MARGARET TANNER LOVES WRITING
I write because I love it. I think I must have been born with a pen in my hand. From as far back as I can remember I have always written something. From pitiful sad little poems I graduated to short stories. Finally, I found my true love, writing historical romance novels.
My road to publication was not easy, the path was paved with rejection slips, the good the bad and the downright ugly. I had so many near misses, one editor loving my work and nearly giving me a contract, then she moved on and her replacement wasn’t interested. I had an Agent who died on me just as she was getting ready to present my novel to a large publishing house. Once I won a writing competition, the first prize being publication, but the publisher went out of business. I then turned to e-publishing and had two books published before that publisher went out of business.
But I persevered. I never gave up and that is the key. No matter how battered and bruised you get (figuratively speaking, of course), never give up on your dream.
I now have three books published with Whiskey Creek Press and seven books published with The Wild Rose Press.
My 10th book, Reluctant Father, has recently been released by The Wild Rose Press.
So, the moral of the story is – NEVER GIVE UP ON YOUR DREAM
BLURB: RELUCTANT FATHER
Jordan Stamford is allergic to babies. At the height of the Vietnam war this jet-setting playboy, whose motto is ‘money can buy anything,’ arrives in Sarah Watson’s seaside home to redevelop a disused factory complex. Sarah is the only child of an elderly minister of religion and adores her bay side home. She yearns for a loving husband and babies. Will Jordan’s shameful family history and Sarah’s desperate longing for a child, be an insurmountable barrier for them to overcome?
Lewis Inlet Annual School Bazaar.
The loud crying of a baby erupted in the surrounding crowd, and Jordan Stamford baulked just inside the school gates. Instinctively his hands moved to cover his ears and block the noise, but he was able to stop them at the last second. People surged around him, cutting off retreat, and his stomach muscles clenched, his pulse rate escalated—he was trapped.
The wailing grew worse, reverberating inside his head until his brain felt ready to explode. Teeth gritted, he pushed his way through the crowd. He could get away. It wasn’t like when he was sixteen and trapped on a train with some screaming baby. By the time the train pulled into the station and he could get off, he had been on the verge of hyperventilating.
Taking several shuddering breaths, he fought to get himself under control. This crying baby had resurrected the phobia he’d thought buried years ago. What kind of sniveling coward would go to pieces at the sound of a screaming child? Why should it still bother him so much after all this time? For years he had religiously avoided going anywhere near children. For God’s sake, what had made him drop his guard and come to a school bazaar, of all places?
He didn’t mind making regular donations to charities that looked after neglected children, as long as he didn’t have to present the checks in person. He feared having kids. With his family history, he was genetically predisposed to reject his offspring. No way would he risk bringing a child into the world to suffer the same fate as he had.
“Look at this horrible thing, Lisa. You’ll have to pay someone to take it away.” Sarah Watson squatted on the ground and shoved the moth-eaten deer’s head under the trestle table.
“You wouldn’t get me touching it,” Lisa said. “Have you met Jordan Stamford yet?”
“No, and I don’t want to, he’s going to wreck Lewis Inlet.”
“But he’s gorgeous.”
“I couldn’t care less what he looks like. Ouch!” Sarah banged her head on the table as she went to get up. A pair of expensive shoes and the hem of tailored sports pants came into her line of vision. “Coming here with his big city ideas and flashy car.” She climbed to her feet. “Lording it up at the big house. Who does he think he is, anyway?” She tossed her head, and her jet-black curls danced.
“And you are?” The owner of the expensive shoes savaged her with a contemptuous sweep of his ebony eyes.
“Hi, Mr. Stamford.” Lisa recovered herself first.
Angry red stained his tanned cheeks as his nostrils flared. “Don’t let me interrupt your character assassination.”
Sarah’s cheeks burned, and not just because of her uncharacteristic rudeness. This man was dynamite. She tried to bluster her way out of this embarrassing situation. “I’m Sarah Watson. Interested in snapping up a bargain, Mr. Stamford?”
“No, thank you.” He stalked off.
“He heard you,” Lisa croaked.
“I know. I must have sounded like some crazed shrew, but he is going to destroy our way of life. He’s already started to bulldoze the old flour mill complex. It’s been empty for so long we’ll probably have a rat plague.”