Romance at Any Age!

by Courtney Pierce

You could call me a quasi-romance writer, but my books tend to focus on the complications of life experiences of older characters. The romance part swoops in as an end-game reward that must be earned. And boy do my protagonists work hard for it. I love plopping characters into a dung storm of their own creation. These seasoned players come into a relationship with enough baggage to rack up a fortune in luggage fees at the airport.

Romance with more mature characters is fun to write. I can create conflict on top of conflict in emotional layers. All can be going along swimmingly, then BAM! Geological layers of hurt get nicked from a word, a gesture, or a tone of voice, and the dig triggers a reaction. Old wounds of backstory percolate in the background like an App on a smartphone, always running and sucking battery life. 

Creating a backstory of complicated emotions, such as aging, divorce, death, family drama, health issues, and super-bad old habits adds to the sweet and savory richness of a story. It's what makes characters real. Many of mine are rooted in people I've known in my life. Some personalities can't be made up because the truth is just too darned good to ignore. Of course, the details are changed to protect the innocent . . . or not-so-innocent.

Ah . . . and there's that element of surprise, the unexpected circumstance of opportunity that changes the course of the story. A turning point can be a chance meeting that flips the heart, and then makes a character do irrational things—good and bad. In the second book of my latest trilogy about the Dushane sisters, Indigo Lake, the main character marches into an attorney's office ready for a fight about a lawsuit. Instead, she's knocked to her knees at how attracted she is to this man. And the feeling's mutual, but not without a cat-and-mouse game of wits between them. 

One other technique I use is to infuse a serious situation with humor. My character's response to a dire circumstance can be to say or do something ridiculous to ease the tension. For instance, when my character can't remove her old wedding ring after getting engaged, she ends up in the emergency room to have it cut off, but not before giving a dramatic lecture to the young intern about love, spontaneity, and romance. She spews out everything she, herself, has fantasized about having in a relationship. All of her wishes and dreams are told to a stranger who holds a saw and smells like antiseptic. Oh , . . and she does all this while donating her blood to save her fiance in surgery. The moment the ring falls away and clangs to the metal tray, the whole book takes a major turn. The antagonist of an old wedding band is conquered and my character goes into hero mode.

In my new book in progress, Big Sky Talk, it takes a bit of magical realism to nudge my characters—some oomph—toward a goal of happiness. Older players need spark. Set in Montana, a powerful combination of resources is needed to break through to the chewy centers of the tough-as-nails sheriff and a lonely, clairvoyant retiree . . . including some help from a gun and a grizzly bear. This will be a different kind of romance story to write, but all my same antics will be in play. The fun part will be to incorporate the wisdom of Montana's Native American folklore that will build a frame of authenticity toward a healthy relationship.

As in real life, older characters have a different sense of urgency in matters of the romance. Younger ones can turn their backs on a failed relationship and move on, but time is running out for tired hearts. Falling in love is like a gasp of fresh air to refuel our fantasies of youth, and we take bigger chances to make a relationship work. We fall deeper and harder because not doing so is riskier. Who the heck wants to die alone wrapped in baggage, with no arms of a lover to make it all okay? I could never let that happen to my characters. Unacceptable.

The drama in life gives meaning to a relationship, especially in fiction. It takes two perspectives to work it out and conquer those demons. Then they turn out the lights to hide those bodies and crawl inside each other for emotional solace—and, yes, that's their beautiful reward. 

Courtney Pierce is a fiction writer splitting her time between Kalispell, Montana and Milwaukie, Oregon, with her husband. stepdaughter, and their brainiac cat, Princeton. Courtney writes for the baby boomer audience. By day, she is an executive in the entertainment industry and uses her time in a theater seat to create stories that are filled with heart, humor and mystery. She has studied craft and storytelling at the Attic Institute and has completed the Hawthorne Fellows Program for writing and publishing. Active in the writing community, Courtney is a board member of the Northwest Independent Writers Association and on the Advisory Council of the Independent Publishing Resource Center. She is a member of Willamette Writers, Pacific Northwest Writers Association, and She Writes. The Executrix received the Library Journal Self-E recommendation seal.

Audiobook now Available!

Check out all of Courtney's books at: 

courtney-pierce.com and

windtreepress.com 

Print and E-books are available through most major online retailers, including Amazon.com.

Available Now!
Book 3 of the
Dushane Sisters
Trilogy

The Dushane Sisters Trilogy concludes with Indigo Legacy, available now. There's love in the air for Olivia and Woody, but will family intrigue get in the way? Ride along for the wild trip that starts in a New York auction house and peaks in a mansion on Boston's Beacon Hill. 

The Dushane sisters finally get to the truth about their mother.

New York Times best-selling author Karen Karbo says, "Courtney Pierce spins a madcap tale of family grudges, sisterly love, unexpected romance, mysterious mobsters and dog love. Reading Indigo Lake is like drinking champagne with a chaser of Mountain Dew. Pure Delight."

My Scary Day at School

by Courtney Pierce

My scariest school day―Registration. As a first-time Mom, the thought filled me with trepidation to launch my eleven-year-old stepdaughter on the right path at her new middle school. Even at the ripe age of fifty-eight, I was nervous, nearly as much as she was. We kind-a hung on to each other. The stack of paper handed to my husband and I was more than a little intimidating.

“Relax, Honey,” my husband of three months said. “You’ll be fine.”

I dug for a pen in my purse, not remembering my own parents ever registering me for school. I had

just shown up to an assigned home room, thrown to the wolves after an arduous, long walk up the hill. I didn’t qualify for the distance that warranted a bus ride, even in heavy snow.

An image of my home room teacher, Mrs. Whitman, flashed through my mind. Her orthopedic shoes–one four inches higher than the other–were a constant source of entertainment. The woman’s scowl contradicted the peppy flowered print on her cotton dress. At the time, I remembered her resembling the upholstery on faded sun room furniture, although the ruler she’d smacked in her hand sided with the scowl. I would have to scheme to carry out my latest distraction: to glob Elmer’s glue on my hand, let it dry, and peel it off.

I shook myself back into the moment. My husband had been watching me for signs of flight.

“You okay?” he said.

I doodled swirls of a daisy on one of the registration papers. “Yeah . . .”  I raised my gaze to the wall. “You and I never had posters about bullying, cell phones, and tattling.”

He smiled. “Golden Rule covered it, don’t you think?”

“Pretty much.”

Together, we flipped through the pages. After filling out all the boxes about languages spoken in the home, our ethnicity, if we had court-ordered custody status, whether we lived on a reservation, or were migrant workers,  I shook my head. We had all kinds of kids at my school back in the sixties–black, white, handicapped, rich, poor–it didn’t matter. We were just kids. Those less fortunate, though, were defended, embraced, and fiercely protected by the kids who could provide a leg up. The right thing to do, and without signing a form about it. What the heck was all this legalese in front of me?

I felt old. So old, in fact, that I waited to see if the registrar would refer to me as my stepdaughter’s grandmother. These days, grandparents raising their kid’s kids is quite common. When my stepdaughter comes into procreation status, I think I’ll glue her knees together. But I digress.

And what’s up with the $40 backpack–on sale, mind you? Holy Shamoly! It had to have a compartment for a laptop, cell phone, charging cords, and water bottles, none of which I had in the day. Phone calls were for emergencies only. I hid from my stay-at-home Mom from 9:00 a.m. to 3:30 p.m. and wandered my way back to the house after school, dreaming and pretending to be all kinds of things. I’d stop to inspect a bug scooting over the surface of a puddle, pet the cats that were always hanging about outside, and coax the dogs to chase me. They were never on a leash. Gotta love small town livin’ when you’re a kid.

After scratching out a fat check for the laundry list of fees and an online lunch account, the three of us moved through the four stations of the school cross: PE, bus routes, policy handbook, and student photo I.D. I did look askance at the PE outfit, though. The shorts looked more like M.C. Hammer pants, with a soundtrack of Yo Yo, throw the ball here. 

On to the real education. When I perused the subjects of focus for sixth grade, I was pleased to see an emphasis on books and reading skills. My husband, however, zeroed-in on what was missing.

“Where’s History?” he said. “That’s one of the most important subjects.”

I tapped the paper. “I think History’s been taken down for maintenance.” I caught his eye and smirked. “It’s undergoing a rewrite and an upgrade.”

“She’s gonna have extra homework then, because I'm giving her History lessons at night.”

“That ought to go over like a lead balloon, but give it a go.”

After two hours, the trio of us trekked back to the car, exhausted and hungry. I didn’t feel like

cooking, and neither did my husband, so we put it to a democratic vote.

“Can we go to Taco Bell?” my stepdaughter said.

“Not a chance,” I said. “That food is crap.”

My husband laughed. “Let's talk about the real meaning of Democracy.”

I set my hand on my stepdaughter's head. “Here endith the lesson: he who pays for the meal gets to decide."

She thought for a moment. “Can I have a credit against my allowance? I'll pay for dinner.”

“Sorry, your FICO score doesn't allow us to extend credit.”

Funny, now that I think of it. I sound just like my mother.

Courtney Pierce is a fiction writer living in Milwaukie, Oregon, with her new family. She writes for baby boomers. By day, Courtney is an executive in the entertainment industry and uses her time in a theater seat to create stories that are filled with heart, humor and mystery. She has studied craft and storytelling at the Attic Institute and has completed the Hawthorne Fellows Program for writing and publishing. Active in the writing community, she is a board member of the Northwest Independent Writers Association and on the Advisory Council of the Independent Publishing Resource Center. She is a member of Willamette Writers Pacific Northwest Writers Association, and She Writes. The Executrix received the Library Journal Self-E recommendation seal. 

Check out all of Courtney's books at:

courtney-pierce.com and windtreepress.com. Both print and E-books are available through most major online retailers, including Amazon.com

The Dushane Sisters are back in Indigo Lake. More laughs, more tears...and more trouble. Protecting Mom's reputation might get the sisters killed―or give one of them the story she's been dying to live.

New York Times best-selling author Karen Karbo says, "Courtney Pierce spins a madcap tale of family grudges, sisterly love, unexpected romance, mysterious mobsters and dog love. Reading Indigo Lake is like drinking champagne with a chaser of Mountain Dew. Pure Delight."

Colorful characters come alive in Courtney's trilogy about the Dushane sisters. Beginning with The Executrix, three middle-age sisters find a manuscript for a murder mystery in their mother's safe after her death. Mom’s book gives them a whole new view of their mother and their future. Is it fiction . . . or truth? 

Get out the popcorn as the Dushane Sisters Trilogy comes to a scrumptious conclusion with Indigo Legacy. Due out in summer, 2017.

A Mountain Wedding

By Courtney Pierce

This week I will celebrate a lot of things in my life and, since we’re so close to the Fourth of July, one of them will be my freedom as an American independent writer. I’m honored to be in like company, many of whom are contributors to Romancing the Genres and colleagues at Windtree Press. Like most of us, my genre-ista niche is hardly narrow. I write humorous and heartfelt women’s fiction for baby boomers, we folk who’ve found the shut-off valve on our hot flashes and still act like children when we’re around our siblings. We are the largest group of regressing “seniors” in history, but I believe I’m blazing my own dusty trail with a posse of 73 Million people.

Speaking of riding the trail, I will fall from the crowded grid for the next two weeks to marry an amazing man—a deep thinker, a devotee of the mountains with hands that can do anything, especially with wood, and who sports a sense of humor that requires my keeping certain muscles toned. Men like him are a gift to gals like me: he can do plumbing and electrical and owns every kind of tool imaginable. By the publishing of this article, I will have a garage full of specialty implements, antlers over a mid-century fireplace, and hiking boots parked next to my blue suede pumps.

After a small mountain wedding, my new husband and I will spend our honeymoon backpacking through the hills and meadows of Mount Rainier in Washington state. No

bubblegum bride here. I’m willing to log some serious FitBit steps for this man. The anticipation that accompanies this amazing experience reminds me of Western Romance, like those novels of Paty Jager. Morning mist clings to the petals of perfumed wildflowers. Throaty calls of elusive mountain birds with a keen eye on breakfast. The snap and crackle of twigs in a smoky campfire that invites conversation of dreams and wishes. And, of course, the explosive moment when the man shows his lover how to shoot a rifle to protect her life. Yes, I will learn.

Paty’s books speak to falling in love in the rural wilderness and conquering emotional ghosts. Her Spirit series connects to me with themes of duty, trust, and honor against the pull of love, lust, and risk. In her Letters of Fate series, Paty leans into the raw messages of finding love again after heartbreak and starting over to become whole. I connect to these stories because they follow my own heart’s course. Cranking up one’s steam is cathartic in life’s third act, as if I’ve been awarded a last-chance bonus round to be happy. With the spin of the wheel, all my pistons fire as I take aim for high stakes, just like Paty’s Mayan archaeology series: burning romance, historical intrigue, and the curiosity to unthread a puzzle.

Since meeting my husband (also a writer, by the way), I look forward to traversing nature’s obstacles to earn the sweet reward of a rarely seen view. A new-found respect blooms as I absorb the many parallels of alpine hiking to my own struggles over the years. One must earn these moments. If they were easy, then the trails least traveled would be crowded.

When we planned our honeymoon, he texted me, “What will you say when your heels are bleeding with blisters, deer flies won’t leave you alone, and you’re so tired you can’t take another step?”

“Kiss my feet,” I wrote back. “Then let’s keep goin’.”

I held my breath as the screen quieted for a moment. When my phone finally chimed with a response, he said, “My soulmate.”

Books follow life . . . or is it the other way around? I’m not quite sure. No matter where I am, no matter what I face, there’s probably an author who has written about it. If not, then Paty or I will.

Don't forget to check out all of Paty Jager's books at www.patyjager.net

Photo: Loma Smith

Courtney Pierce is a fiction writer living in Milwaukie, Oregon, with her new family. She writes for baby boomers. By day, Courtney is an executive in the entertainment industry and uses her time in a theater seat to create stories that are filled with heart, humor and mystery. She has studied craft and storytelling at the Attic Institute and has completed the Hawthorne Fellows Program for writing and publishing. Active in the writing community, she is a board member of the Northwest Independent Writers Association and on the Advisory Council of the Independent Publishing Resource Center. She is a member of Willamette Writers, Pacific Northwest Writers Association, and She Writes. The Executrix received the Library Journal Self-E recommendation seal.

Information about Courtney's books can be found at:

courtney-pierce.com and windtreepress.com. Both print and E-books are available through most major online retailers, including Amazon.com.

The Dushane Sisters are back in Indigo Lake. More laughs, more tears...and more

trouble. Protecting Mom's reputation might get the sisters killed―or give one of them the story she's been dying to live.

New York Times best-selling author Karen Karbo says, "Courtney Pierce spins a madcap tale of family grudges, sisterly love, unexpected romance, mysterious mobsters and dog love. Reading Indigo Lake is like drinking champagne with a chaser of Mountain Dew. Pure Delight."

Colorful characters come alive in Courtney's trilogy about the Dushane sisters. Beginning with The Executrix, three middle-age sisters find a manuscript for a murder mystery in their mother's safe after her death. Mom’s book gives them a whole new view of their mother and their future. Is it fiction . . . or truth? 

Get out the popcorn as the Dushane Sisters Trilogy comes to a scrumptious conclusion with Indigo Legacy. Due out in fall of 2017.