I’m so delighted to be back at Delilah’s and grateful to have the opportunity to share my latest historical romance, His Captive Princess. Growing up, one of my favorite legendary heroes was King Arthur, so when the movie Excalibur came out, I loved everything about the film–from the noble Knights of the Round Table, to the shiny armor, sexy Sir Lancelot, and the dark mysticism of the wizards Merlin and Morgana.

As long as I can remember I’ve been drawn to anything medieval, so when I learned that most castles were located in Wales, I had to find out more about the country. Turns out, Wales also has lots of legends and myths. I eventually discovered the true story of Gwenllian, a brave medieval Welsh princess who fought the Normans herself, and then I knew I had a story to write! My bow and arrow-wielding heroine Princess Eleri is based on Gwenllian.

As the title of the book hints—His Captive Princess—our brave lady has met her match in the charming enemy, Warren de Tracy.

****For a chance to win a $5 Gift card****

Leave a comment below telling me who’s your favorite hero or historical character.

Earned respect is sweet…but deserved revenge is sweeter.

Warren de Tracy was assured the Welsh village of Dinefwr would be an easy conquest, as would the widow of its fallen prince. Wedding her will appease the locals and win the respect of his liege, the usurper King Stephen.

Instead, Warren is ambushed, taken prisoner by a hooded Welshwoman with skin that glows like moonlight. If he must die at her hands, at least his honorable death will silence the whispers of disloyalty hanging over his name.

Princess Eleri has never seen a knight as stoic—and as eager to die—as Warren. She’d love to oblige the bastard, but something in his ocean-blue eyes stays her hand. Plus, suspicion nags at her, for the arrows that wounded him and killed his men are Norman, not Welsh.

A ghostly prophecy portends danger that thrusts the enemies closer together, where hate explodes into passion that won’t allow Eleri to surrender Warren to her vengeful clan. But returning him to his king breaks more than it mends…and for Warren, retaliation will be sweet, indeed.

Product Warnings: Contains a Norman warrior with a thirst for justice, a Welsh rebel princess with second sight and a steady bow hand, magical prophecies, and a plot of royal proportions.

Excerpt:

“‘Your Highness’?” Warren jerked in astonishment, pulling against his bonds. The ropes chafed his raw skin, sending a fresh wave of pain down his arms. “You’re of royal blood?”

She leaned over him, reaching for his bonds. “Hush! In addition to your arrow wound, I trow your tongue has healed as well these past days. It would behoove you to use it less and just be grateful you’re alive.”

Her breasts hovered inches above his face. In fact, if he lifted his head, he could bury his face between them. What would she do, this spirited wench, if he chose to do so? He would’ve enjoyed finding out if circumstances had been different. “I’d rather be dead than be a prisoner. But first…I’ll kiss your feet if you’d scratch my nose.”

She made a choking noise in her throat that almost sounded like amusement.

He felt a tug at his ropes and the friction of a knife. By the saints, she was freeing him. He couldn’t allow it.

Air stung his raw skin as soon as one of his wrists came loose. With his one arm still useless in its restraints, he shot out his free hand and clutched her forearm. Using all his strength, he turned her over beneath him, wedging her between his torso and the bed. Nose to nose, he could make out her eyes gone wide with shock in the darkness. “No!” he growled. “Do not let me leave here alive.”

Suddenly, her warrior was upon him and his knife back against Warren’s throat. “Get off the princess, you cur!”

The woman’s blade touched his chest plate. She could dispatch him with ease. Her arms were strong and lean. Her body was far from frail, and he recalled her skillful defeat of his conroi. She twisted beneath his pelvis defensively, and the grinding of her soft mound awoke his sex. Shame heated his cheeks at his sudden need and dark desires. This one time, he would allow himself to speak his mind. “If you release me, Princess, I’ll go to Kidwelly and inform my commanders what has befallen my five men at the hands of you and your people. The king will strike at the subjects of Cantref Mawr with vengeance such as you’ve never known.”

Her expression shifted from stark panic to slow derision as her saucy lips curved up at one corner. “You think I don’t know what you’re capable of?” Her eyes flashed downward meaningfully, and he knew she’d noted the turn of his wicked thoughts. “You want to have your way with me. To tear my clothing from my body and part my legs. But you know nothing of my people, Norman. You haven’t even bothered to learn the language—” she broke off, slurring in Welsh at her vassal.

The burly guard grabbed Warren’s bandaged shoulder, twisting it back until bile climbed in his throat. “Umpff!” While he convulsed in pain, the woman slipped loose and turned him on his back, pinning his groin beneath two very sharp knees. He hissed through his teeth, “Par les saints!”

If he’d been successful in his mission, this devil-wench would’ve been his bride?

“You are my prisoner, knight.” She planted the flat of her hand against his neck, leaving no doubt of her desire for domination as her angry pulse drummed against his skin. “I am the Princess of Deheubarth, widow of Prince Owain ap Daffyd, murdered by your Norman peers. It will be my pleasure keeping you alive. We’re taking you to those who will do with you what they will. I care not. Until then, you are my dog. My captive. My slave. And you will obey!”

ISBN: 9781619224452

Buy Links:
(Samhain store) https://www.samhainpublishing.com/book/5407/his-captive-princess
(Amazon) http://www.amazon.com/His-Captive-Princess-Sandra-Jones-ebook/dp/B00TLIGB14/
(Barnes & Noble) http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/his-captive-princess-sandra-jones/1121228851?ean=9781619224452
(All Romance) https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-hiscaptiveprincess-1748538-161.html

About the Author

Sandra proudly considers herself a history geek. She is the author of five historical romances including the new River Rogues series set in frontier America. When not researching or writing, she enjoys traveling, genealogy (she’s the direct descendant of a Norman knight) and watching British TV. She and her husband of twenty-five years live in a cabin on the river with two spoiled cats.

She also loves chatting with readers. You can connect with Sandra at any of the following links:

Author Links
Website: http://www.sandrajonesromance.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Sandra-Jones-Author/428923117143918
Twitter:  https://twitter.com/SJonesRomance
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/SandraJones
Monthly Newsletter: http://sandrajonesromance.us8.list-manage.com/subscribe?u=9d97eeae330d5fbc47f658f10&id=302aea1bc8

As a lifetime lover of reading, I have devoured book after book since I could read. In elementary and middle school, it was adventures and literature. In high school, much to my parents despair, I discovered Romance, and never looked back. My addiction to reading grew to the point of staying up all night to finish a book – every night.

But in all that time I never once stopped to think about the process of writing or even touched on imagining how much hard work all those awesome authors put into a book.

Now, as a writer myself, I am discovering the ins and outs and ups and downs. In the writing world, there is a distinct divide between processes and writers. The descriptions are as follows:

1. The plotter – those writers I can only aspire to be. They plot and plan and lay out their story in outlines and timelines in a web so finely woven there is no way to get lost. They know what they want to write before they even start, follow the plan and make every word count.

2. The panster – woe is me. Literally. The panster is a creature without a roadmap, a compass, or even the North Star. We write and let the story unfold as we go. Sometimes it takes us down a road lined with glittering gold and diamonds. The story just flows. Other times, the road is rocky and runs into wall after wall, forcing the panster to turn around and go another direction.

I’ve tried to plot to no avail. Plotting is not in my blood. As a panster, I usually write about 300,000 words for each 80,000 word book. Obviously, pansters are creatures of self-torture and believe in doing a lot more work than is necessary. But I’ve found through trial and error – you don’t mess with the process.

Whatever the process, they both work. And just like different processes there a thousand different types of books. What you like to read is all about personal preference. I love all things romance – period – but romantic suspense will always take the lead.

As a reader what is your favorite type of book? Western? Suspense? Erotic? Sweet Contemporary?

MAY 2015
ANTICPATION
A HEART & HANDCUFFS ANTHOLOGY
BY
MEGAN MITCHAM
&
LINDSAY CROSS

Love is all you need. Really? Tell that to her unattended lady boner. Sure they had a love so relentless it shouldered the weight of children, careers, in-laws, and out-laws. But what happened to that zing of excitement his mere presence evoked? It grew into comfortable expectation.

Things had gone to hell in handcuffs. Convicts and caseloads. Files and felons. The stranglehold of work had kept him from husbandly duties long enough.

They had love, but how did they get back to lust?

With a little bit of Anticipation…

Anticipation contains two ten thousand word sizzling suspense short stories. In Megan Mitcham’s story “Climax,” a busty and brainy red-head arrests her police chief husband and shows him exactly what she’s had to do to get by without him for the last two months. In Lindsay Cross’s story “Need,” a stay-at-home mom pushed to the brink pushes back, revealing her un-sated desire and making her Dominant reestablish control.

Coming soon: OCTOBER 2015

MEN OF MERCY SERIES

REDEMPTION
RESSURRECTION
RECKLESS
REHAB

BY
LINDSAY CROSS

REDEMPTION

For Hunter James and his squad, Task Force Scorpion, killing terrorists is as easy as cleaning their guns. Dark, deadly and destructive, TF-S is called in for government missions that are so far off the record, not even the president knows of their existence. But when Hunter is assigned to his hometown, he comes face-to-face with his ex-girlfriend, and all his training and discipline disappear.

Evangeline Videl tucked Hunter’s memory into a nice neat box in the back of her mind and tossed the key off a cliff. Their bond had been hotter than the summer in the South and deeper than the Mississippi River.  But Hunter pulled a disappearing act years ago and left her shattered. Now he’s back and intent on winning her heart once more.

As the enemy pulls the strings, will Evie dance to his tune or risk her heart and join forces with Hunter in a fight that could destroy them both or forge a union so scorching hot it will leave them forever scalded.

Maybe you’ve been paying attention…not that you had to. This week’s blown so far as work. I missed my Friday short story release. Sorry!! But I’ll restart this coming week. Expect something new soon…something about a timid seamstress who takes on a sexy challenge…

So, why have the past few days been so crazy? My daughter and best friend, Kelly, underwent a radical hysterectomy yesterday. Everything went well, and she’s recovering in the hospital.  She gets to drink things today. No food yet. And she’s already thinking about the foods she can’t wait to eat. Her wish list includes some dishes she hardly ever craves: barbecue brisket, pickles, and potato wedges. She’ll be dreaming about that as she sucks down her beef broth today.

I let her choose today’s question. So guess what the theme is? Yeah, food.

What’s your favorite thing to eat—THE dish,
the one you’d drive to the next town (or state) to eat? 

Enjoy this excerpt from Heather’s brand new book, Untamed Wolf! ~DD

Wolves of Willow Bend
Untamed Wolf
Book #6 in the Wolves of Willow Bend Series
Releasing April 24, 2015 — TODAY!

Dylan Royce, Willow Bend Hunter, is a natural flirt and courted his fair share of she-wolves, but he’s never found the woman who makes his pulse race. With the new pack’s borders verging on Willow Bend territory, he’s tasked with keeping an eye on them. His job grows more challenging daily, especially since one seductive female keeps crossing the line.

Chrystal Landros knows she’s supposed to keep to her side of the Three Rivers-Willow Bend line. But she loves to explore, and Willow Bend is home to some spectacular sites. As a former Lone Wolf, she hasn’t always been certain of her welcome, but her new home in Three Rivers opens a wonderful world of unfamiliar opportunities. Too bad the wolf who makes her blood heat is tasked with keeping her away from the places she wants to visit.

While Dylan and Chrystal clash repeatedly over her border incursions, the game between them threatens to turn deadly. Tensions between Willow Bend and Three Rivers continue to rise. Could their forbidden dalliance be the spark to ignite a war?

Amazon | All Romance | Kobo | iTunes  

Series Reading Order:
Wolf at Law (Prequel)
Book 1: Wolf Bite
Book 2: Caged Wolf
Book 3: Wolf Claim
Wolf Next Door, featured in Under a Wolf Moon
Book 4: Rogue Wolf
Book 5: Bayou Wolf

Heather Long

National bestselling author, Heather Long, likes long walks in the park, science fiction, superheroes, Marines, and men who aren’t douche bags. Her books are filled with heroes and heroines tangled in romance as hot as Texas summertime. From paranormal historical westerns to contemporary military romance, Heather might switch genres, but one thing is true in all of her stories—her characters drive the books. When she’s not wrangling her menagerie of animals, she devotes her time to family and friends she considers family. She believes if you like your heroes so real you could lick the grit off their chest, and your heroines so likable, you’re sure you’ve been friends with women just like them, you’ll enjoy her worlds as much as she does.

Contact Details:
Website: http://www.heatherlong.net
Email: heather@heatherlong.net
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/HeatherLongAuthor
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/HVLong

Excerpt:

Racing the wind, Dylan Royce danced over a thin shell of snow without sinking into the powder. A recent blizzard dumped three feet of fresh accumulation in twelve hours, all of it atop the ice-hardened pack beneath. Cold, crisp air flooded his lungs with his every footfall. Invigorated by the chill, he kept his mouth open to sample the breeze. The natural wonder from the weather made running his circuit a pleasure rather than a chore as he spun through the remote pack campgrounds.

Human families escaped to these campgrounds during the warmer summer months. The remote location, coupled with the bordering state park, also made it ideal for young wolves to learn to hunt, stalk and play away from day-to-day life. Winter often proved the second favorite season for families with older youths to escape and romp in the snow. With Three Rivers’ border so close, however, Mason slapped a moratorium on any vacation plans to the area for the pack.

The usually populated area remained virtually abandoned during Dylan’s tenure as Hunter guarding the border, a downside to Mason’s order. Such a critical position would typically have fallen on Owen Chase, but their Senior Hunter left for Hudson River eight weeks prior with his mate to train the pack’s young healer and to provide assistance to the Alpha.

So, while Dylan landed the miserable position, at least he got to enjoy the snow. And, in a few hours, he would get to enjoy Tawny, the sleek, svelte law student interning with Ryan Huston. Dylan pursued her for months before she finally consented to a drink.

Where he spent his weekend off hinged on the date. His wolf thrilled at the challenge. They would definitely enjoy taking a bite out of her taut ass. Still, better to burn off some of his frustrations…plus, he had all the gorgeous unbroken snow to himself. After climbing to the highest vantage, he growled his approval. Pristine powder lay in smooth waves down the hill.

Testing the ice crust, he found only soft powder. It clung to his fur and bunched between his claws. The swirling breeze carried the promise of more snow. Panting, he arched his head back and loosed a single call. Infusing power into the call to demand a response, he cut it off abruptly and listened.

Any wolves within his range would respond. Flicking his ears, he heard only the wind brushing the trees, the faint groan of branches heavily laden with winter’s kiss and the whuffs of his breathing. No scents teased his nostrils, no sounds alerted him to intruders, and all the magnificent snow lay waiting for him to play.

Tail wagging, he danced away from the edge and trotted several paces. Judging the distance to be perfect, he dashed forward, rushing on adrenaline-fueled muscles until he reached the edge and flung himself onto the slope, legs sprawling out. His trajectory and angle gave him additional speed. He flew to the base of the hill and crashed into a snowdrift.

Bounding out, he shook to free his coat of the snow and sneezed. Damn, that’s fun. He turned to make another climb and repeat the wild ride when a tangle of lemon and orchid teased his nose.

Whirling, he raised his head to catch the direction of the scent, because beneath the citrus was the musk of wolf—a wolf he’d already tossed three times in as many weeks.

Dammit, Chrystal. All at once, his plans for the evening began to disintegrate. If the Three Rivers bitch hightailed it over the line again, he’d have to track her, catch her, punish her, and drop kick her ass back to Luciana “I Have No Idea What the Hell I’m Doing” Barrows.

Tawny wouldn’t wait for him, either. Five minutes late, she’d warned, and he would be out of luck.

Snarling to himself, he trotted west slowly and caught the trace of Chrystal’s scent again. The swirling wind kept yanking it away from him like a tease, but he was a Hunter.

He would find her.

An hour of stalking and two false trails later, he’d finally narrowed her scent to a tract of land below the campgrounds near the old falls. The snow continued, fat heavy flakes crusting on his coat. His phone—like his clothes—were in his truck, parked more than a few miles away. He tried to bury his sour mood, knowing his date with Tawny slipped further and further out of reach.

Pausing in the shadow of a tree, he scanned the rocky slope where the water spilled from any icy crevice and flowed down into a sluggish moving pool. Ice shimmered around the shores, slicking the hard surfaces. Despite the wind, Chrystal’s scent grew stronger with each blast of wind skimming the pseudo valley.

With so much white on every surface, he expected to find her swiftly, but it took him some time to pick her out. She climbed the icy rock face along the edge of the waterfall.

His irritation switched to concern. What the hell is she doing?

Dressed in jeans, a sweatshirt, and a too-thin jacket, she climbed with determination, fighting for every hand and foothold as the slippery ice gave way beneath her grip. Straightening, he followed her progress and eyed the landscape in search of his best route to the top. A skittering of skin and shoe against the slick rock jerked his attention back to the curvy little pain in his ass. She’d dropped a foot from her upward progress and clung to the rock through will alone.

The little minx needed a damn keeper. Inch-by-inch, she continued her creeping ascent of the sheer shale. Between the composition of the stone and the ice, she risked serious injury to her bare hands. Even from his position, he could see the dampness soaking her jeans.

What the hell could be worth courting frostbite? With a leap, he bounded into the dip and sank into the wetter snow around the waterfall’s pool. Fording through the dense drifts, he found the path he’d been seeking and began to climb along the outer rim. Worn by the passage of many feet over the years, faint stone steps existed deep beneath the snow. In midsummer, the waterfall served as the perfect diving point. The pool below was a good twelve to fifteen feet deep, which meant high divers didn’t usually crack their skulls. Of course, the water wasn’t half-frozen or frigid in the middle of summer either.

Chrystal continued easing her way to the precipice. Ahead of her finally, Dylan scrambled onto the ledge and leaned over to judge the distance between them. He’d need to shift to grab her. She was beyond his neck range, even if he were able to snag her damp jacket. If she ascended another foot or two…only she didn’t. She stopped.

Dylan stared, disbelief sinking into his bones. Instead of climbing—or even holding on with her flimsy grips—she slid her free hand into her jacket and pulled out a cell phone. She stretched the phone away from her, angling toward the plunging water…why?

Forgetting the idiocy of her actions, he rushed his shift. Fur slid away, muscle twisted and bones snapped. Part of Hunter apprenticeship required shifting under high-stress situations. His mentor’s lesson had been brutal on the point. They needed to be able to change on the fly and, since they were at their most vulnerable mid-shift, hurrying the process was the only alternative.

Bliss and agony intertwined until he suddenly knelt in the icy snow with his palms flat against the chilly surface. The cold assaulted his overheated and sensitized skin like so many needling daggers plunging into his flesh. Fuck me. Blowing out a frosty breath, he did his best to ignore the wind shivering his balls and threatening to geld him.

The trembling in his muscles had more to do with the temperature than his shifting. Pushing to the edge, he found the idiot wolf with her phone angled at the spraying water, her thumb hovering over a button.

What. The. Hell?

He opened his mouth to snarl at her, but she hadn’t glanced toward him once and her scent hadn’t changed. Focused on whatever the hell her goal was, she failed to notice his position or the precariousness of her own. If he snapped at her…he clamped his teeth together, molars grinding, and waited.

Hating himself—and her more—he flattened to the snow. Working to ignore the way his dick threatened to fall off, he stretched out an arm. He could reach her. The snow blew sideways and a faint flicker of sunlight broke through the cloud cover. The light hit the water as his fingers brushed the back of her jacket.

“Yes!” she whooped. Her thumb slapped against the shutter control, snapping several shots in a row. The thin tendril of sunlight lit the water, dancing off the frost and ice around it, to shatter into prisms. Dylan might have even enjoyed the sight, save for Chrystal’s enthusiasm as she leaned further away. One moment, she dangled precariously. The next, she slid.

Even a wolf would take a beating on the rocks below.

Fisting her jacket, he ignored the scream in his bicep from lifting her falling deadweight and hauled her upward. Yes. I have her. Her howl of surprise gave him a measure of satisfaction. So did jerking her over the edge then tossing her sweet ass into the snow. She came up spluttering as Dylan rose above her and scowled.

“What the fuck are you doing Chrystal?”

As a former member of the military, a brat to a career Air Force dad, with a sister, brother and daughter all having served time in the military, you could say it’s in the blood. I love the military men and women who represent our country and fight for our freedoms so many take for granted.

These men and women are heroes!

Each branch has their own special operations forces and I love to write about each. But lately, I’ve been reading and writing about the Navy SEALs. These men have some of the toughest training, are smart, physically fit and mentally prepared to face danger head-on. Even at home as I’ve portrayed in SEAL’S SEDUCTION.

SEAL’S SEDUCTION

Available April 28th
(That’s next Tuesday!)

A Navy SEAL puts his training to the test when he must rescue a sexy news reporter from a hostage situation

Home on emergency leave, Navy SEAL Dustin “Dustman” Ford didn’t expect  to run into his high school sweetheart, local news reporter Jenna Turner, figuring she’d have shaken off the dust of their hometown a long time ago. A woman as addicted to action and adventure as he was, he thought she’d have moved on. But she was still there, and every bit as distracting as she’d been when they were teens.

Jenna Turner never got over Dustin, but moved on with her life, establishing herself as a news reporter for the local station. In an effort to take on more than reporting social events and weddings, with the help of a cousin and an inside connection on the police force, she chases the hotter news items, determined to make her break into the national news scene.

Now that he’s older and wiser and his father is on the mend, Dustin tests the heat with his old flame and finds it’s sizzling. When Jenna is caught in the crossfire and taken hostage in a religious compound, Dustin and his brothers stage a rescue operation to bring her and others out alive.

Pre-order here: Amazon| Kobo

About the Author:

New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author ELLE JAMES also writing as MYLA JACKSON is a former IT professional and retired Army and Air Force Reservist. She writes romantic suspense, mysteries and paranormal romance that keeps her readers on the edges of their seats to the very end of every book. When she’s not at her computer, she’s traveling to exotic and wonderful places, snow-skiing, boating, or riding her four-wheeler, dreaming up new stories.

Website | Blog | Facebook | Twitter | GoodReads | Newsletter | Amazon Author Page

We all have stops along the way. They’re what make us ultimately who we are. And my stops brought me here, to a writing life. It took longer than probably most authors’ experience, but I’m here nonetheless. So let me tell you about my stops, or rather the times of my life that brought me closer to being an author.

I love to read and started at a young age. First my mom and dad read to me, then they taught me to read for myself. By the first grade I was probably considered an obsessive reader. In fact I won an award for reading the most books that year. But I didn’t stop there. I kept reading, advancing from bunny and puppy stores to Nancy Drew Mysteries.

Then, one evening in my pre-teen years, my mom gave me a 1939 edition of Gone With the Wind. The cover was tattered from age; it had obviously been well-read and well-loved.  She said she treasured it and hoped that I would too.

I remember asking her why I’d never seen this book before, and she answered. “Because you weren’t ready.” Bless her, she knew my penchant as a child for marking in books. Of course in my mind I was enhancing them with my illustrations… but that’s another later stop.

Well, from that point, reading was my passion. I truly can’t remember a time in my life when I didn’t have at least a dozen novels stacked on my bedside table. Except for college. That stop got me off track, at least for fiction. Too many things to learn, too many outside influences… you know, like boys and fun. And beside I wanted to be a great archaeologist. I didn’t think fiction would get me there. It may not have gotten me there, but it sure got me somewhere else!

My next stop came as I began my life as a military wife. I found myself in a third-world country even before I knew what that meant. I spent almost three years on the island of Luzon in the Philippines. When we weren’t traveling, I was haunting the base library until there were no more books to read. And I was watching the people, soaking in the culture as I’d learned to do as an anthropologist.

Guantanamo Bay, Cuba was my next stop on the journey. For four years I snorkeled, partied of course, worked occasionally, and read obsessively. The base library was again my friend.

The next stop was a sad one but ultimately got me back on my track to writing. A divorce, being a young single mother, and back to my roots… Texas.

After a few years of struggle I was able to go back to school and obtain an MA in Anthropology again thinking I could be that famous archaeologist, this time with my young son by my side.

Okay, now the stops got closer together. I was writing… technical reports, research papers, a master’s thesis, raising my son… but at the same time I found out that illustrating a book (as I did as a child) could be an actual profession in and of itself. I became a rather well-known Archaeological Illustrator. That stop was fun, but it wasn’t writing.

For many reasons, and the details should go into a memoir and not a blog, I left that stop searching for something else.

In a restaurant having lunch with a friend one day, she said to me… “I’m bored. We need to do something. How about opening a bookstore?”

So I said, “Okay,” and we did. Not as easy as it seems though… there’s an actual class sponsored by The American Booksellers Association: How to Open a Bookstore. It’s true. And even after that class with the dire warnings about our success or lack thereof, we found a location. But we knew we needed a hook… just like in a book. You have to ‘hook’ your readers within the first few pages or they won’t continue.

Our hook was wine. Yes, A Thirsty Mind Words & Wines was founded. We think it was the first bookstore/wine bar in the country. I don’t have proof of that, but we certainly didn’t see any other bookstores like ours.

That stop was fun, and I got to read… actually I had to read. Publishers sent us boxes of ARCs (advanced reading copies, those unproofed copies sent out by publishers in hopes of garnering reviews.) I tried to read them all. But my customers also relied on me to give them recommendations. So I had to know my market. And I had to research. A customer came in one day and asked, “I picked up a book in Florence about a church. The author’s name started with an R or a K. I left the book in my hotel there, can you order it for me?”

Not much to go on, I know. But using my skills as a researcher, honed in graduate school, I found it… Brunelleschi’s Dome: How a Renaissance Genius Reinvented Architecture by Ross King. I even amazed myself!

During this stop as a bookseller I got to write again. Blogs, newsletters, advertisements. And I got to meet authors. We had many events in the shop featuring local authors as well as others traveling the country on book tours. It was inspiring.

I loved that bookstore, it was my life. But there were more adventures ahead for me. So when Amazon got so popular and the economy crashed… not related of course… I closed my shop and went on my way to my next stop.

One day a bookstore customer and author called and said…“You know Microsoft Word, don’t you? Amazon has a new self-publishing venue. Can you read up on it, and maybe help me get my books republished there?”

Well, of course I could, but this was in the early days of indie-publishing and the rules were changing quickly. Lucky for me there were already guides online with tips on formatting, not many but they were useful.

So my new stop… A Thirsty Mind Book Design.

However, another upheaval in my life came along just a few months later… I could no longer afford my perfect Texas house. Actually it was the taxes I could no longer afford, particularly in the early days of this new business. So I packed up and moved north to Maine, to a piece of property I’d owned for many years, actually from my military wife years and the divorce. A small farm on the coast of the most eastern piece of land in the U.S. The perfect place to build my business as a formatter and self-publishing consultant. All I needed was the Internet and a laptop.

I wallowed there in contentment for a year or so, then after all that time studying sentence structure, word usage, as well as formatting, I thought to myself. “I have thousands of stories running around in my head. Why don’t I try to get them out? It’s no longer necessary to find an agent or publisher, thank goodness. I can do this by myself. I can be my own publisher!” So for six weeks between formatting and editing jobs, I wrote.

After those exhausting weeks, I thought: I’ve written a novel! What do I do now?

Well, the now was solved by another phone call. Would I like to be on a panel at the NINC conference in New York in October? NINC of course is Novelists, Inc., an organization of published authors. Of course I said yes. I could talk about self-publishing and all that I’d learned, and I could meet authors!

NINC was an eye-opener. You could make money as an indie-author… but it was hard work. And writing more books than one seemed to be the key. And there were contests to join, beta readers to find, mentors. Obviously my book was not done yet. But I was almost into the station.

A year and a half later, after 16 more versions of Stone Bay, I formatted and published the book to Amazon. Then I sat back and watched it… do nothing.

After agonizing over that for a couple of months, I was reading an issue of the RWA newsletter (Romance Writers of America) and found in the classifieds a couple of editors’ ads. I contacted one and asked if she would look at Stone Bay. Something was wrong with the story, and I couldn’t figure out what.

She said yes and a few weeks later I had a much better book. I understood POV (Point of view), conflict, timing… well better than before anyway. I was learning my craft, my last profession/stop.

A few months later (and with the help of an editor before publication this time) my second book found its way to Amazon; Stone Cold, a romantic suspense. Now a few months after that book, my third book, Stone Heart, is in final re-writes with my editor, and as soon as my incredible cover artist finishes the print and digital covers, it will be winging its way to readers worldwide.

You might ask, how did all those stops along the way help you get to the final station as a writer? Reading. Reading. Reading. Research. Art. Marketing. Learning a craft. Education. And my Mom. I’ve taken her name as my pen name, Min Edwards, because she was the start of it all. She read to me. She taught me to read. She gave me Gone With the Wind.

Books by Min Edwards

Stone Bay Contemporary Romance series: available at Amazon
Stone Bay: amzn.to/1eL74Fq
Spindrift: coming soon

High Tide Suspense series: available at Amazon
Stone Cold, Book One amzn.to/1wdl6eM
Stone Heart, Book Two: coming soon

Others in the series available in the next few months
Stone Fall
Precious Stone
The Russian Phoenix: prequel to Precious Stone

Talon, Inc. Archaeological Suspense series:
Triton Bay, Book One: coming in 2016

Pam Headrick
A Thirsty Mind Book Design
http://www.athirstymind.com
format@athirstymind.com
http://athirstyblog.com

Writing as Min Edwards
http://www.minedwards.com
info@minedwards.com
http://www.minedwards.com/minblog
https://www.facebook.com/AuthorMinEdwards
https://twitter.com/MEdwardsAuthor
http://www.pinterest.com/minedwards

Kelly and I in New Orleans

I was up early today, as always. I checked my mail, quickly scanning to see if there was anything that needed immediate attention. There wasn’t. Then I opened this blog page, intending to write something funny. But that’s where my mojo stalled.

My daughter is having major surgery on Friday, so I should be trying to get ahead of my work because I’m moving in with her to help with her recovery—watching kids, cleaning house, entertaining her, because there’s nothing more awful than being bedridden without someone to keep your spirits up, right?

But I’m not getting ahead. Work is piling up. And I’m beginning to feel like I’m drowning a bit. I’m normally a very happy person, but the past few months with all the family illnesses, etc., have kind of whacked the happy out of me.

So, I thought I might see if any of you out there are a bit overwhelmed with real life, too. How are you coping? Do you have any suggestions for how I can shake off this malaise?