? Never.

     “They change color depending on what you’re feeling, did you know that?”

     “I…no.”

     “Right now they’re blue—a very pale blue. What does that mean, Isa? Tell me what you’re feeling right now.”

     Desire. Need, unlike she’d ever felt before. She’d had no idea how much she’d craved a physical touch, his touch. Her stomach fluttered. Her heart skipped a few beats. She slicked her tongue over her lips, and his hand flexed against her hip.

     “I have to know,” he murmured.

     “What?”

     “Your taste.”
     He slipped his hand from her hip to the small of her back, pulling her against him. Their bodies molded, soft to hard. His thigh slid between hers and desire curled her toes, tightened her nipples into hard, aching points. And still, he didn’t kiss her. Why didn’t he kiss her? Then he did. Finally, he did. He teased her lips with his tongue, and she opened to him, drank in his dark seductive flavor.

     She settled her hand against his chest, reveling in the feel of hard muscle and hot male. Good God the man could kiss. His body surrounded her, engulfed her as his mouth continued to seduce. She arched into him, and as his erection pressed against her stomach, she couldn’t hold back a moan.

Oh, my. Well, hmmm. Ah, well, thank you, Sarah. Where can we find you, and After Midnight?

My website Sarahgrimm.com 
After Midnight can be found at The Wild Rose Press and Amazon

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That Dating Thing ~ WIP

That Dating Thing 

by 

Mackenzie Crowne

The daughter of Wall Street’s most notorious stock swindler, dog trainer, Rylee Pierce, has perfected the art of flying beneath society’s radar.  Prosecutor, Cooper Reed is a threat to her carefully hidden truths, but how is a woman supposed to resist a man capable of handling a psychotic Great Dane, while charming her out of her panties before she has the chance to blink?

The concept of love is a farce as far as Coop is concerned.  Romance is something else.  One look at the sexy dog-whisperer, and he knows he has to have her.  With her sultry looks, and sarcastic wit, it isn’t long before Rylee demolishes his long-held beliefs, but would the secrets in her dark eyes mean the end of his political ambitions?

Is love strong enough to conquer all, or will the legacy of deceit and greed destroy them both?

For your reading pleasure, here is an excerpt.

“So, this is The Canine Academy?” He eyed the cages. “Where are your other students?”

“Gone for the day.”

He heard her soft release of pent up breath, and smiled. Yes, off balance was just how he wanted her.

“Why is Pippin still here?”

“Pippin required a more intense program. He’s our only boarder at the moment.”

“Have dinner with me,” he said without looking around. She didn’t answer, and he waited several beats before glancing over his shoulder. The wariness was back, and as expected, sarcasm was her response.

“We just finished dinner. What do you have, a tapeworm?”

He turned to face her. “I’d like to take you to dinner, Rylee.”

Her hand went to Belle’s head beside her, and her chin jutted up a notch. “That wouldn’t be a good idea, Coop.”

“Why? I’m attracted to you, and a man can tell when the attraction is mutual.” She said nothing, returning his gaze while her fingers scratched at the fur between Belle’s ears. “It’s just a meal.” He crossed his arms. “I’m not suggesting we jet off to Vegas.”

She snorted softly. “That’s a relief. Casinos give me a headache.”

The dry sarcasm in her tone made him smile. She hadn’t said no.

“Look, you’re a great looking guy.”

He flashed a grin, and was pleased when her lips twitched in response.

“And I admit you have a certain amount of charm,” she added reluctantly.

“But?”

“But, your father is married to my aunt.”

“Cousin,” he corrected. He dropped his arms to his sides and took a step toward her. “And Dad and Silvia can get their own dinner.”

Her lips formed a genuine smile this time, but she shook her head. “People rarely come out of this kind of thing on friendly terms.”

“This kind of thing?” He continued to advance.

“We’re connected through Sil and Elliott. I don’t want to see them caught in the middle when this…dating thing, or whatever it is you’re after, ends.”

“This dating thing?”

“Or whatever it is you’re after,” she repeated. As he closed the distance, she took a step back, and bumped up against the shark cage. She stuck out her arm, and her spread fingers slapped against his chest to prevent him from coming any closer. “I’m not in the market for a relationship right now.”

“Then we don’t have a problem, because, neither am I.” He brushed a finger over the perfect skin of her cheekbone. “So, here’s what I suggest.”

Her eyelashes fluttered, pupils dilating, and reluctant temptation replaced the wariness in the dark orbs. Still, she kept a defensive hand on his chest.

“If you insist on negotiating when I’ve already explained my concerns,” she said, holding his gaze, “I’d rather you didn’t touch me.”

He nearly gave in to the urge to kiss her at the artless admission of finding his touch disturbing. Instead, he moved his hand to the cage beside her head. His fingers wrapped around the metal bars and he dipped his head, bringing his face closer to hers. She blinked but held her ground, meeting his gaze boldly.

“I propose we get to know one another,” he pressed. “A few dinners. Maybe a show, or a ball game or two if you’d like. We find out what makes the other tick.”

“Hmm.” Her mouth moved into a smirk. “Five seconds ago you were talking a meal. Now it’s a few dinners, and a ball game or two. At this rate we’ll be jetting off to Vegas by the end of the week.”

Her hand didn’t try to stop him when he took the final step that brought their bodies within inches. “Has anyone ever accused you of being a wise ass?”

Head cocked as though seriously considering the question, her mouth quivered on a smile. “Nope.”

“How about liar?”

She lost the battle with the smile, and her low laugh sent a lash of desire whipping across his midsection. He did what he’d wanted to do since arriving at his father’s condo days ago. Leaning in, he took.

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