Do You Recognize Yourself? (Or…Come On Out of the Closet All You Readers of Erotic Fantasy!)

I am a nut about fantasy. And romance. And dragons. And shape-shifting romantic creatures. Add hot sex to the mix and I’ve found my reading bliss.

There, I’ve said it. I’m out of the closet. I’m done hiding my personal reading preferences like I used to. No more turning the book covers upside down when people visit, or offering some vague response to  ‘what are you reading these days?” No, my pretty little colorful paranormal romance and fantasy books line the shelves of my biggest living room bookcase. Not only that, I write books like this.

CARA & THE DRACA

I started off as a sci-fi geek to the core. I even attended a Star Trek convention as an adult and gawked in worshipful delight just like every other geek crowding the aisles. Then, in the 80’s, in one of those turns that change your life, I found a used copy of “Interview With a Vampire’ by Ann Rice in a bookstore. It was all over after that, as far as reading preferences go. Vampires and magic - Oh My!

It was actually around the late 90’s- early 2000 that the genre Paranormal Romance began to take hold. The genre name was barely known then. You could find me on any given weekend roaming the romance aisles of the local bookstore, searching for anything remotely fantasy and romance connected. I especially sought out the ones that promised sex scenes. (Gah- I’m outing myself again!) I was thrilled to discover books like those of Laurel Hamilton and her world of sexy vampires and paranormal creatures. To my observation, at that time the bookstores were very limited in selection, both in paranormal fantasy and romance books in general that featured more graphic sex.

It wasn’t too long before about a million women just like me discovered this new trend in romance. I have a clear memory of Powell’s bookstore in downtown Portland in 2005 with no shelves at all identified as paranormal romance. Now, there’s an entire wall length of books, stuffed floor to ceiling with titles. Not only that, the graphic sex in romance novels in general exploded onto the market, in genres beyond paranormal. Erotic romance found its way into more ‘respectability’—with sexy plot lines that promised heated sensuality, not pornography. Erotic romance offers a happily-ever-after, and romance still drives the core story.

By 2006 I decided to try my hand at writing one of these hot little numbers myself.  I’ve always been a writer, a teller of stories, and moving to Portland clinched the deal. Portland is a romance writer’s dream, as far as I’m concerned. The Willamette river running along side the downtown cityscape, the picturesque old bridges spanning the river…The rainy days of winter perfect for staying in and writing.

LYDIA 7 THE DRACA

And what, may you ask, do they actually inspire me to write about? The shanghai tunnels, the bridges, the water, Old Town Portland with it’s turn of the century brick buildings brought dragons to life in this writer’s heart. Of course. Shape-shifting, sexy, clever, dragons called the ‘Draca ‘ who discover a romantic preference for modern Portland girls who carry a little something ‘extra’ in their bloodline. Both my books are set in Portland. In the most recent book, Cara and the Draca, there’s a climactic scene featuring a fire breathing, roaring dragon on top of the Fremont bridge. Waaay fun to write.

My writing journey continues as the Draca, and all the other paranormal creatures you find in Portland, (yes, it’s true), urge me to continue spinning spicy romance stories about shape-shifters and the women who love them. And, in case you are wondering, this includes lots of hot sex, along with some rather, uh, imaginative and unusual interspecies sensuality.  There, how’s that for true confessions?

Okay. Your turn!

About the Author

Louisa Kelley, who was born in the year of the Dragon and of course considers herself part Draca, continues her obsession with dragons while she writes the third book in her series, “ Daughters of Draca.” The second book, Cara and the Draca, was just released by Loose-Id. Louisa lives in Portland, Oregon and is a member of Romance Writers of America and Rose City Romance Writers. She'd love you to join her in some over-the-top erotic adventures with the Draca; dragon shape-shifters of a very different kind.

She’ll be on a grand blog tour in March and one lucky commenter will win a $25 Amazon gift certificate. To find out where she is at any given time, check out: http://goddessfishpromotions.blogspot.com/2012/01/virtual-book-tour-daughters-of-draca.html

To learn more about Louisa, visit her website at: http://www.louisakelley.com/

Children Are Our Future

Judith Ashley

In my mid-thirties I attended a workshop that profoundly affected my life. One aspect of the workshop was a guided meditation where we ‘saw’ why we were here, what our purpose was. What I ‘saw’ was my commitment to the safety and well-being of children. I had worked in child welfare for eight years, over two of those years on the front line, investigating child abuse.

When I left that position, it was to start my own business with two friends. One of our products was training for parents to reduce the risk of their children going into foster care.

I worked with older adults and people with disabilities. Even as adults within us are the child we once were.

While I did not return to child protective service work, I did return to work for child welfare in a program that supported youth aging out of foster care. In addition I did (and do) emergency after hours response for seniors and people with disabilities.

Protecting those who are not able to protect themselves has become my life’s work which is another way to express one’s passion.

I’m fortunate to have people in my life who are still on the front lines.

Kris Bella a founder of Free Arts Northwest and the Executive Director is committed to bring the healing balm of art therapy to disadvantaged and at-risk youth and communities.

Heather Jeffris, Executive Director of Kinship House, has worked all of her professional life to provide a safe therapeutic place for children.

Once you are on their websites, click around and see the amazing work these two organizations are doing.

Children are our future – trite but true. Each of us can make a difference in the life of a child or a vulnerable adult. Sometimes it is as easy as a friendly ‘hello’ and a warm smile. Sometimes it’s as difficult as calling 911 or the Child Abuse Hotline. And sometimes it’s somewhere in between. Don’t ever forget how important you are in someone else’s life. Don’t ever forget why you are here. Don’t ever forget your purpose in life. You are important to many more people than you will ever know.

© 2012 Judith Ashley

Life's Lessons

I'm turning the big 50 this year and due to many sad things happening in my life I've ended up on my own.Thank goodness some advice my mother gave me when I was a young girl stuck with me. 

My mother gave me lots of great advice when I was younger. The one I have never forgotten is, ‘Always get something behind you.’ She meant, work toward being able to support yourself. You never know what life will throw at you.

She gave me that advice because my father walked out on us when I was twelve years of age. My mother was left to provide financially for myself and my two sisters. Luckily, my mother had gone to University and had a Science degree. She was a teacher before she married and she was able to go back to teaching. If she didn’t have that behind her, I’m not sure what sort of lifestyle we would have had as children.

So I am passionate about ensuring young girls think about their futures. You can’t rely on anyone else to provide for you, nor should you expect it. Things happen in life, marriages fail, people fall ill or die etc. I always tell young girls not only to build a skill-set they can fall back on if they need it, but also to keep the skills current. In addition, even when they marry, they should look out for their own financial security, such as a pension etc. Especially if family trusts are involved. You could be left with nothing.

I write Regency romances and the premise of heroines being forced to marry due to a financial crisis is often used. Ladies of the peerage in the early 1800’s could not work, and therefore to survive often had to marry a man they could not stand. My latest Regency romance TO DARE THE DUKE OF DANGERFIELD  sees my heroine, Caitlin Southall, losing her home/estate because her father gambled it away. How is she to get her house and security back? She has to enter into a risky wager with the handsome and rakish Duke of Dangerfield. Read the book to see how that turns out...

Girls – women have fought long and hard to be able to work in a man’s world. Caitlin would be ecstatic to see the changes in Society and to know we can help ourselves and survive financially on our own when and if we have to.

 So, don’t take our ability to provide for ourselves for granted. And don’t take for granted that you can rely on anyone else either. A marriage is not always secure and you should be proud at contributing. Build a career and take pride in your work and in your ability to support yourself and others. My mother did and I’m forever grateful to her as a role model.

Okay, now I’ll step off my soap box...                                                       

Happy Leap Day!

Since this is Leap Day 2012, I decided to share a scene from my work-in-progress, a Paranormal Romantic Suspense with the working title Blindsight. Be forewarned, the passage is a lot longer than our usual posts. In this scene the hero and heroine each must overcome their fears to take leaps of faith in order to escape with their lives from a drug lord’s wilderness compound. They are strangers to one another. My heroine, Meli, is blind but far from helpless. Freddy is her Guide Dog as well as her only family. My hero, Hector, has never known a blind person but owes Meli his life

Cliff Scene

Meli held tightly to Freddy’s collar and wished she knew exactly what Hector was doing. Would he anchor the rope to a tree? Or to the electric fence Killingsworth had told her about at her orientation? How would Hector circumvent Mendoza’s sophisticated alarm system?

She heard him grunt and then small rocks ricocheted down the cliff like warning shots from a pellet gun. Her heart hiccupped. Please, God, don’t let him fall.

A barely-audible sing-song whisper came from Hector. The soft, sibilant rhythm resonated in her memory, and she found herself mouthing the words of a prayer. Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with you…

She drew in a startled breath. Hector was afraid of heights.

The next thirty seconds or so were punctuated by furtive noises she couldn’t readily identify. Next, she heard dirt and pebbles skitter down the cliff. She held her breath, listening.

After a moment of silence Hector gave a low whistle. Exhaling, she let go of Freddy’s collar and crawled toward the sound. A moment later, a strong hand grabbed her elbow. “Whoa,” Hector said in an urgent whisper. “There’s a cliff, remember?”

She gave a stiff nod, holding her temper. She wasn’t an idiot. By the sound of things, she could tell it was a couple of yards to the drop off. She was in no danger. He released her arm.

Her thoughts turned to her coming descent. She’d have to release the rope and drop the last few feet into the water. The slap, slap of ripples lapping the bank twenty-five feet below caught her breath in her throat. Freddy didn’t have hands to release the rope.

She grabbed a fistful of Hector’s shirt. “How do we get Freddy down?”

He cleared his throat. “You go down first, he’s second, I’m last.” He pried her fingers loose from the cloth.

“But how will you get him down?” she said, thinking he’d misunderstood the question.

“I’ll explain later.”

She stiffened. Was he treating her like a kid again? Or couldn’t he figure out how to get Freddy down the cliff? She struggled to breathe. If she descended first, he could force her to leave Freddy behind.

No way could she let that happen. “Freddy goes down first.”

A warm wet tongue licked the back of her hand.

“Have it your way,” Hector said, his voice flat. He grunted and claws scrabbled the ground. Freddy gave a surprised yip and then a small landslide of dirt and pebbles pinged down the cliff face.

A large splash in the river below quivered her heart. She surged toward the edge of the cliff. “Freddy!”

A strong arm clamped around her shoulders and a big hand covered her mouth. “He’s fine,” Hector said into her ear. “Swims like a champ.”

She sank her teeth into his palm. Swearing under his breath, he jerked his hand away.

“You arrogant ass,” she hissed, shaking with fury. “You could have given him a heart attack. Freddy’s old. You’re lucky I don’t push you in after him!”

“If you’d gone down without arguing, you could have helped him,” Hector said.

She fisted her hands and fought to keep her voice low. “I’m not an idiot and I’m not your little slave. I know a helluva lot more about Freddy than you ever will. You should have taken thirty seconds to explain the situation so we could work together.”

After a moment of silence, Hector said. “We can argue later. Let’s move.”

Meli sucked in a deep breath and then blew it out. He was right. She pressed her lips together and nodded.

She let Hector tie the rope around her waist because doing it herself meant he’d want to redo the knots. Pulling off her dark glasses, she stuffed them into her bra so she wouldn’t lose them.

When they were ready, she backed on her hands and knees to the cliff’s edge, then dropped do her belly.

“I’ll keep the rope taut,” he said. “Find a toehold and lean outward so you can walk down the rock face as I feed you the line.”

Meli bit back a sharp retort. She was a climber from way back. She could do this in her sleep—not that Hector would believe her.

He wrapped the fingers of her right hand around a short end of rope.  “When you’re down as far as you can go, I’ll whistle. Drop your legs and pull hard on this to release the knot. Can you swim?”

She jerked her chin up and down.

“Go downstream. I don’t want to land on you. There’s a fallen log jutting out from the bank about a hundred yards down. The current’ll carry you there.”

She set her jaw, slid back and let her legs drop over the edge.

“Fred’s made it up onto the log,” Hector said softly.

She couldn’t move for a moment while her heart and stomach unknotted. She hadn’t lost Freddy.

Forcing herself to take her time, she descended the cliff face.

When a low whistle sounded above her, she knew she’d reached the end of her rope. She dropped her legs, twisting so she wouldn’t bang face-first into the rock wall. Her shoulder and hip banged against stone with bruising force. Wincing, she filled her lungs as she swung outward and then she released the knot.

The water was so cold it made her skin burn. Although she’d bent her knees to absorb the shock, the impact when she struck bottom forced a burst of air from her lungs. Fighting the urge to inhale, she pushed off the rocky riverbed and shot to the surface.

Sucking in a welcome breath, she fought to keep her head above water while the force of the current spun her in circles like a leaf in a storm drain. After a few dizzying seconds, her upper body slammed into a large obstacle that didn’t give. Her hands scrabbled across a smooth, musty-smelling surface she identified as a wet, weathered log. She grabbed onto a short woody stub to keep the current from pulling her underneath to a watery grave.

Freddy barked once from the direction of the near bank. Hope briefly chased away the cold. Touching bottom, she found purchase on the rocky riverbed. Then she slogged sideways through the current toward her guide. In shin-deep water, she banged into a knee-high rock ledge. She rubbed the bruised spot on her leg with rapidly-freezing fingers and let out a whispered string of curses. Freddy’s tags tinkled and then a warm tongue licked her cheek.

Meli threw her arms around her guide’s soggy neck.  “I’m so sorry, baby. Are you okay?”

He whined.

Worry propelled her out of the icy water onto the warm stone shelf. She sat up and shucked her water-logged backpack. Freddy stood patiently and they both shivered while she checked him over for injuries. Other than being cold and wet, he seemed unscathed. Thank God it was sunny so they’d eventually dry out.

She heard a faint hailstorm of pebbles splash into the water upstream. “It would serve him right if he fell, wouldn’t it, Freddy?”

Her guide’s worried whine reminded her that Hector was afraid of heights. This escape route had to be his worst nightmare. He might have a big ego, but he was courageous and he kept his word. He’d promised to get Freddy down the cliff, and he had. He’d promised to find Freddy, and he had. They owed him.

Like it or not, the three of them were in this together. They were a team.

A man-sized splash told her Hector had dropped into the river. She smiled. Points for not screaming like a little girl, Hector Protector.

© Sarah Raplee, 2012. All rights reserved

RomancingTheGenres.blogspot.com 

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To Name or not Two Name(s)

 George Guthridge

Okay, to the point: I am trying to decide whether to use a pseudonym and, if so, how close it should come to my real name.  And I am asking for opinions.

My dilemma.  The last time I looked, I was male.  I could ask my wife her opinion on the maleness thing, but she’s at work and besides I would have to buy wine. 

The problem is that I have returned to writing fiction after a long hiatus, and I want to write romantic suspense with an anthropological bent. 

At the Emerald City Conference I asked several writers their opinions about a man’s name on a book cover.  Their responses approximated the vampire sign.

The answer seems simple.  Use a woman’s name. Except it isn’t that simple.  Because I was four times a national award finalist in science fiction, fantasy, and creative nonfiction, and won the world award as a horror novelist.  Those were the equivalent of Ritas, not local contests.

Assuming I can sell a romance novel, for sales reasons I want to strip World Award Winner onto the cover.  It sells books.  Plus some people may buy the book because they read something else I wrote and liked it.  Okay, maybe no one liked my books, but I just thought I’d throw that out into the wind.

Cherry Adair, whose work I admire (and whose plots and settings are close to what I am writing) suggested I use my last name but change the first to a woman’s or else use initials.

I have toyed with GG Guthridge, Gigi Guthridge, and, at a friend’s suggestion, GiGi Guthridge.  I like the initials thing or something akin to it, especially since my friend George RR Martin always has insisted his career wouldn’t have taken off without “Railroad” in the middle.  (Maybe talent had a little to do with it; who knows?) 

The problem: Guthridge isn’t romantic.

People by that name are, but that’s not the same.

Backstory One: I used to think the name is German, and (especially given that I spent 12 years writing three books about the Holocaust), I lived with a lot of guilt.  Then my elder daughter – who did not read one, repeat not one, book until she was working on a doctorate – began reading myriad books on genealogy, and found out we are Swiss.  Scotch-English on my mother’s side – I’m a direct descendant of William Brewster, the head of the Mayflower and, more importantly, also directly related to the Mayflower Madam – but on my father’s side I come from people who like to make watches and chocolate rather than wage war.  In other words, we make time and take time.

About a week ago my wife and I flew into Anchorage, the nearest place with a decent restaurant, for a Valentine’s dinner.  She wanted to eat at the restaurant atop the Captain Cook Hotel, because it has an incredible view of the city and the sea, and because I’m well-insured: they bring out the defibrillator when they bring you the bill.

I never drink unless I’m alone or with someone, so after a Bailey’s and coffee, two bloody Mary’s (named by Hemingway in honor of his wife, by the way), and another Bailey’s and coffee, I came up with Georgi, which I realize is a man’s name in Eastern Europe but which also can be a woman’s name. I googled it at the hotel; the first hit was a website with a sexy woman selling negligees. Okay!

Then in the morning my wife called me “Georgie Khaa,” which she uses when she’s being sweet or when I’m about to get saddled with another honeydo project.

For that you need some exposition.

Noi is Thai.  In the Thai language, “khaa” is the polite expression woman use.  Men use “khrap,” often shortened to “kop.”  Those particles are similar to “usted” in Spanish, or, more distantly, to “sir” in English.  Except in Thai they’re used a lot.  I am clueless, even after 17 years of marriage, why they occur in some sentences and not in others, and even Noi can’t tell me.  One of those first-language things.

Backstory Two: As a child my family sometimes called me Georgie.  I endured a couple of years of hazing as “Georgie Porgy” until classmates realized that “kissed the girls and made them cry” was going to elicit the response of  “kissed the girls and they liked it.” 

A few minutes later I said, “How about Georgi Khaa” as a pseudonym?

Noi, who reads romances in two languages (and whose idea it was for me to start writing romances), loved it.  We both agreed that “Khaa” is visually catchy, and a quick check on the Net revealed that no one’s using it for fiction. Plus to Noi and me it means “sweetheart.” 

The downside is the world award thing, but I was thinking that it can be stripped on anyway.  Cashing checks and the other usual worries about pseudonyms aren’t problems with me.  So the biggest downside is that it doesn’t pull in previous readers, assuming any still exist. But I also read an interview in RWA with a woman who uses different names depending on the genre.

So. I have narrowed the choices to –

GiGi Guthridge

Georgi Guthridge

Georgi Khaa

What’s your opinion?

--George.   Or Georgi.  Or GiGi.  Or “Hay U” (a name most husbands have in common).

     

Writing Books for Teens

Because I tend to write on the "sweeter side" of romance,  meaning no on-page sex or strong language, many agents, editors, and other writers have encouraged me to write for the teen or young adult market. 

I resisted for a long time.

Why? Because as a romance author, I love the happily ever after ending that adult romances promise. Conversely, YA novels tend to end only "happily for now," meaning, there are no vows of eternal love or marriage; they typically end with little more than a kiss and/or maybe an 'I love you.'  I remember high school enough to remember how long 'I love you' lasted.

However, about half of my Regency romance novels, as well as my fantasy, Queen in Exile, have heroines who are in their teens. In fact, I'm told my fantasy has a very strong YA appeal even though it was written for the adult market. Which begs the question: what's different about my adult romance novels( that have appeal to teens) from actual "YA" novels?

In my case, the heroes in my books are all older than teens; they're somewhere in their twenties. The other big difference is; in my books, there is always a happily ever after. But I wasn't really sure what else I'd have to change in order to write YA novels. And I continued to resist even considering writing them.

Yet my muse kept sending me book ideas for the young adult market as well as adult. After getting a really fun idea for a teen novel that I couldn't resist, I finally broke down and started seriously considering writing a book for teens. The challenge, then, became figuring out what other differences exist between teen books and adult books.

So, based on observation, here are some of the many trends I found in teen books that are different from adult romances:

1. Love is big, dramatic, new, and full of life-changing emotions and events. Teens also tend to fall in love faster than adults and don't usually have the fears of taking a chance on love that a lot of adult romances have.

2. Friends are more important than family as far as with whom they spend the most time and to whom they turn for help or advice.

3. Many adults are portrayed as tyrants who don't understand teens. Yeah, remember high school? Enough said.

4. Teen lingo is different from adults and so are their speech patterns. They are less comfortable expressing their feelings, and their hormones drive them to more explosive and passionate outbursts.

5. In most cases, sex either doesn't happen or is only implied. There are, of course, notable exceptions, but I've never heard of a YA manuscript being rejected because there isn't any sex in it (which often happens in adult romances, depending on the publisher).

6. The vast majority of teen books seem to be written in first person point of view (I, me, my, mine) and there seldom any switching between his and her points of view. Again, there are some notable exceptions, but this seems to be the trend.

I'm sure there are many more subtle differences, but those appear to be the main differences between adult and teen romances.

What's not different:

1. Contrary to popular belief, the language is not dumbed-down at all. The vocabulary and complexity of the sentence structure used in teen books does not dramatically change from adult. Some popular YA books are very sparse and others are quite lyrical.

2. The stakes are just as high in YA novels as adult novels.

3. The tone is all over the spectrum ranging from laugh-out-loud humor, to dark and tortured.

4. All genres sell. Paranormals and dystopians are hot sellers but so are fun, sassy, quirky romances, as well as historicals and all kinds of cross-genres.

I finally broke down and started writing a YA historical paranormal, but before I could finish it, I had a dream that I knew would make a great dark dystopian YA novel. I resisted that one for months because it was so far outside my normal genre and style, but it continued to haunt me. So, after months of saying 'this isn't my thing,' I called my critique group. They helped me hammer out that dream into a cohesive plot.
As far as research, I did very little, because the time setting is the future--post-apocalyptic Earth after a world war and a series of pandemics. I did, however do some research into the military and a medic's role within a military unit. The location of the book is the Sonoran desert, which is where I live, so that one was easy.

In my effort create a believable feel to my teenaged protagonists, I had to tap into my inner teen. I listened to a lot of rock and roll that I loved when I was in high school. It helped pull out all that teenaged rebellion and anger. I also eavesdropped on my own teens to get a better feel for their speech patterns--not their slang--but the way they express themselves and interact with each other.

The story is written, submitted, and awaiting representation.

The hardest challenge for me has been keeping up with my self-imposed writing schedule. I'm trying to finish my Rogue Hearts Regency Series, start on book 2 for a second Regency series I started, finish my YA paranormal historical, and plot a book 2 for the dystopian. And I have more fantasies in me. Oh, and I want to write a paranormal series.  But that's sorta the story of my life anyway. (No pun intended.)

Have you observed anything else about teen books that are different from their adult counterparts?