What's the Deal with Valentine's Day?

I’m sitting at my desk writing my blog while watching the snow fall. Last weekend, we received between 36 and 40 inches, but with snowdrifts topping 6 feet, it’s hard to tell if we got that added 4 inches or not. Today and tomorrow, we’re expected to receive another 20 inches of the white stuff. Lucky us.

So here I am, hunkered down in the house, writing my blog and wondering why they chose a bleak month like February to celebrate Valentine’s Day. I concluded that in the days of old, there was little to do during the short winter days, so why not celebrate love, cuddle up with your Valentine, and enjoy. Imagine my surprise when, after a few minutes of research, I discovered I was wrong. Here’s what I found out about Valentine’s Day…

Valentines Day began as a Pagan fertility festival called Lupercalia (February 15th), which involved nudity and whipping (and no, I’m not talking about whipped cream). During the festival, the boys whipped the girls’ bottoms to stimulate fertility— though I’m not sure whether it was the boy’s fertility or the girl’s they were aiming to stimulate.

In 197 AD a Christian known as Valentine of Terni was martyred and beheaded on February 14th by a Roman Prefect with the oxymoronic name of Placid Furius. This was the first Valentine reference I came across in my research that corresponded to the date of February 14th, but he was not the last. It happened again in 289 AD. This Valentine of Rome was jailed for aiding prisoners. While in jail, he converted his jailer and healed the jailer’s blind daughter’s sight. He supposedly fell in love with the girl and sent her notes signed “From your Valentine” which was, I suppose, the first Valentine’s Day card. Ironically, he is said to have died on February 14th. I believe it was under Pope Claudius that he became a Saint. However, it wasn’t until.496 AD, that Pope Gelasius made a bid for peace with the still popular pagans and their festival of Lupercalia, by declaring February 14th to be St. Valentine’s Day—a Christian feast day.

The first reference of Valentine’s Day that was linked to romantic love wasn’t until 1382 in Geoffrey Chaucer’s Parliament of Fowls. It was written to celebrate the engagement of England’s Richard II to Anne of Bohemia. Chaucer wrote “For this was on St. Valentine’s Day/When every fowl cometh there to choose his mate” but then since he was talking about mating birds, which doesn’t happen in February, this probably took place on May 2nd, the Saint’s Day in the Liturgical calendar. Still, the link between Valentine’s Day and romantic love was formed. Further cementing the correlation, in 1601, St. Valentines Day was mentioned by none other than Shakespeare in Ophelia’s lament in Hamlet “Tomorrow is St. Valentine’s Day,/All in the morning betime,/And I a maid at your window,/To be your Valentine.”

So, you might ask where and when the tradition of Valentine’s Cards came into play. That one, as well as the whole romantic love connection can be blamed or attributed (depending on your point of view) to the English. In the mid 18th century, passing love-notes became popular in England. They were made of lace and paper and The Young Man’s Valentine Writer was published. By the early 19th century, love-notes became so popular, factories began to mass produce them.

In 1913, Hallmark Cards produced their first Valentine in the US. Since then, commercialization of the holiday continued and grew to include chocolate, flowers, cards, and diamonds. A few of my favorite things. Obviously, most men don’t take my husband’s view on the holiday. Last year, it’s estimated that Valentine’s Day sales generated $14.7 billion dollars in retail sales in the US alone—none of which was from my Domestic God. I never said the man was perfect, just close. Although he’s not one for cards or gifts, he’s the most giving man I know every other day of the year. Still, a little chocolate and a diamond or two would be appreciated. {grin}

May your Valentine’s Day be a memorable one. I’m looking forward to cuddling up with my husband and kids and enjoying some quality time together. I’ve decided that I’m glad Valentine’s Day is in February. Can you think of a better way to brighten up an otherwise bleak and depressing month?

The Unexpected Adventure

Sorry! I don’t want any adventures, thank you. Not today. Good morning! But please come to tea—
-Bilbo Baggins in JRR Tolkien’s THE HOBBIT


Four years ago I had a life quite similar to Bilbo Baggins at the beginning of the Hobbit by JRR Tolkien. I was quite respectable, I always did what was expected, and I never had any adventures. Sure, I had romantic daydreams running through my head, but that was a secret. No one knew about that. It was hardly respectable. Me, write a romance novel? Sorry! I don’t want any adventures, thank you.

Then, as often happens, my comfortable life took a sudden left turn. My husband, a member of the Army reserves, was called up for active service. He was “cross-leveled” (those of you who know what this means can nod your heads sagely) which meant we had very little time to prepare for his departure. In short order he was in Baghdad, Iraq and I was left with two little kids, ages one and two, in a house we had just moved into one week before he left. This was not my dream. This was not my comfortable life.

The next fourteen months were some of the hardest in my life. I was able to speak to my husband by phone on occasion, only to have him try to convince me that it was not gunfire I heard in the background. I was working two jobs, trying to care for my little ones, and going crazy with worry over my husband (yes, yes, I know worrying doesn’t help, but it never stopped me one bit). I found that my traditional coping resources were insufficient to meet the demands of the stress I was under. In short, I was going insane.

Then a dear friend recommended that I try reading romance books. But I don’t read romance books, I said. She politely told me to get over myself and just give it a try. So I started reading historical romances. Finally, I found some relief to the stress, a way to let go of my worry and escape into a romantic adventure with a guaranteed happy ending (at first I didn’t know all romances ended well and I was so worried it would end badly… after a few books I began to catch on!). I don’t know how many books I read while my husband was away (it was a lot – and yes, he did come home safely!), but I do know that in the wee hours of the night when sleep was impossible, these books kept me company, they gave me hope, they made me laugh, and they kept me sane.

Not only did romance books keep me from being locked away somewhere, but as I read them I realized that these books were a lot like the stories I have always had in my head. Reading romance novels for the first time was like coming home, like finding a piece of me that had always been missing. I now had a new perspective on those unacceptable storylines slinking around my brain. Maybe they weren’t just daydreams. Maybe, they had a purpose. Maybe, I was an author!

I had begun my adventure. I took on the challenge of writing my first romance novel. I even went to a writer’s conference, where I met Sourcebooks editor, Deb Werksman, and literary agent Barbara Poelle. They both asked for a full manuscript, so I sent it in, knowing of course that they would say no, as would any logical creature. Little did I know that instead of being reasonable people they were more like Gandalf the wizard and they both said Yes! And thus, I got a big shove out the door and onto the road of this adventure.

My first book, THE HIGHLANDER’S SWORD, will debut March 2, and no one, no one I say, is more surprised than me. It is a wonderful, scary, and most unexpected adventure, and I hope you will share it with me – adventures are so much better with friends – don’t you think? Come find me at www.amandaforester.com

So how about you? How has your life taken a dramatic turn into an unexpected adventure?

Amanda Forester

Valentine's Day At The Movies

Yes, we’re all romantics at heart. After all, we write romance! There’s nothing about sitting down with a wonderful book that either makes you laugh or cry.

And there are movies that do the same. The following are only a few and hopefully I’ve suggested some you haven’t seen before. Even better if you can talk your honey into curling up on the couch with you to watch these.

Emma – Jane Austen knew just how to write a romance that leads the heroine on a merry quest to match up her friends and discover love at the same time. This is one of my favorite films.

While You Were Sleeping – Yes, this movie is set during Christmas, but who cares? This is such a great film about a lonely woman looking for love and finding it in the oddest way. Plus, you have to love the family members.

The Matchmaker – This is another favorite when a politician’s assistant travels to Ireland to find his distant relatives and discovers love during a matchmaking festival in a small town. The matchmakers in the town are hysterical and I adore the hero and his dog!

The Truth About Cats and Dogs – A version of Cyrano De Bergarac that has a shy veterinarian who has a radio show, a totally cute photographer, a dog on roller skates and an actress.

When Harry Met Sally –Just the orgasm scene alone in the diner is worth watching this movie!

Sleepless in Seattle – You have to tear up when two strangers on different sides of the country can find love.

Dirty Dancing – Yes, bad boy and good girl, but man! The dancing and the absolute best line "Nobody puts Baby in the corner."

Somewhere in Time – I have to admit I cried buckets when I saw this at the theater. Star-crossed lovers coming from two different worlds and you want them to buck the odds. Just have plenty of tissues on hand.

Linda

First Loves

by Libby Malin
www.LibbysBooks.com

A long time ago, in a galaxy far away--specifically, right after I graduated from college--I worked as a Spanish gypsy, a Russian courtier, a Japanese Geisha, a Parisian bohemian, a Middle Eastern slave, a French courtesan, and a Chinese peasant.

Those were the roles played by chorus members of Baltimore and Washington Operas as they put on productions of Carmen, Eugene Onegin, Madama Butterfly, La Boheme, Salome, La Traviata, and Turandot. I was one of those chorus members, happily arriving about an hour before each performance, traipsing through the stage door with makeup bag in hand, ready to be wigged and dressed.

To get ready for this backstage preparation, the women were all required to flatten their hair into pincurls and place a stocking cap over all. Then we'd head to the wig room where the loveliest hairpieces would be placed on our heads, glued to our foreheads with fine netting. Back to the dressing rooms where hired "dressers" would help us into our costumes--some of them very heavy and historically accurate with laces rather than buttons up the back. For most performances, these costumes were rented from a shop or another company's production of the same opera.

Once during my "illustrious" career, I sang in a La Traviata where the costumes were designed specifically for that production. A confection of pale pink lace and chiffon thus had a tag sewn into it with my name on it--original costumes were tagged with the names of the first persons to wear those garments. Somewhere in an opera house today, a chorus member might be wearing a gorgeous gown with the label "Elizabeth Malin" sewn in a seam.

In between all the dressing and the wigging, we'd be gluing on our false eyelashes and smearing on whatever pancake makeup was best (for some productions, like Salome, directors would specify the shade), lining and filling in our lips, placing small cutouts over our lids if we were to play Asians, and generally warming up, maybe even reviewing passages of the score that were hard to remember (chorus cues in the last act of Carmen are a bear to recall). This last task we were not required to do. As members of the American Guild of Musical Artists union, we were not expected to learn the music on our own. That's what the hours of rehearsal with the chorus master were for. Union reps were quick to pop up and remind us we had no obligation to do any work outside the paid rehearsals should a conductor tell us to "go over that on your own."

We were expected to be on time (or have our pay docked), get into our costumes, be ready to sing and act, and wait as the stage manager calmly called cues over the speaker system piped into our downstairs dressing rooms, excitement building as the moments before the first notes sounded ticked by.

"Fifteen minutes to places," "ten minutes. . ." "five. . ." "chorus to the stage, please."

The Kennedy Center stage was a world unto itself. It was large enough that the stage manager could stand in the wings calling lighting cues on his headset in a normal tone of voice, not worrying if the sound would carry into the "house."

During one production of Boheme (directed by the composer Gian Carlo Menotti), the president attended (I won't say which one or it would date me!). Secret Service staff roamed backstage and artificial snow was left out of one scene so that these dedicated personnel could more clearly see into the hall and up to the presidential seats.

Those were magical times for me. Music was my first love--I actually have two degrees from a conservatory.

But I discovered pretty quickly that I wasn't cut out for the performer's life. I didn't enjoy the traveling it would require, and I always struggled with stage fright. Writing continually called out to me.

While I didn't stay in the music field, my life has been enriched immeasurably by that "first love." My writing, too, has benefited because studying music teaches you a lot about rhythm and pacing, about audiences and characterization, about how to express passion, longing, acceptance, and even humor. I don't regret my early days in the music world at all and have recently begun singing in my church choir again.

So. . . what "first loves" inform your life and writing now? Do you ever wish you could return to them?

Oh What a Tangled Web…

I think if you asked 100 people how important honesty is to them in their relationships—especially romantic relationships—99 would probably say, “very important.”

I think that’s why we’re shocked when a scandal like the one involving Tiger Woods comes to light. Not only do we feel duped about his true character, we feel horrible at the way he deceived his wife.

Wives can deceive too. In my family we have an old scandal involving my paternal grandparents, now both dead. Some time in the early 1940s my grandmother married and bore a son. But the marriage didn’t last, and she divorced. Not only was divorce uncommon in the 1940s, it was unacceptable, so when she met my grandfather, she didn’t tell him about the previous marriage, the divorce, or ever her son. She passed him off as her sister’s child. It wasn’t until after they married that my grandfather learned the truth. Sadly but not surprisingly, that marriage didn’t last long either, but it did produce my father and another uncle. My grandmother went on to marry twice more.

I wonder how many marriages can withstand deceptions like these. I wonder if love really can conquer all or if a relationship founded on a lie is doomed to defeat. People always ask where I get my ideas, and it’s through asking questions like these story ideas come. In my June release, THE MAKING OF A DUCHESS, the hero, Julien, and heroine, Sarah, meet and fall in love under false pretenses. Is Julien who he says he is or is he really a spy for the French? Sarah isn’t who she says she is, but when she finally reveals the truth, can he trust her?

I don’t think most of us have to worry our mate is a spy or hiding a secret life, but we make decisions every day whether to hide this or fib about that. What do you think? Is honesty the best policy or do a few white lies equal a happier union?

Love >Family> Love> Family> Love >Family> Love... (Repeat as needed)

Our theme this month is love--appropriate for a bunch of romance writers, don't you think? Today, familial and intergenerational love is on my mind. A romance novel's happy ending always begins a new family, and sometimes renews an established family in the process. It's a cycle we never tire of.

I thought I’d share with you this favorite photo of one of my families. (I'm rich. I have several.) We like to take our chairs and our drinks down on the surf's edge at sunset, after the heat of the day and before the mosquitoes. The empty chair is mine. I jumped up to snap a picture of a family in the act of enjoying... just enjoying...being a family. I look at it and I can almost feel the great cycle turing.

And turn it has. The other day I braved the slush to mail a family heirloom baby spoon to our newest family member.

Unlike me, JJ the heroine of SEALed with a Ring, though well-to-do, isn't rich in family. The lovely CEO barely has one, and too much on her plate to start another. Let me show you what I mean.

SEALed with a Ring excerpt (c) Mary Margret Daughtridge

It had been a hell of a day, starting with a phone call from her vet saying her golden retriever of fourteen years had died overnight. Smiley’s death wasn’t unexpected. JJ had planned to ask the vet later that morning if it was time to end his suffering and put him to sleep. Still her knees went rubbery and the phone became so slippery with sweat from her palms she almost dropped it, when she heard the news.

She pulled herself together. In a few swift phone calls she had postponed this afternoon’s meetings with her sales manager, and the president of the SPCA; moved a meeting with the Azalea Festival Committee from lunch to breakfast; and shuffled everything in between. Not burying Smiley herself—whether her day was already packed or not—had never been an option.

With the help of Ham, the Vietnam vet who did odd jobs, to dig the grave, she buried Smiley in his favorite cool, shady spot in the garden: at the foot of a fall-blooming, white camellia sesanqua. It was wrenching, but oddly comforting too. Smiley had been a good dog. He deserved to have his body tended to, not disposed of, like something used up.

While her grandfather, who had come outside in the unseasonably warm autumn sunshine to pay his respects, looked on, JJ and Ham lined the grave with Smiley’s Carolina blue, UNC blanket and laid him in it. In old age Smiley’s silky coat had turned more blonde than golden. A light breeze ruffled the beautiful wavy fur, giving the heart-clenching illusion that he had started breathing again. JJ knelt forward and laid her hand on his chest. Underneath the fur he was cold, and the ribs too stiff. She carefully pulled the edges of the blanket over him and smoothed it til he was hidden from her sight.

After that—after burying her dog—the thought of traveling an hour and a half to another town to attend the wedding of a couple she hardly knew had been almost unbearable. She would have disobeyed her grandmother’s dictum that an invitation, once accepted, became an unbreakable obligation, if Mary Cole Sessoms, the mother of the bride, weren’t a good friend and her mentor.

JJ owed Mary Cole. Without Mary Cole to advise her, JJ thought she would have buckled under the load when she assumed leadership of Caruthers Automotive at the age of twenty-two. If the older woman wanted JJ at her daughter’s wedding, then JJ would be there. And she would put a smile on her face and act pleased about it.

At last, she and Ham had redistributed the pine straw mulch over the freshly turned earth. She shook the horny hand Ham offered in condolence. Her grandfather squeezed her shoulder in sympathy. Each in his own way loved her, she knew that. For each of them, the small gesture of comfort was as demonstrative as they got.

You’d think burying the only creature who unfailingly rejoiced in loving her and had never been afraid to show it was bad enough. But then, her grandfather said, “Jane Jessup, would you come into my office after you wash your hands?”

And her day got a great deal worse.

That's a snapshot of JJ's family at the beginning of the book. How about you? What are your snapshot moments? (Whether you have an actual picture or not.)

Love is in the Air

Yes, I know you are now humming the 1978 song by John Paul Young and that is fantastic! Mission accomplished! Love is definitely in the air amongst the Casablanca authors. Turn up the volume, click play, and enjoy the show while you read on…..



Aah, l’amour!

Sourcebooks has ushered in 2010 with a burst of enthusiasm for their ever-expanding romance and fiction line. Here at the Casablanca blogspot we plan to embrace that enthusiasm fully. And what better way to begin than talking about LOVE!

February is the month of love and we plan to celebrate the emotion in our unique voices as the days unfold. This single four-letter word encompasses a vast array of sentiments and experiences. We love love! We love to write about love! We love to share that love of love with our readers, whom we love! LOL!

We love our blog! In May of 2008 this fine blog was begun by Linda Wisdom, Terry Spear, Marie Force, Loucinda McGary, Mary Margret Daughtridge, Cheryl Brooks, Robin Kaye, Michele Ann Young, and Christina Harlin, with publicist Danielle Jackson and editor Deb Werksman frequently guest blogging. Nearly every day without fail a post has appeared with the express purpose to share our talents, joy of writing, and sense of fun. Our list of followers has grown and we have every reason to hope that more satisfied fans will make Casablanca Authors THE blog to visit each day!

In an effort to perfect what is already a fantastic blog, there are some changes acomin’! As always, the initial days of each month will be devoted to Launch Parties for new releases. You never want to miss the party! In the remaining days we will have monthly themes to focus our essays on, such as February being about love.
Notice the awesome sidebar? Did you watch the uber-cool slideshow of our stunning covers? How about the gorgeous faces of our talented authors? Did you click on one of those smiling beauties to magically pop over and peruse their website? Well, why not? Go for it and have a blast!

We love our authors! There has been some flux in the nearly 2 years with a few novelists moving on and many more joining in. Most of our authors are now multi-published! We continue to grow stronger as a group and now number at 18 distinctive writers who will be lending their voice and style to daily essays. The Casablanca line includes contemporary and historical, young adult, suspense, paranormal, chick-lit, fantasy, Irishmen, Italians, Englishmen, cowboys, shapeshifters galore, cats, mermen – and that is just the tip of the iceberg! That diversity will join with our passion, taking Sourcebooks and the Casablanca Authors blog to wonderful places. Aren’t you curious to see what paths our love will take in the year to come? We sure hope so!

LESSONS IN FRENCH Launch Party!

Good Morning Everyone--please give a warm Casababe welcome to Laura Kinsale, stopping by the Casa blog to talk about the launch of her newest book in over 5 years, LESSONS IN FRENCH! And while you're at it--take a minute to check out her newly re-vamped website: http://www.laurakinsale.com/ and also follower her on twitter: http://www.twitter.com/laurakinsale!


When babies were christened in the 19th century, they almost always had a godparent to sponsor their baptism. These days the term is used more broadly; it often describes a special person who takes particular interest in a child.

Well, my book Lessons in French has a godmother. It's Deb Werksman, my editor at Sourcebooks.

Like most books, it started as a manuscript with an entirely different working title. It's a book I wrote for fun, in tribute to Georgette Heyer's Regencies, knowing from the start that it was a departure from my usual very intense style. I didn't want a deadline, so I didn't have a contract for it. I knew that it might surprise some editors who would expect a "big, dark book" from Laura Kinsale.

It did seem this manuscript had a bit of trouble finding its proper place in the world, like one of those day-dreamy fun-loving kids who just don't quite fit in where adults expect them to. I wasn't comfortable with any of the offers I received for it at the time, and I also felt that I wasn't quite satisfied with the ending, so I asked my agent to stop sending it out for the time being. I put it away in a drawer (or what passes for a drawer on a computer) and proceeded to forget about it, except for the occasional thought that I needed to fix that ending some day.

I have a mind like a sieve. When several years had passed, and Deb called my agent asking to buy the manuscript, I had not even looked at it for all that time. She called it "funny and poignant." I just thought, oh yeah, I need to fix that ending. So finally I pulled it out and sat down and read it.

Readers may not believe this, but it quite possible for a writer to totally forget an entire book that they wrote. At least it is for me. I read the manuscript that became Lessons in French as if it were a book I'd never seen before. Forgive me if this sounds goofy, but it was as if someone else had written it. I laughed at my own jokes, I fell in love with my own characters, and I totally surprised myself with the ending--which apparently I had fixed somewhere along the way.

So maybe there is a muse after all, and she's at work while I'm asleep or something. (I did sometimes come in and find my computer on in the morning, when I was sure I'd turned it off the night before.)

I think Deb's description of Callie and Trev and Hubert the bull and their whimsical adventures is perfect. I hope the book is funny, and it does have an undertone of poignant longing and memory. (Good thing Callie and Trev aren't me, and actually remember one another when they meet again after 9 years!)

Lessons in French deserves its fairy godmother and its day in the sun, and thanks to Deb, it has both. It's now on the shelves and ready for download. If it makes readers smile and laugh and feel good about the world, I'm be glad and grateful to the editor, Deb, and publisher, Dominique, who made that happen.

Thank you for visiting Laura! We'll be giving away 5 copies of LESSONS IN FRENCH to 5 lucky commenters. Tell us about you're very own "fairy godmother moments"--or perhaps when you would have liked to have had one! Be sure to leave your email address to be entered, and we'll contact you to let you know you've won!

Love Is In The Air - Well, Not Quite

Actually it's in the sea.

And on land. But definitely not in the air. (I'll save that for the Genie Series.)

But it's now official - my third book from Sourcebooks has been released - and there's something about "Catch is Released" that just tickles my funny bone.

When I think back to June, only 7 months ago, my first book was coming out and how excited I was about that, I remember how nervous I was. Would people like it? Would they embrace the world? Was the suspension of disbelief enough to let them "go" with the idea of mermen? It definitely helps to have an editor who loves your work, so that nervousness was taken down a few notches, but you know what? It never goes away. And even with such great reception to the first two books, I'm still nervous.

And then I get emails from readers who I've come to know over the past 7 months, who say things like, "I'm so excited for you," or "I can't wait to read this story!" or "this was my favorite story so far!" Yes, sharing the love definitely helps with the butterflies. (Although... those butterflies come in awfully handy in the first genie book, I Dream of Genies...)

I have an excerpt up on my website and I've put a few more in the blogs I'm doing for the blog tour (listed/linked below), but I thought you all should have an exclusive excerpt. And it's exclusive because this part never made it into the book.

Sometimes I have to write the backstory to see where the book needs to start and who my characters are. Oh, it's not on purpose; most times I plan to use these scenes. But then I go along and finish the story and realize that not everything is necessary and some things should be cut.

Here's one of those cuts. You might eventually see it on my website, but for now, it's available only here:


"So my mom didn’t lie? There’s no such thing as Santa?” Five-year-old Michael Hardington turned his big, brown, puppy-dog eyes on his father. “That’s why he never comes to my house?”

Logan stuck the fishing rod in its holder and wiped his forehead against his bicep. The late afternoon sun blistered the deck of his boat, the Mir-a-Mar. “Look, Michael, I’m sorry, but, yeah, there’s no Santa.” Why the hell would Christine do this to a kid? No, wait. Make that, why would ­Rainbow do this to a kid?

Rainbow. Christ. It was a wonder the kid wasn’t completely screwed up. Here’s hoping it wasn’t too late for normalcy to work some magic. Well, as normal as a single guy with a kid could be.

A single guy with a surprise kid.

At least Christine hadn’t named him Snowball like every pet she’d ever owned. Given the latest bout of weirdness, he was surprised she hadn’t. Surprised and damned glad.

“Mike.” The boy’s fists clenched against his sides.

“What?”

“I like Mike. Michael sounds like a baby.”

Logan swallowed. His son as a baby. Something his ex had taken from him. “Okay. Mike it is.”

“So what about the Easter Bunny?” Michael ran his fingers over the brass reel—No, Mike ran his fingers over the brass reel.

And… hell. That wasn’t sea spray in the kid’s eyes. Logan rubbed his own eyes. He didn’t know how to do this. How to raise a child. Relate to a five-year-old. To his son.

His son.

Logan sat on the bench and adjusted Michael’s baseball cap—just in case it was sea spray—wondering how he was supposed to deal with this mess. Lie to him and have the kid question if his mother had ever told him the truth? Have him wonder why he’d never gotten any gifts, why he wasn’t worthy? Or, should he tell him the truth and help him lose his innocence?

Great choices—all thanks to his flighty and irresponsible ex-girlfriend.

“Look, Michael—Mike. Those are just stories. Made up so kids will go to bed early on holidays and to get them to behave. They don’t exist. Parents bring the gifts.”

“Nu-uh. Rainbow didn’t. And you didn’t either.”

Ouch. The kid didn’t pull any punches. “That’s because I didn’t know I was a parent.”

“Now you do.”

“Right. Now I do.” What the hell he was going to do about it was a whole other story.

Damn her for doing this to him. To Michael. Mike. The little boy should’ve known he had a father. Logan should have known he had a son. She should have told him.

And not with a note flapping against the kid’s shirt while he stood on the front porch holding a threadbare, stuffed toy raccoon and a pillowcase filled with a tattered selection of children’s books and the sorriest lot of clothing Logan had ever seen.

If Rainb—no, Christine, dammit!—hadn’t run out on both of them, Logan sure as hell would have sent her away. Far away.

Jesus. Once again, he let someone get too close and he was paying the price.

“So?” Mike cocked the rim of the cap backwards, those puppy-dog eyes narrowing.

At least this price was his son. Six years later than he would have liked to have known him, but still... “So… what, Mike?”

“So do I get presents now?”

Logan had to hide the smile. Two days of normalcy did seem to be working. He’d even managed to convince Mike that a boat was no place for Rocky, the toy raccoon. “Well, sure, but Christmas isn’t for another four months. And Easter’s after that. You’ll get presents then.”

“Not for my birthday?”

“Your birthday? You know when your birthday is?” Wonder-Mother had neglected to mention that little detail in her note.

Logan, this is Michael. He’s ours—yours and mine. I can’t do this anymore. I’ve done almost six years. It’s your turn. You can afford it, Mr. Hot Shot Money Whiz. Plus he has to go to school and you know I don’t do well with authority.

Or her birth control, obviously. Or responsibility. Or sharing important facts like a pregnancy—

“… tomorrow.” Mike tapped the fishing rod.

“Your birthday is tomorrow?” Shit. Christine just loved surprises. No wonder she’d neglected to mention it.

“Yep. I’m gonna be six.” Mike opened the reel and several hundred feet of line went running into the ocean. Logan didn’t have the heart to stop him when he was enjoying himself. “And I get to go to school so I can learn to read and write so I can get a job and make lots of money. I’ll buy a big house someday so Rainbow won’t have to keep looking for hand-me-outs and soup kitchens. I’m gonna take real good care of us when I grow bigger.”

The little guy puffed out his scrawny chest and his eyes sparkled with an intensity a soon-to-be-six-year-old should only have for a new Matchbox car or baseball glove. Not for making a living.

Logan wanted to cry.

“All right then, sport.” He flicked the rim of Mike’s baseball cap and cleared his throat. “Presents it is. What do you want for your birthday?”

“A mermaid.”

A mermaid. Logan shook his head. Leave it to Rainbow’s son to want a mermaid.

He patted Mike on the back and headed over to the bait box. “Hate to break it to you, Mike, but mermaids don’t exist either.”

****

Angel Tritone swam as fast as she could, but the pull of water from behind her was strong. Hades, Harry was fast.

Too fast.

She couldn’t risk a look back or he’d overtake her before she got close to that boat up ahead.

She called on every reserve of energy in her body and poured it into her tail. Just another few feet and Harry wouldn’t dare approach her. Not that close to a Human fishing boat. Hammerheads were prize catches.

She snorted. And Mers weren’t?

She swam as close to the surface as she dared so Harry’s tail would cut like a sailboat above the waves and bring the Humans to Hammerhead Hunting Mode if he followed her in. Harry would be running for his life and he knew it.

It was either his or hers and Angel knew which one she’d prefer.

Especially since he’d made her abandon all her tools and notes to the bottom of the sea to get away from him. With no coral reefs below to catch them, all her hard work and the treasured crafts of her trade were going to drift. She hadn’t even had the chance to check the strength of the current to be able to find them later, and there wasn’t a fish in sight she could ask to help her out. Harry was going to pay if anything happened to those notes. Her career would be over.

Tremors passed over her tail. Or her life would be. Harry was getting closer.

Angel dug deeper for an inner core of speed. One more surge and she’d be home free.

She kicked and—

Something pierced her tail.

Godsdammit, that hurt! She fluttered her flukes, trying to shake away whatever it was, but that threw off her rhythm and slowed her down. She looked over her shoulder. Harry hung thirty feet below her to the left, his tail flicking from side to side.

“This is precious, princess.”

“Don’t call me that, Harry.” She shook her tail harder, but the pain didn’t stop. She couldn’t see anything on it. She twisted from side to side.

“Why not? It’s your title.”

“One I don’t use. What’s the sense, since I’m like fourteenth in line anyway?” Flutter, flutter. What was that thing?

“Right. Which makes this little scenario utterly perfect.”

“What are you talking about?” She gave her tail a good whump, hoping that’d do the trick. She didn’t know why Harry hadn’t moved in on her yet, but she wasn’t going to take her eyes off him. She crossed her arms over her designer sand dollar top, tugging the braided seaweed ties back in place, and shook her head to keep her hair from floating across her face. As usual, that didn’t happen.

Harry grinned. Considering the grin stretched from one eyeball to the other across that rectangular face of his, it was just plain eerie.

“You’re hooked, princess. Some Human finally hooked a Mer. Brought you off your throne in one quick flick of the wrist. How ironic.”

Hooked.

Of course and oh shit.

Angel doubled over on her tail, her fingers searching through her amethyst scales for the hook. This so wasn’t good. No Humans could know Mers existed or they’d be out in full hunting force. She could not show up on the end of a fishing line.

She looked around for anyone—anything—to help her, but Harry had sent every creature fleeing for their lives. Great.

“Harry, help me. Bite the line.”

“Now why would I want to do that? Besides, if I’m that close, I should just bite you.”

Oh, yeah. She hadn’t thought about that.

“But, hey, if you’re offering— ”

“Never mind.” Frantically combing her scales with one hand, Angel swished the water around her fins with the other. This so wasn’t good. She had to get free.

Hooked. Her. It was ironic, really, but not the way Harry meant.

Snagged on the end of a Human fishing line… She’d come out today to study their fishing techniques, not get caught in them.

If she could only find the line, maybe she could break it. She had to try.

She swam in a circle, staying near the top of the water, searching for the line. Ah, there. At the tip of her fin.

She swished her fin toward her, reaching out with one hand to follow the line to the hook when—

Her tail got yanked backwards and someone started reeling her toward the boat.

***

(c)Judi Fennell

My blog tour:

1/27 Book Faery Reviews

1/29 Booking Mama

2/2 Fresh Fiction

2/3 Overstuffed Bookshelf

2/4 Wendy’s Minding Spot

2/5 Peeking Bet. the Pages

2/8 Anna’s Book Blog

2/10 Night Owl Romance

2/10 FF&P Chapter, RWA

2/12 RomCon

2/15 Over the Edge

2/17 Sia McKye Over Coffee

2/19 Fang-tastic Books

2/22 Love Romance Passion

2/25 Yankee Rom Reviewers

Legend of the White Wolf is OUT!!

This Arctic wolf is all excited and letting the world know that Legend of the White Wolf is out! Fans have sent me emails saying they've purchased their copies at Barnes and Nobles, so it's out, it's out, it's out!!!

The fourth book of the series begins in the wintry Maine wilderness where two of Cameron MacPherson's PI partners are hunting for bear, after several years of trying, and being unsuccessful. They're close, so close to finally realizing their dream when--disaster strikes.


The story picks up where Cameron is getting ready for a trip into the wilderness to locate his missing partners, when he meets Faith O'Malley, who is there chasing down her father's research. Here's a guy who's been working unreasonably long hours to avoid living life, and for the first time in eons, he can't do anything until the next morning but just relax, so when Miss O'Malley walks into his life--his hotel room, he's naked, what's a man to do?

Offer her a bed and dinner? Or...dinner and a bed? Okay, I know this doesn't sound very heroic, but really, it is VERY heroic, and I'd just like to know what you'd do in her place! Considering all she's been through already. Very bad day, turning into a very bad night.

And she's faltering. She knows what she should do, but part of her says that's not really want she wants to do...

Well, you'll just have to read what happens to see what it is she ends up doing!

In any event, Arctic wolves do not reside in Maine, but these Arctic wolves live there during the winter, and retreat to their home in the Canadian Arctic for the summer months. Nothing worse than loving the cold, but having to put up with beastly hot weather, unless you've been born and raised that way!

So if you're looking for some fun-loving entertainment of the wolfish variety, I'm on a breakneck blog tour and books galore will be given away! Just drop by and comment on these various blogs/interviews, you'll have a chance to win a book, or in some cases there are 2 being given away!

I'm here today at Bibliophilic Book Blog with Monica! Do you think you could fall for a hunky werewolf type???

http://www.bibliophilicbookblog.com/2010/02/terry-spear-guest-postswho-wants-some.html

Here, I'm talking about cads or dads with Mason at Thoughts in Progress, but remember, you can have both...if you want to take a chance on the wild side!
http://masoncanyon.blogspot.com/2010/01/guest-blogger-terry-spear.htm

Susan at Love Romance Passion interviewed me and asked me all kinds of thought-provoking questions, which meant she asked me a lot of hard questions! :) And I loved it, so stop by and see what she had to say.

http://www.loveromancepassion.com/get-into-bed-with-terry-spear-an-author-interview/

At Literary Escapism, I talked about--literary escapism! Hey, after trying to come up with so many different and unusual blog post ideas, my brain grasps whatever is out there! :)
http://www.literaryescapism.com/7408/guest-author-terry-spear-2/comment-page-1#comment-18416

And this was fun, a different kind of blog--a tarot reading for Cameron MacPherson from Legend of the White Wolf. When Arwen told me that Cameron faltered between being an assassin and a priest, that had me worried. Would he still be considered heroic? Very interesting way to do an in depth other kind of study of character!
http://tarotbyarwen.com/blog/?p=2227

All these contests are ongoing through next week, for at least a few days! Next Saturday, I'll post this week's upcoming links. Although I try to give a daily heads up here:
http://terry-spear.blogspot.com/

Next week I'll be at Bibliophilic Book Blog, Feb 1, Over the Edge, Feb 3, Fang-tastic Books, 2/4 Fresh Fiction, 2/5.

I'll be posting links on my regular blog as soon as I have them.

And since it is my launch release day, I'm also giving away a free copy of a book. If you win and want an earlier copy of the series, just let me know. I think I'm out of Heart of the Wolf, but I still have copies of Destiny of the Wolf and To Tempt the Wolf. Just comment by Feb 6 and I'll be making the drawing after that! Shipping to US or Canada residences only. Thanks!

We're supposed to be posting about love themes during the month of February, and for my next February blog, I definitely will, but still, Legend of the White Wolf and all the other stories I write are about falling in love and committing for life. What can be better than that? To memorialize the love of life every day throughout the year?

And here are some of the earliest lovers, Hera and Zeus, the cupids in the background, love is in the air...

Terry
"Giving new meaning to the term alpha male."
www.terryspear.com

The End

By Robin Kaye

Today was my favorite day as a writer—the day I finally wrote The End. This is a good thing since Yours For the Taking is due on my editor’s desk on Monday, February 1. I drove home today from my lovely critique partner’s house knowing I had to write this blog, and I thought about the experience of writing this book. I know every book is different, and no two experiences are going to be the same, but having just finished my 4th book for Sourcebooks, I’m beginning to see trends and subtle changes in my writing process.

With every book, I find that writing that beginning and the end gets more difficult. It’s been my experience that the book will be almost finished for the longest time, but I go back and rewrite the beginning and the end over and over and over again. A book not only has to begin with a hook, it has to end with a hook. It has to make the reader want to reach for my next book. Unfortunately for me, hooks are not easy to come by. So I’ve been writing and rewriting the end of the Yours For the Taking. I think it’s done, but then I still have tomorrow to change my mind, and knowing me, I’ll take another crack at it. I’m impossible to please so I thank God for both deadlines and revisions. Most authors hear that and wonder if I'm masochistic. Maybe I am, but I see revisions as a chance to catch all the things I missed the first time around. I know, I’m a sick, sick puppy.

I think I’ve seen a lot of changes in my writing process during the writing of Yours For the Taking because I didn’t have the time I had to write that I had with my previous books. I’ve always been a pretty clean writer. I write a scene and I don’t move on until I’m happy with it. It’s the same way with a chapter, but in the past, I’ve read and reread the book countless times before I actually finished it. Not this time. I just didn’t have the time to devote several hours to reading the book when I needed to be writing the darn thing. Because of that, last weekend was the first time I sat down to read the entire book. I met with my critique partners and we read the book aloud from beginning to end. I went to our meeting with a good bit of trepidation. Truth be told, I was sick. I was sure that the book would be awful. Actually, I think my exact words were, “God, I hope it doesn’t suck.” My Critique Partners (who I’m sure have a place in heaven with their names on it) told me I was wrong. Me, I just prayed they were right. I have to tell you, the torture went on the entire two days we read. I’d say “Okay, the first 115 pages are good, but what about the next 285?”

I might be shooting myself in the foot because my editor has yet to read it, but I the manuscript was much better than I thought it would be, which in laymen terms means I’m pretty sure it doesn’t suck. I kept waiting for it to, and although there were a few rough sentences that needed to be rewritten, and more spelling and punctuation mistakes than I thought existed in the world, all in all, I was happier with this book than I was with any of the others. Mind you, I haven’t had much sleep and I just got over a bad case of the stomach flu, so I might be delusional, but at least I’m a happy delusional.

I’ll do one more read-through tomorrow, and send the manuscript off to my lovely editor Monday morning, at which time I’ll have a bad case of agita until I hear from her. It’s a good thing my agent has already given me my next assignment—writing the proposal for my next three books. I have my work cut out for me but at the end of the day, I’ll still be praying that my editor calls me and says “I loved it.”

The End

Gosh that feels good!

Under The Influence?

posted by Loucinda McGary aka Aunty Cindy

One of the more frequently asked questions I get has to do with my favorite books, or books that left a lasting impression on me. Not long ago on another blog (KOFF*Romance Bandits*KOFF) a discussion came up about the book or books that influenced different people to either read or write romance.

That was an easy question for me to answer! I'd burned out reading historical romances in the 1980s and had switched back to another favorite genre -- science fiction/fantasy. One day in the early 1990s, I was browsing in the book store. Actually I was looking for a book for my BFF for her birthday. She loved romance novels, but first I checked out book in the sf/fantasy section to see if anything caught my eye. Well, a book did. It was a very thick paperback that was obviously shelved in the wrong place because it very definitely looked and sounded like a romance, but not like any romance I'd ever read. I bought it and took it home, but before I wrapped it, I couldn't resist reading the first chapter... I could NOT stop reading!

That book was Outlander by Diana Gabaldon. And when I finally did give it to my BFF, she loved it too! After we both devoured the sequel, Dragonfly in Amber, it was a long and torturous wait for the next book in the series. So I read every time-travel novel I could get my hands on. And when I ran out, I decided to try my hand at writing my own... The rest, as they say, is history!

Of course, I could end the post here, but it's rather short, so I asked my other CasaBabes if they had a book that influenced them to become writers. Here are some of their responses:

Marie Force: The Thorn Birds--I read it one summer in high school and was transformed by the romance between Fr. Ralph and Meggie as well as the epic story of Meggie's family. As a young girl being brought up as a Catholic in a very Catholic state, it was riveting for more reasons than one. A young girl in love with her priest! Ooo lala! I have wanted to go to Australia ever since, but I'm waiting for Jetson-esque travel to come into vogue because I could never do that flight!

Mary Margret Daughtridge: If we're talking about books that influenced the course of our writing, two stand out. One you might say built the ship, the other set the course. The ship was Stranger in a Strange Land, by Robert A. Heinlein. One of the main characters is a brilliant doctor, Jubal Harshaw, who is also a popular fiction writer. He's tough, clear-eyed, and unabashedly sentimental. There's a long story digression in which he says in any piece of art that moves us emotionally, there's a story. In fact, he says story is the most fundamental art form--the sine qua non of our humanity.

The compass was Heaven, Texas by Susan Elizabeth Phillips. It was one of those periods in which I couldn't seem to find anything I wanted to read. I had picked it from the shelf on a dozen trips to the bookstore, drawn by the title, and put it back, repelled by the back matter. It was one of those stupid romances with the world's most improbable setup--about a football player yet. I finally picked it from a discount shelf several years later thinking "how bad could it be?" It opened my eyes about the romance genre. It had rich characterization and compassion for the human condition, seasoned liberally with humor about it all. I laughed, I cried, my heart alternately thudded and melted. It was a book Jubal Harshaw would have been proud to write. And so would I.

Libby Malin: ONE of the books that probably influenced me the most to become a writer was John Steinbeck's THE PEARL -- not because I fell in love with it or because it made me want to write like he did. It's not among my favorites. It was because my high school English teacher, in the middle of having us read this book, gave us an assignment I'll never forget: to sit down and write how we would end the book. My imagination took flight!

Judi Fennell: Can't say that any of the books influenced me to write. Influenced what I write, yes. I devoured all Hugh Lofting's Dr. Doolittle books. It's a GREAT series. And all of L. Frank Baum's Wizard of Oz books. Dodie Smith's 101 Dalmatians and the follow-up, Starlight Barking.

And then there was the non-fiction book, The True Story of Okee The Otter by Dorothy Wisbieski. I still have it - falling apart and all. I guess it's not a stretch to see where talking animals would show up in my stories.

Linda Wisdom: Not sure I can remember that far back! I guess I'd have to say that it wasn't one particular book, but the Harlequin Presents books. At the time there were only two North American authors, Janet Dailey and Sondra Stanford. I said more US authors need to be out there and that's when I decided it was time to write the book that was rolling around in my head.

Sharon Lathan: The truth is that it wasn't really P&P the book that inspired me exactly. I have been inspired in what I write by many sources for different reasons. To narrow it down: Lord of the Rings by Tolkien because of his gift for prose and storytelling, and for focusing on friendship and love as the foundational themes. Then the great epic, generational writers, such as John Jakes, Laura Ingalls Wilder, Alcott, Michener, Taylor Caldwell, Gabaldon,and so on who weave long tales of family, history, and life. They are my inspiration to tell of the Darcys et al.

Shana Galen: For me, it was The Secret by Julie Garwood. I never wanted that book to end. It was so funny and yet poignant and sexy. When I finished it I thought, I want to write a book like that!

Terry Spear: Jack London's White Fang and Call of the Wild influenced the way I looked at wolves as family units, as a team that wanted to survive as much as the rest of us, when I created my werewolf universe; not that wolves were wicked, senseless predators.

Cheryl Brooks: For me, it was Daphne Du Maurier's Rebecca. It was written in first person, which I loved, and I thought it was so cool that you never learned the heroine's name. One of the first books I ever wrote used that gimmick, and I had a lot of fun with it. I've read Rebecca at least a dozen times, always thinking, "If I was in her shoes, I would have done this, this, and this differently, and maybe the ending would have been happier." Still, when ever I read it, it gives me goosebumps, and I love that feeling!

ME TOO, Cheryl! And BIG THANKS Casababes for helping me out with my post today!

What about you? Is there one book that stands out for you? A book that influenced you to be a reader or writer of romance?