My Hero is Batman by Dora Bramden

Dora         ‘If you could be any superhero who would it be?’

Sam          ‘I’m Batman Baby.’ Said without a moment's hesitation.

Dora         Laughs. ‘Why Batman?’

Sam          ‘Because I always wanted to be Batman.’

He didn’t explain further but It made perfect sense to me. Heroes, Super or everyday ones, often hide their strengths behind a normal façade. Unassuming Sam quietly takes on the role of superhero wherever there’s a need.

Batman swoops in to save the day with amazing physical and mental strength. In a similar way Sam, my everyday superhero, is brave, selfless and considerate of the people around him. He says I can do that when I don’t have the strength to do things for myself. He always asks questions about what is wrong and tries to find a way to fix the problem.

When I met Sam, I’d recently come home from an extended stay in hospital. I had a long road to recovery and he was there every step of the way. Many men wouldn't have given me a chance, given my poor health, but not Sam. He said we are all broken in some way and have to be understanding.

In those early days, I struggled with indecision because my brain wasn’t working very well, so when he’d ask what would I like to do on our date, I couldn’t answer him. He wasn’t fazed, ‘That’s okay, I can make that decision for us.’ Then he’d take me somewhere lovely. When I was overwhelmed by the menu he'd say, ‘I think you might like the chicken’ or ‘I think you’d like the pasta,’ and it would be what I wanted. A true superpower if you ask me.

When I was diagnosed with Coeliac disease he was by my side. I put my head in my hands, devastated that I would never be able to enjoy the food I love. He said, ‘No it’s okay, we can do this’. He took me straight to the supermarket where we found the GF section and he purchased chocolate biscuits for me to enjoy. It was consoling to know there were foods I could still enjoy eating.

As I gradually got better, and was able to make my own choices again, Sam valued my opinion. He never stopped asking what I’d want to do when we go out and is still happy to oblige me. We recently had breakfast at a place, called Two Beans and a Farm,  that is able to do a delicious GF meal.

Now married, we are firm supporters of each other. I help him a lot with his work, as a kind of secretary. Sam, supports my writing career, proofreading from time to time and the sweet man always tells me how talented I am. He’s blatantly biased, another superpower that I love about him.

I can’t fault Sam for wishing he had Bruce Wayne’s resources, a mansion with a resident butler, bat-cave and that fabulous car. All that makes it easier for Batman to devote his time to performing superhero activities because he doesn’t have to work at making a living. Sam, is better than Batman. He works hard while still stepping up and a superhero for me.

Dora Bramden writes heart-melting, passionate romance.

The Scottish Billionaire’s Secret Lover

The Italian Billionaire’s Secret Baby

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A funny thing happened on the way to Jane Austen’s House. by Dora Bramden

In November  2006 I was on a solo holiday in England. Half a world away from where I live in Australia, I was realizing my long-held dream of visiting the magical world of Jane Austen.

In heavy rain, I left London and drove along the M3 in my little black Fiat that I’d only just hired that morning. Cars whooshed past as I huddled inside my buzz box. The windscreen wipers worked furiously but failed to keep up with the deluge.  I thought I saw a signpost saying Slough, a village I thought I needed to pass through on the way to Jane Austen’s house. 

I made the decision to get off and assumed if I was wrong I would simply get back on the freeway and keep going. So I took the next exit ramp but it seemed rather narrow once I was on it. However, I was committed and had to keep going. Unfortunately for me, the off-ramp turned into a laneway which wasn’t the main road I was expecting. It was a one-way exit from the freeway. So I had no option but to keep driving while worriedly looking for more signs.

‘Oh boy. Where the heck was I?’ Except I don’t think I used the word ‘heck’

I drove for a few miles through green pastures when I started to have a meltdown. Where was I and how was I ever going to get back to the freeway? What if I didn't find my hotel that was already booked.  I pulled over and let the panic take me. I balled for a while and when I stopped I realized that crying wasn’t going to solve the problem of being in the middle of nowhere.

I wasn’t going to get rescued because it was a very quiet lane. I started to drive again and hoped that eventually, I’d find a village or even a house where I could ask directions.

I drove on for what seemed like a long time, but I think I’m an unreliable witness in my panicked state. A T intersection brought me to a halt and a small cluster of houses and a Pub relieved a little of the panic. But there was absolutely no signage to enlighten me where I was.

I parked in the pub car park and now noticed that at least the rain had eased to something between light rain and drizzle.

My hired Fiat

I ran around to the front door and went in. It was a busy Saturday lunch crowd but I was the only woman in the room and everyone stopped to look at me. So with the single intent of finding out where I was, I marched to the bar and said, ‘I'm a lost Australian. Am I near slough?’

‘No. I don’t even know where that is,’ he says. Then without warning, he yells, ‘DOES ANYONE KNOW THE WAY TO SLOUGH.’

I shrank inside. I'd created a spectacle of myself which I'd been brought up to avoid at all costs. I also didn't feel very safe. Instead of feeling more in charge of my situation I felt things were spinning way out of control.

‘I DO,’ said a well dressed middle aged man, sitting at the table with three other men dressed in laborer work clothes. I took in the beers they were drinking, it looked like the boss was buying a round after a mornings work. I decided to take the chance that they would help. So I paid for my coke and scurried over to them as the buzz of conversation started up again.

The well-dressed man asked where I needed to go and I told him, Jane Austen's House but I wanted to check in for the night at Fleet. He said I didn't need to go through Slough but to get off at the Fleet turnoff.  He explained that I’d got off the M3 too soon, it was easiest if I just waited until they finished their drinks and I could follow him back to the freeway. He was having lunch at his daughter's house and didn’t need to go on the freeway but he could go that way to show me.

I sipped my coke as he chatted to me kindly asking where I was from, and when he found out I was an Aussie he told me about every friend and relative of his that lived in Australia too. 

He led me back to the freeway in his silver Mercedes Benz. When the Fleet exit came up he put his left indicator on. I went off and he stayed on the motorway. I found my hotel, checked in and stayed put. I went to see Jane Austen's house the next day when I was calmer and could enjoy it properly.

Does this story familiar, like something you’ve read before? It’s the real-life event that created the inspiration for 'The Scottish Billionaires Secret Lover'. I've included the first chapter excerpt containing a scene very similar to this in past posts. Of course, Natalie has a much bigger adventure than I did but mine was plenty big enough for real life.

To this day I still have no idea where that pub was. I'm kicking myself for being so panicked I didn't ask, but I’ll always remember how, despite all the anxiety, I had been able to carry on. It was such a profound moment in my life that it inspired a book about a woman who’d lost everything and had to start again, relying on her inner strength.

2006 in England

Dora Bramden

Heart-Melting, Passionate Romance.

Dora posts weekly on her romantic lifestyle blog on her website: www.dorabramden.com/blog

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I GOOGLED MY NAME THE OTHER DAY . . . by Michelle Somers

I googled my name the other day. One of those, ‘I wonder if anyone’s mentioned me lately’ moments. You know, checking if anyone’s written any nice reviews or anything nice about my books or my writing that I’d previously missed.

I found a mention, but not one I was expecting – a reader’s angry post about my newly (back then) published short story, Love Through Time.

At first I was indignant – that knee-jerk reaction that comes from anyone daring to criticize my work. But when I took a moment to calm and then read her post again, I hung my head in shame. She had every right to be angry.

As authors, we have a responsibility to our readers. We write a certain style, a certain genre, and as we write, we need to bear in mind the expectations of our audience.

For example, if a reader picks up a crime novel, they expect a crime. Not only that, they expect that particular crime to be solved, or at least some sort of satisfactory conclusion to the crime, by the end of the story. For romance, the reader expects a romance, and with it comes that sigh, that satisfaction, that long-awaited happy ever after.

All that said, there is one more responsibility we as authors must shoulder. A responsibility to our story. We need to be true to our characters, our plot, the world we’ve created. We need to follow our instincts and write what’s right for our narrative.

But what if one responsibility counteracts the other?

I met with this dilemma just recently. One which lead to this ‘mention’ on social media which gave me a well-deserved wake-up call.

My writers group, Melbourne Romance Writers Guild (MRWG), decided to release a second anthology following on the tails of success of our first silver anniversary edition last year. I was excited. I’d surprised myself last year with my ability to write outside my comfort zone and write something short, and this gave me a repeat opportunity. I’d be able to sink my teeth into something different. Shorter definitely, but more, I could transcend genres and dip into something I’d never tried before – time travel. After all, my next series will have elements of this, so why not see if I can in fact write it before I dive in?

So, with a deep breath I sat down and gave it a go.

As I began to write, I began to see a story unfold, unlike any story I’ve ever written before. This was darker. Doomier.

No happy ending.

Oh, no.

I wrote one anyway. After all, I write romance, right? How could I produce a story that doesn’t end happy? I love romance. It’s my all-time, go-to read. In fact, even when I read other genres – crime, suspense, thrillers – my reading experience is all-the-more richer when romance enters the mix.

So why did I write something that didn’t end well? I can’t answer that question, any more than I can answer the question of where the story came from in the first place.

I ignored my instincts and wrote on. I rewrote that ending – tied up all the loose threads, made a happy ending I as a reader would expect if I picked up the story understanding it was romance.

It didn’t work. Every critique I had on the story said something didn’t fit. It was too forced. Too fake. My story wasn’t romance, so why had a written it so?

So here came my dilemma – what to do?

My story had romantic elements, it just wasn’t romance.

No happy ending.

At this point, I made a decision that I didn’t fully think through. I decided to go ahead and include my story – my non-happy-ending story – in the anthology. From that decision I made a trail of mistakes and I let my readers down.

Mistake one: I considered my story, but I didn’t consider my readers.

Big mistake. Let’s go back to one of the central responsibilities that we as authors carry – a responsibility to be true to our readers. I’m a romance author, therefore by definition, my stories should be true romance – they should contain a happy ever after.

Love Through Time doesn’t do this. Whilst it contains elements of romance, a hero that is very hero-worthy and a love that does continue through time, there is no happy ending. No satisfying sigh-worthy joy or bliss. Just sadness and a knowledge that nothing – least of all time – will ever change this.

It’s not a romance, should never have been labelled as such. And I’ve let readers down by not making this crystal clear from the onset.

Mistake two: I didn’t correctly identify the genre of my story.

I’m a romantic suspense author, right? So, I labelled my story as romantic suspense. Wrong. I should have stated it was suspense with romantic elements. I should have warned readers that although they were picking up a romance anthology, the first story in that anthology wasn’t romance. Through my decision to include my story, not only did I let down readers, I let down my writing group.

Because, let’s face it, if the first story isn’t romance, what stalwart romance reader will want to read on?

Mistake three: I didn’t give the readers an option.

There are several ways I could have done this. I could have made it clear there would be no happy ending and readers could have skipped my story if that was a problem for them. Or I could have provided the alternate ending for those so inclined – a kind of ‘choose your ending’ style story. Or I could have published my happy ever after ending, regardless of my thoughts that it didn’t fit, and self-published the original story at a later date under the correct – romantic element – genre.

In my defense I have little to say. I’m glad I came upon the mention of my name, as much as the post initially upset and disturbed me. It was an awakening I needed, and one I appreciate from the reader who wrote it.

I’m sorry I didn’t do right by my readers in Love Through Time. I’m sorry I didn’t give you the happy ever after you – rightfully – expected.

I’m human. As a consequence, I make mistakes. And I consider this a big one – one I intend never to make again.

I’m sure as an emerging author I’ll make other mistakes. I can’t promise I won’t. That’s all part of being human, and entering a world where everything is a huge learning curve. What I can promise is to listen to readers and learn from those mistakes. To grow from them and do better. And to own up and say sorry when I’ve done my readers wrong.

Taste of Romance is a celebration of all things romance. It was created to promote and support aspiring and emerging in the genre, and to provide my writing group with knowledge and insight into the complex world of publishing.

And as an author, it’s taught me one very valuable lesson, one I vow never to forget. When I write, when I publish, when I promote, I will always consider you, my readers.

As always, have a fabulous month, and I look forward to seeing you all again in the new year. Wow, where has the year gone!

What hard lessons have you learned lately? How did they come about? What changes have you made in light of these lessons? I’d love to know.

Michelle Somers is a bookworm from way back. An ex-Kiwi who now calls Australia home, she's a professional killer and matchmaker, a storyteller and a romantic. Words are her power and her passion. Her heroes and heroines always get their happy ever after, but she'll put them through one hell of a journey to get there.

Michelle lives in Melbourne, Australia, with her real life hero and three little heroes in the making. And Emmie, a furry black feline who thinks she’s a dog. Her debut novel, Lethal in Love won the Romance Writers of Australia's 2016 Romantic Book of the Year (RuBY) and the 2013 Valerie Parv Award. The second in her Melbourne Murder series, Murder Most Unusual was released in February 2017.

You can find out all about Michelle, her adventures and her books at www.michelle-somers.com

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