Thanks so much for welcoming me to your blog, Delilah. I always enjoy visiting! I’d like to share my inspiration for writing the Dr. Brogan Corkie Matchmaking Doctor series.
I’m so excited to introduce a new series — Dr. Brogan Corkie Matchmaking Doctor. I’ve been busy working on this series for the past year. I originally had the idea for this story two years ago. I’m a physician, and I work at an Urgent Care Clinic. I frequently see patients with infectious illnesses and advise them to stay home from school or work until they’re no longer contagious. Sometimes, it’s difficult for working parents to find care for their sick children — often they just can’t take a day off, and it’s nearly impossible to find a caregiver willing to look after a child who is ill. It also isn’t easy for someone living on their own to cope when they don’t feel well. I thought caring for the sick when they are temporarily ill would make a great job for a retired doctor, since a doctor wouldn’t be daunted by the illness.
That’s how Dr. Brogan Corkie’s character was born. Initially, I was going to have her look after the sick in their homes, and then bring two people together in that context. But when I started writing, I ended up giving Brogan a hobby — she enjoys cooking and catering for people and that became her second career. She uses her cooking know-how, her medical knowledge — and her matchmaking skills — to care for other people. I “upgraded” her M.D. from Medical Doctor to Matchmaking Doctor. Brogan is the romantic catalyst — she brings couples together and then through good advice and a warm heart she weaves her magic to make love happen. And throughout the series, Brogan’s own heart gets tangled up in romance, too! Medicine — it truly is a work of heart.
Don’t Drop the Baby
(Dr. Brogan Corkie Matchmaking Doctor Book 1)
Genre: Medical Romantic Comedy
Rating: PG
Dr. Brogan Corkie is happily semi-retired from medicine and now has time for other hobbies. Her passion for food is only second to her skill at matchmaking!
Ross Skye, owner of BabyCare, a high-end line of baby merchandise, is injured in an accident, and Brogan uses her cooking, medical — and matchmaking — skills to help him out. Dr. Lauren Kane is taking care of her nephew for two weeks, and Brogan agrees to babysit while Lauren is at work.
Two years ago, Ross and Lauren dated. At that time, Lauren wanted kids, but Ross wasn’t keen. Now the tables have turned, and Ross is trying to convince Lauren that they’d make an awesome parenting team. Brogan suggests they test-drive parenthood by looking after a simulated baby for a week — a computerized version that eats, sleeps, wets, and cries. Ross and Lauren experience the “joy” of having a newborn firsthand, and the bar is set pretty low. Their first goal is: don’t drop the baby. The second goal is to find out if their love for each other will survive the test of…parenting.
Excerpt Don’t Drop the Baby
Lauren picked up her phone on the first ring.
“Hey Lauren, it’s Ross.”
“Hello, Ross.”
Aloof and frosty. She must not have his name stored anymore or she wouldn’t have answered the phone. “How are you?”
“Fine.”
Ross winced. So far, so terrible. He jumped right to the chase. “Brogan mentioned that you’re taking Joey to her house this afternoon. I wondered if you’d consider changing your plans and bring him here instead.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Why would I?”
“They delivered some of the new merch from BabyCare, and I’d love to see how Joey reacts to it. He’s the perfect demographic.”
Silence. “Ross, you have a whole team of researchers and developers. I’m sure any product sent to you has already had extensive testing. I can’t see how my nephew’s reaction to it is going to make one iota of difference.”
His jaw dropped. He was glad she wasn’t in the room with him to see it. “Joey’s your nephew?”
She sighed. “Ross, what is this really about?”
“I didn’t realize Joey was your nephew.” His brain couldn’t get past this simple fact.
“Not that it’s any of your business. Are we done here?”
This was going nowhere fast. He decided to come clean. “Actually, Lauren, I’m asking as a favour.” His voice was sombre. “Since the accident, I’ve had trouble sleeping. I wake up with flashbacks.” It was hard to admit. “The only restful sleep I’ve had was when I fell asleep holding Joey, so I wanted to try it again.”
“So you can patent it?”
He grinned reluctantly. “I wish I could.”
“Eventually you’re going to have to deal with the demons, you know. You can’t just hire out a baby.”
“Maybe I’m rethinking having my own.” As soon as the words came out, he regretted it. “I’m sorry. I’m making a mess of this. Blame it on the lack of sleep. I know this is a temporary solution, but I’m desperate. Please Lauren. Could we just try? I have a roomful of BabyCare merchandise that I’d be happy to give you in exchange. You could take your pick.”
“My sister does love your stuff.” The grudging reluctance in her voice gave him a glimmer of hope. “Is Brogan okay with this?”
“Yes. And I promise, if he doesn’t settle with me, then Brogan can take him home.”
She sighed. “All right. As long as he’s happy and gets his sleep, I’m okay with it.”
“Thanks Lauren, I appreciate it.”
“Be good to him, Ross. I’m trusting you.”
“Of course. I’ll treat him like he’s my own.”
“Wasn’t that part of the problem?”
“Good point. I’ll treat him like he’s a pair of 100-level tickets to a Stanley Cup final game.”
Award-winning author Linda O’Connor started writing romantic comedies when she needed a creative outlet other than subtly rearranging the displays at a local home décor store. Her books have enjoyed bestseller status. When not writing, she’s a physician at an Urgent Care Clinic. She shares her medical knowledge in fast-paced, well-written, sexy romances — with an unexpected twist. Her favourite prescription to write? Laugh every day. Love every minute.
By her 21st birthday, Jessica had completed two years of college, put 1,685 miles between herself and her family, got married, started work in a federal prison, got pregnant, and obtained an (illegal) abortion. That should have been enough adventure for any intelligent, well-raised young lady.
But Jess was just getting started.
Not that her seven years with Parker Grant came without sacrifices:
Excerpt…
More than anything, I wanted this to be his plan, not mine. Such a proposal belonged to men and I was well aware I was violating time-honored courtship norms. But I had waited all my life for a man to take the initiative, make me feel loved. I longed for him to sweep me up in his arms, tell me he couldn’t live without me, and get down on one knee to reveal the diamond ring that symbolized his promise. Whisk me away to be his wife forever.
My failure as a woman meant I would never have that.
His response, after a period of quiet pondering, came in a soft, stern voice. “I won’t have a wife who smokes.”
A flush swept up my neck. How could he agree to get engaged and criticize me in the same breath? Was this an excuse for saying no?
I stuffed away hurt feelings, not seeing far enough ahead to recognize the harness he was slipping over me. At the time, I prided myself on my ability to be whatever anyone required me to be. But then, what choice did I have?
“Okay! No problem,” I chirped. “No more cigarettes.”
*~*~*
And its rewards:
Excerpt…
At our southernmost destination, we checked into a resort nestled in the midst of tangled forest that curled down to the banks of the Pagsanhan River. In the resort’s sprawling dining room, open to jungle fringing the sides of its big vaulted roof, we sat around a huge fire pit to drink rice wine, feast on chicken adobo with rice, and exclaim over the custard of soft coconut they served for dessert.
A routine for the tourists included dancing the native “tiningaling.” First the demonstration: held close to the floor, two long bamboo poles were rhythmically clacked together and apart while trained dancers performed a series of jumps in and out of the poles. The tourists were expected to try their luck at this, and with the help of more rice wine, Parker and I managed to jump at the right time to avoid having our ankles whacked.
After the festivities and giddy on wine, we left the common hall and retired to our tiny room with its one window looking out into darkening emerald night.
I stood at the window. “How do people live out here, without telephones or television, without roads?”
“They probably have a lot of sex,” he muttered, coming up behind me and running his hands over my hips.
“You’re twisted.” I laughed as he pulled at my clothes.
“In all the right ways,” he laughed back.
We finished undressing each other and fell groaning into the bed.
“I love you, Parker,” I said later. My head rested on his chest, both of us sweaty from our bout of lovemaking.
“I love you, too, Jess.”
I meant it. I felt joyous in the experience of honest affection for him. I felt cared for, protected. Somehow things were right. We made love again, drawing out the embraces until the Filipino maid knocked with towels and halting instruction that the electricity and water shut off from ten p.m. until six a.m.
Looking back fifty years to tell her story, Jessica struggled with concerns about how to avoid hurting people who had been part of her journey. About how to avoid tarnishing her modern-day reputation and the lives of her grown children. More than once as editor and publisher of Jessica’s story, I (Liz Ashworth) questioned whether it would all be worth the effort.
Not many young women today appreciate the obstacles facing women of the late 1960s and early ’70s. So many things taken for granted in 2020 were mountains not yet climbed fifty years ago. And who among readers today want to delve into the torment of that era?
Jessica was driven to tell her story, and I’m glad I helped her. It was an emotional experience for both of us. No matter whether the book becomes a bestseller or even sells one copy, Jessica has satisfied herself that her story is told, that the love, despair, guilt, and frustrations she experienced are preserved as a testimony to life in those times. This is one woman’s story in the framework of her relationship with Parker Grant.
About Jessica
When I was nineteen, I longed to be a writer. Actually, I was a writer, winning awards in high school for poetry and essays. But what I slowly came to realize was, I had no life experience. So you could say that I started living my life in a way that gave me something to write about.
My memoir chronicles seven years of that fully-lived life. From age 18 to 25, I saw some of the world and a lot of adventure, what would later become poignant memories of a man and the times we shared. Now as the fire crackles in the stove and wind howls at the window, I can sit back in my comfortable chair and smile at the story I have written.
But it wasn’t just me writing it. I enlisted the help of my friend, Lizzie Ashworth, to put this story together and make it come to life. I can’t thank her enough!
Tagged: excerpt, Guest Blogger, memoir Posted in General|Comments Off on Jessica Hardy with Lizzie Ashworth: Once in a Lifetime Opportunity (A Memoir)|Link
I’ve been working like a fiend for the past week. Whether helping my dd sort through my mom’s lifetime accumulation of stuff, writing the next bounty hunter, editing pages for author-friends, and reading shorts for the next Boys Behaving Badly anthology, I don’t have time for TV. So, I missed this year’s Grammys. However, this video of one of the performances during that show is inescapable. I saw it on a Twitter feed, watched it once, and I swear I’ve probably watched it twenty more times over the past few days.
There’s so much to love about it.
First, you see Demi Lovato in a gorgeous dress, looking angelic. Immediately, I was struck with gratitude that the overdose she suffered didn’t kill her and that she’s standing on stage looking beautiful and strong.
Then you see her begin to sing, and she does that thing that anyone who’s stood on a stage fears most—making a mistake and having to start over. My stomach sank, and I was cheering inside for her to go on. She did.
As a writer and editor, I love her words. They are few. But every single one matters. The lyrics are raw from Word One. I love the melody. It plays in my head. I can’t hum it; it starts low and quickly rises way outside my limited range, but the music makes my heart soar.
And then you see the tears, hear the tears. If you’re one of those lucky people, like me, who gets goosebumps when music moves you, then you know how I feel every time she gets to that searing crescendo. It’s glib to say, but it’s a wonderful performance.
If you haven’t seen it, get ready. If you have, enjoy another look…
Those of us who have multiple pen names usually use them to differentiate one type of writing from another. For instance, I have Dee S. Knight for erotic romance, Anne Krist for non-erotic romance, and Jenna Stewart for ménage and shifter books.
When I first conceived of Anne and later, Jenna, I thought I would use them so readers could avoid confusion as to which kind of book they were picking up. I didn’t consider that writing such different kinds of books meant I would actually be using different personality traits. When a friend pointed it out to me, “What fun!” At her suggestion, I’ve played on the three, whom I’ve termed sisters.
Anne: Dee is the older sister. Dee: Only by a few minutes. And being older makes me wiser, you know. Anne: In your dreams, perhaps. Jenna: I’m the baby and get all the attention, so go ahead and fight it out. Dee: Keep quiet, Jenna. This discussion is for Anne and me. Jenna: I’m telling!
Girls, settle down. Years ago, when I conceived Anne, I gave interviews as the two sisters and had such fun I started a blog that featured their opposing personalities, A Little Sisterly Advice, kinda like Dear Abby. Each Sunday night/Monday morning for six years I choose a question and had some fun with it, answering as each author. Anne, is usually reasonable and—
Anne: Did you hear that? She said I was reasonable. Dee: She’s too nice to say boring.
Ladies, really! Stop sniping. As I was saying, Anne is reasonable in her answers and Dee is…well, not quite so.
Anne: *chuckling* You’re not reasonable. Dee: *proudly* Damn straight.
*Shaking head* Anyway, I was always looking for good questions mand passed on an eBook for readers who sent one in that I used. I had to remind readers that I am not a psychologist and that my answers were strictly for entertainment. Here’s a sample of a previous question.
Q: My boyfriend of two years says he loves me and has invited me to his parents’ house for Thanksgiving dinner. On previous visits, they’ve made no secret of the fact that they hate my clothing, my hair, my job (beautician)—virtually everything about me. What should I do?
~Not Too Thankful for Dinner
Anne: Talk to your boyfriend, Not Too Thankful. He says he loves you so he should step up to the plate and defend you to his parents. I’m sure he will! And maybe this will be what they need to see the light and realize how important you are to their son. Happy holidays!
Dee: It’s Thanksgiving, so be thankful you’re about to get better advice from me than Anne just gave you. If you’re thinking of marrying this man, remember that it’s better to have a turkey of a Thanksgiving without him this year than to be served up a platter of rejection every year from now on. The fact is, they’ve made “no secret” how little you mean to them. If your boyfriend hasn’t already straightened them out about how he feels about you, your goose is cooked, girl! Get out before someone starts pelting you with cranberries.
This is what I meant when I said I took on the personas of both authors, Anne and Dee. Lord only knows what Jenna would have responded if she’d been around back then!
What do you think of authors having more than one pen name and then revealing them? Should I have kept them secret? Do you enjoy the different personalities, and would they stop you from reading a book from one of the authors? I’m curious!
Burning Bridges by Anne Krist
Letters delivered decades late send shock waves through Sara Richards’s world. Nothing is the same, especially her memories of Paul, a man to whom she’d given her heart years before. Now, sharing her secrets and mending her mistakes of the past means putting her life back together while crossing burning bridges. It will be the hardest thing Sara’s ever done.
A few years ago, Dee S. Knight began writing, making getting up in the morning fun. During the day, her characters killed people, fell in love, became drunk with power, or sober with responsibility. And they had sex, lots of sex. She is the primary persona of three pen names—triplets, if you will: Dee, Anne Krist, and Jenna Stewart.
As noted above, Dee S. Knight writes erotic romance—emphasis on the romance! She was part of an anthology named a Top Pick in Romantic Times magazine (Resolutions) and the sole author of another Top Pick designation, for the paranormal erotic romance, Passionate Destiny.
“Sister” Anne Krist does not write erotic romance. Her book, Burning Bridges, has received high praise and multiple 5-star reviews because of the depth of the romance and emotion. Burning Bridges is Anne’s first book but she has a series planned that she hopes to have out soon.
Third of the triplets is Jenna Stewart. Jenna has tried her hand at ménage—in both historical and shifter books. She wrote the Sisters O’Ryan series set during the westward migration in the U.S., the Great Wolves of Men-Edge, and Unlikely Bedfellows.
Regardless of the name she uses to write during the day, their dream man, childhood sweetheart, and long-time hubby are all the same guy. What happens during their nights are their secret.
For romance ranging from sweet to historical, contemporary to paranormal and more join the girls on Nomad Authors. Sign up for Dee’s newsletter with Jan Selbourne and have access to fun free reads. Also, once a month, look for Charity Sunday blog posts, where your comment can support a selected charity.
A couple of days ago, I was archiving my 2019 author interviews and guest blogs and it occurred to me that every interview began with the question — “What inspired you to write your book?” The next question asks about our characters — “Are they based on people we know or pure imagination?”“Was the story planned or did it grow as the chapters increased?” And, every author has a different story concerning what inspired him or her to write their story. That’s the beauty of books, each one is new and unique for the reader, taking us on an adventure from the first page.
My first attempts at writing were full of enthusiasm and scenes in my head but lacking in the essential substance – inspiration.
It was by chance while sitting in the doctor’s waiting room that I picked up a three month’s old journal and read an article on how a person’s true character emerges when faced with life-threatening danger or massive upheaval. For example, the tough guy turns to water and runs, the small insignificant person steps up and takes charge. An idea was forming in my head, and again, by chance, I was sorting through old family papers and came across my grandfather’s World War One military record. He served with the Australian Imperial Forces in Belgium and France and was involved in some of the bloodiest battles. He came home but was never the same, and it was years before he could talk about the horrors of that war. I decided to research the events leading up to the German invasion of Belgium in August 1914, and what followed was called The Rape of Belgium. I was reading the atrocities my grandfather spoke about. There was the inspiration and the setting for my first book, Behind the Clouds.
Behind the Clouds
Barely tolerating each other, Adrian and Gabrielle Bryce are trapped in Belgium as the clouds of war loom over Europe.
Plunged into a nightmare of lies and betrayal they flee for their lives as the Germans cross the border. Narrowly avoiding capture, witnessing death and atrocities, they reach safety as two different people – only to face charges of treason and a woman who’ll stop at nothing to see Adrian dead.
Excerpt…
He’d barely slept because of this throbbing foot, and he was as thirsty as hell. Hobbling to the canal he drank the murky liquid, then dipped both his feet into the cold water. He let out a slow sigh as the cool water soothed his aching extremities. Gabrielle knelt at the water’s edge beside him to wash her face and push wet fingers through her hair to slick down the untidy curls. Her voice was low and angry.
“What was she like?”
“What are you talking about?” he scowled, dreading what was coming.
“Sigrid, Maryanne, whatever her name was,” she snapped back.
“What are you trying to do Gaby? Force an argument?”
“No, I’m not forcing an argument. I really want to know. You preferred that woman’s company to mine and your children’s and because of her and my uncle and your unbelievable stupidity, two innocent people have died, and we are forced to rely on each other to stay alive. Are you proud of yourself? And was her beauty and obvious bedroom expertise worth all of this?”
Adrian clenched his jaw and turned away, angry and embarrassed.
“I’m waiting,” she persisted. “I presume you also showered her with gifts and expensive baubles while we would be lucky to see you on our birthdays.”
Something snapped inside him. His face was tight with fury as turned back to face her.
“If I could get up and walk away, I would. Just what are you trying to achieve? We’ve avoided capture by the skin of our teeth, we have no idea how to get away, the Germans are pouring into Belgium, thousands will be killed, and you want to know if I showered her with gifts. Why don’t we concentrate on getting out of here and then you will be free of me? Now for Christ’s sake leave it alone.”
“You want to get up and walk away?” her voice dripped scorn. “Did I walk away from that lonely empty life in that big lonely house? Making excuses to your children, visiting neighbours on my own. Did I show such contempt for our marriage vows?”
“You forgot to mention entertaining Charlton in my home,” he snarled and flinched as Gabrielle’s hand slapped his face.
“Yes, your home,” she yelled. “I may have lived there and given birth to your children there, but it was always your home. I pray to God we will return to England and you can enjoy your home and your expensive, treacherous harlots!” Her hands clenched into fists. “Yes, Brian did share my bed. You were never there. You couldn’t care less about me or our children. You were so besotted with that German harlot’s devious charms you had no idea what was going on. She was exceptionally clever, and you were exceptionally stupid.”
Adrian rubbed his cheek and pointed his finger at her. “If you hit me again, you will be sorry. You want to know what she was like. I’ll tell you…She had long wavy auburn hair, a figure that made men’s eyes water and yes, she had expertise in the bedroom. She could drink me under the table and she could discuss politics like a man. She was exceptionally clever and yes, you are right, I was exceptionally stupid because I hadn’t a clue she was German or she’d bedded a cabinet minister, or she’d been on other assignments for your uncle. I’ve answered all your questions and I don’t give a damn whether you believe me or not, but I’m bloody ashamed of myself. And I hope to God we’ll get back to England so you can do whatever you want, and I won’t have to listen to your harping sarcastic tongue. Are you happy now?”
“Oh yes, very happy, thank you. Who wouldn’t be, sitting here with you on the damp ground beside a canal without food or clean clothes,” her eyes glittered with contempt. “How does it feel you, a cabinet minister and my uncle shared her? I wonder if she kept an inventory of her jewelry and gifts to remember who gave her what.”
He pulled his feet from the water and stood up. “I’m not listening to your ranting anymore, nor am I waiting here for them to find me.”
“You can’t face the truth, can you?” she shouted at him. “Well, unpleasant as it is, you need me and I need you to survive. When we reach safety, you can go back to the life you enjoyed with your sophisticated women without the inconvenience of an unwanted wife. And, if we get out of here, I don’t want anything to do with you. Not even a Christmas card.” Her lip curled. “A gentleman never breaks a business contract but it’s of no consequence to break your marriage vows.
Adrian reached down and roughly pulled her up to face him. “I can’t face the truth? It’s a pity you didn’t marry that useless fop Charlton eight years ago, because he’d have been the target for your sainted uncle’s lunacy instead of me! Christ, you haven’t shut up about your miserable marriage but look where it’s got me! Stitched up like a bloody weaver’s loom, set up as a traitor, hiding like a fugitive. And why? Because I had the temerity to marry you.” He turned his back and hobbled over to the grazing horse.
“I’m leaving. Are you coming with me or staying here?”
Gabrielle’s face mirrored the shock she felt at Adrian’s words. Her foot lashed out sending a small log into the water and she walked up to Adrian, her fists clenched, then without warning, she burst into tears. “I have no choice,” her voice was raw with emotion. “All I want is to get out of Belgium and go back to my children and never see you again.”
Adrian gripped her arms, his fingers digging into her flesh. “You’ll get your bloody freedom one way or the other. If we get out of this, I’ll gladly give it. If I’m shot, you can play the grieving widow for a day or two. Now shut up and help me get this horse into the shafts.”
He heaved himself up onto the driving seat knowing damn well they were suffering huge reactions to the events they had witnessed. His insides were ripped apart enough without her rubbing his face in it again and again. How could he have been so bloody naïve? It wouldn’t matter how loudly he protested his innocence, the fact remained his mistress had wheedled far too much information from him and a senior government minister named Edmund. Good, God! Sir Edmund Charters! Close to the Prime Minister, related to the Foreign Minister. That old fool must be nearly seventy, and you Bryce, are the biggest fool of them all.
I’m happy dancing all over town because I’ve just released a romance with a Papillon on the cover. Hi this is Tara Lain. I write the Beautiful Boys of Romance, and I love all animals and Papillon dogs, in particular.
My new romance, Passions of a Papillon, is a combination romance, mystery, with a lot of humor. If you’ve ever seen a Papillon, you know why. They’re a riot.
Last year, I saw a Papillon win the agility trials at Westminster — and never stop barking the whole time she ran! Yep, they’re seriously barky, and when you tell them to stop (yell, actually) they look at you like you’ve deeply offended their purpose in life — to inform you of every buttery snail. They say the inventor of the doorbell didn’t have a Papillon.
They’re also the smartest toy dogs (mine weighs just over 8 lbs.) and are one of the top 10 smartest dogs of all sizes. My dog has an enormous vocabulary. We literally spell words, and she often recognizes those – especially c-h-i-c-k-e-n. They’re so smart they can learn any command, but only do them if they want to!
In the book, my pup escapes from some bad people who own her and adopts an originally unwilling lawyer — but she wins him over, of course. And then he takes her to the vet. Hello vet! And Passions of a Papillon is born.
After you’ve sold your soul to the devil, can you renegotiate with a dog?
Brilliant defense attorney, Finn Morgenstern, knows the worst guys pay best, so defending slimeball, Rance Franklin, becomes his path to senior partner and a whole lot of benefits. But then a walk home to his pricey townhouse brings him face-to-ears with a batshit-crazy little dog who just won’t leave him alone. So Finn takes the dog to the local veterinarian to find out how to get her back to her owners. Hello vet! Emerson “Em” Fairweather sure doesn’t match his stodgy name. Tall, platinum blond, and gorgeous, Em puts the pet in pet ownership. But Em has ugly secrets and Batshit dog is up to her ears in larceny. Suddenly Finn is the one who needs defending, and he’s faced with a choice between what he thought was important and a whole new batshit-crazy life.
Does anyone else have a big family? Back in the day, everyone had more siblings than your mom remembered to count. I’ve heard those stories about kids being left in grocery stores or never picked up from school (guilty). Then the trend turned to having only a few children, and many of my friends grew up as an only child or with one sibling. I, however, am the oldest of six.
When I was in my twenties, I said no way to a big family. I wanted a couple kids, if any at all. I ended up having five and wouldn’t have shut down the factory if not for my husband (now ex) saying that was enough. I loved having babies, loved raising babies, and I adore everything about big families.
The dynamics between siblings has probably been the focus of many studies, but it only takes a mom to sit back and watch her kiddos interact to realize that they are a breed of their own. We don’t care about loud noises in this house. Was that a scream I heard? Nobody’s crying, so move on. Somebody’s practicing violin or belting out a pirate shanty song in the shower? I didn’t notice. This happens on a daily, which only proves my theory that big families are their own breed.
One of the science teachers in my kids’ high school does a study (I have no clue what the point is), but he makes everyone stand up, close their eyes and be nice and still. Then he throws a book onto the floor. Many people jump or squeal in fright at the commotion, but my kids didn’t even flinch. When this happened to the youngest child, the teacher told him that not one of the Petrovas acted as if anything had happened at all. He seemed surprised by the test, but I’m not. My kids could sleep through WWIII with all the lights on and screamo music in the background.
As a writer, I write what I know and love. For me, writing a big fat cowboy family was so natural. The Dalton Boys has been a series I have laughed and cried through along with the characters. I feel I know these rugged cowboys and sassy cowgirls like they’re my own relatives. This month, the final of the Texas Daltons has gotten her book release, and the heroine means so much to me. She’s suffered the big family messes, scrapes and victories that many of us have, even if we are part of a small family. I hope to see more of these Daltons in the future!
Are you a big family person or small? Do you like to read series with siblings? I’d love to hear from you!
Em Petrova was raised by hippies in the wilds of Pennsylvania but told her parents at the age of four she wanted to be a gypsy when she grew up. She has a soft spot for babies, puppies and 90s Grunge music and believes in Bigfoot and aliens. She started writing at the age of twelve and prides herself on making her characters larger than life and her sex scenes hotter than hot.
She burst into the world of publishing in 2010 after having five beautiful bambinos and figuring they were old enough to get their own snacks while she pounds away at the keys. In her not-so-spare time, she is fur-mommy to a Labradoodle named Daisy Hasselhoff.
Award-winning author Linda O’Connor started writing romantic comedies when she needed a creative outlet other than subtly rearranging the displays at a local home décor store. Her books have enjoyed bestseller status. When not writing, she’s a physician at an Urgent Care Clinic. She shares her medical knowledge in fast-paced, well-written, sexy romances — with an unexpected twist. Her favourite prescription to write? Laugh every day. Love every minute.
A few years ago, Dee S. Knight began writing, making getting up in the morning fun. During the day, her characters killed people, fell in love, became drunk with power, or sober with responsibility. And they had sex, lots of sex. She is the primary persona of three pen names—triplets, if you will: Dee, Anne Krist, and Jenna Stewart.
A couple of days ago, I was archiving my 2019 author interviews and guest blogs and it occurred to me that every interview began with the question — “What inspired you to write your book?” The next question asks about our characters — “Are they based on people we know or pure imagination?” “Was the story planned or did it grow as the chapters increased?” And, every author has a different story concerning what inspired him or her to write their story. That’s the beauty of books, each one is new and unique for the reader, taking us on an adventure from the first page.
