Romancing The Serial Killer

by Jerrie Alexander

I'm a native Texan. My husband and I live outside of Fort Worth, where my brother loves to tell people I'm so far out in the country we get Saturday Night Live on Wednesday morning. He's always been the family comedian. I'm the one who digs into the psychology of a killer's mind, trying to balance his evil with romance.

I've been told I'm at my best when I'm in the killer's point of view. If that's true, I believe it's because I've researched properly. It's certainly when I have the most fun! To construct a believable character, I metaphorically put on his or her hat and walk in their shoes. Creeps me out sometimes and has given me a nightmare or two, but realism and motivation are important to the story. And me.

No doubt, if the police ever took a peek at my hard drive, I'd be hauled in for questioning. Because of today's technology, information and insight into the killer's mind is there for the taking. I've downloaded files from FBI profilers, medical reports, bought books from Amazon and studied the different patterns of these troubled minds. As I read, and maybe because they were the hardest to understand, I was drawn to the analyst's description of the sociopath. Their lack of conscience and inability to care or feel compassion for the victim's pain fit my killer's motivation perfectly.

Maybe it was naive to write to the FBI with a list of questions. Imagine my surprise the day my phone rang, and the caller identified himself as a Special Agent. He answered all my questions, gave me his cell number and of all thing...he thanked me. Assured me, the FBI appreciates being written about, and they love it when the author tells the real story of the Agency. Ultimately, I used his information in another story, but his response gave me the courage to park next to a Texas Sheriff's car and strike up a conversation with him. Once he decided I wasn't completely crazy, he was very helpful.

If you're looking for resources here are my favorites.

The Yahoo group CrimeSceneWriter. Here you'll find FBI agents, police officers, EMTs, firefighters, private investigators, forensic specialists, and more, all willing to answer questions.

D.P. Lyle, MD. His blog, www.writersforensicblog.wordpress.com is like going to the library.

Lee Lofland. His blog, The Graveyard Shift, www.leelofland.com/wordpress gives insight and examples of his past police experiences.

My ace-in-the-hole is a retired Navy SEAL who answers all my questions about things that go boom. He's a real life hero, who still doesn't know he is one.

When The Green Eyed Doll is released, (I don't have a date yet) by The Wild Rose Press - in their Crimson Rose line, my readers will make the final analysis. Did I bring my killer to life? Was he sinister and believable? If so, my research paid off.

Many thanks to Anna Kathryn for hosting me today!

Jerrie Alexander
www.jerriealexander.com

Guest blogging today

Join me at Vintage Vonnie as I blog about Plotting....a subject I don't know a lot about, but instead turn to the experts for advice.

Blogging at Seduced by History

Join me today at Seduced by History, where I'm blogging on Artemisia Gentileschi, a medieval Italian painting and the first woman admitted to the Accademia dell’Arte del Disegno in Florence.  Leave a comment and you could win a great biographical book on dozens of women throughout history, LADIES FIRST by Lynn Santa Lucia.

Guest Author -Rita Hestand

The Fun Behind Writing the Historical Western Romance

When I wrote Jodi's Journey, I had already bought two research books that I knew would help me along the way. Both were key books to research for my subjects in the novel. So what, you might ask. All historical writers research and buy books. Big deal. Well, yes, I thought it was. The first book I bought was a couple of years ago, called Contraception and Abortion in 19thCentury America. Wow! Yeah, what a topic huh? No one thinks about there being abortions way back, but there were and they were mostly discreet little facts. I ordered this book from a company that specializes in hard to find books. So needless to say it isn't a widely read book these days. But it sure had some interesting facts.

It was common in the 1800's for a woman to have anywhere from 12-17 children in her lifetime. Multiply that times how many months she had to carry the child and you have a lot of years for a woman to be pregnant. Pregnancies were also a large contributor to their early deaths. Women were lucky to live into their forties and fifites back then, because not only did they remain pregnant most of their married life, but they helped in the fields, cooked the meals, did the wash and took care of all the other children they had. So it is not astonishing to think that women had it hard back then and the only 100% way a woman could have sex and be assured of not having children is if the man used "withdrawal". But as you can imagine this was not popular with most husbands. And husbands could be quite demanding back then of their wives. Did you know that a woman could be sent to the insane Asylum for refusing her husband too often. Oh yes, it happened. Nevertheless most women looked on having to seek some way out of having so many children as a scandal and sin and blamed the doctors for giving them advice they ask for. This book covered most of the writers, lecturers and doctors that sometimes openly and other times not so openly spoke or wrote on the subject. It is a must have book if this topic comes up in your book. For it gives actual case histories of some women.


Another book I bought later, and read like crazy for three solid months was The Trail Drivers of Texas. Written by the acutal men who took part in trail drivers on the Texas trails. I bought this book in San Anotonio,at the Alamo store and it was packed full of information about the cowboy, the way they lived, thought, and the acutal problems they had on the trails. It was fascinating and informative. So many accounts of drovers and cattlemen that it was a fact book from beginning to end. This book allowed me to see the trail and to write the book, Jodi's Journey now coming out in March at Whimsical Publications.


Then after thoroughly reading all this, I went on line and discovered things like a new invention with coffee and talk about interesting. But I'm not gonna tell you all about it, you'll have to read Jodi's Journey to learn this one. This was taken off line on a research site, and it was absolutely thrilling to find it.


There's also a book called The Writer's Guide to Everyday Life in the 1800's, which gives many different subjects to research, from what they wore, how they talked, what their jobs consisted of, how they traveled, what was carried in wagons, and on horseback by the cowboys.


With every historical writer, there is new and different ways to research but it is what you learn along the way that makes all of it not only entertaining but educational too.


So the next time you read a historical western romance, perhaps you will understand that the writer doesn't sit there and dream all this up, they have to delve deep into the history itself to write it correctly. It is fun, interesting and you sure learn a lot. That's why I write it!


Visit Rita at:
http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/Redameter
http://ritahestand.com
http://www.twitter.com/ritahestand

Guest Blogger - PJ Mellor

When You Wish Upon A Star. . .

As a little girl, as most little girls are, I was intrigued by fairy tales. The opulent settings, the handsome princes, ready and willing and oh-so-able to whisk the heroine away to live happily ever after were truly the stuff of dreams. So, naturally, when I grew up I found a fabulous way to satisfy my need for romantic happy endings—by reading romance novels.

I devoured them! Sometimes I read two a day. I was truly thrilled when I discovered the historic romances were morphing and branching out to include contemporary tales. I loved contemporary romances because it made me feel as though not only could they possibly happen, they could happen to me. It was a powerful notion. Sort of a modern fairy tale, right?

After a while, I became more selective in the romances I read. The more I read, the more jaded I became. Yikes! I’d morphed into a romance writer! Now I was not enjoying them nearly as much as I mentally tore the writing style and plot apart to see what helped these authors sell to my favorite publishers.

What I discovered was this: there is no concrete thing, no secret plot or handshake that will get an aspiring writer published. Only ability and dogged determination will get the job done. Happily, I was one of the lucky ones who wrote the right manuscript at the right time and had it read by the right editor. Truly, the stars must have been aligned. Thank goodness!

Okay, I’m published. Now what? What happened to all those brilliant ideas I had as an aspiring writer? My editor wants me to do what by when? Really? No one told me I’d have to actually work at this writer thing!

And so I came to the place where my editor was actually expecting me to come up with a new plot for my next novel. Suddenly, the fairy tales I’d loved as a girl came buzzing back, whispering in my ear to give them a new, contemporary twist. The idea was exciting but I knew I didn’t want to do the same old retelling, even set in modern day. Did I mention I write humorous erotic romance?

So began the “what if” game writers love to play. What if I retold Red Riding Hood with a modern—and erotic--twist? And what if the persona of the Big Bad Wolf was the heroine? In my version—REDD HOT—in my February release, BETWEEN THE SHEETS, my wolf is tamed and learns some valuable life lessons, including what it means to give your heart. And just to make things even more interesting, I had the heroine have age as well as control issues. Boy, did I have fun writing that story!

The second tale, JUST RIGHT, is a modern take on Goldilocks and the Three Bears, with the heroine being romantically involved with the hero’s two best friends before realizing he was the only one who was “just right” for her.

And, finally, is STROKE OF MIDNIGHT, the third story in BETWEEN THE SHEETS. I had to actually do research for this one, which added to the fun. Claustrophobic romance writers do not do well when they attempt to don a wet suit and dive. Trust me.

So what is your favorite fairy tale and why? Leave a comment and you will be entered in a drawing to win a book. Thanks, Anna Kathryn, for allowing me to share!

Visit PJ at http://www.pjmellor.com/ to learn more about her stories.

Guest Blogger - Jannine Corti-Petska

My fascination with Gypsies began more than 20 years ago after I read a historical romance that had a hot Gypsy hero. The culture's dark mystique lured me into the Gypsy's independent and nomadic lifestyle. Although I own a dozen books on Gypsies, they were well-known for not documenting their history. Researching Gypsies in the medieval period was definitely a challenge.

I had planned much more for this article; however, I had knee surgery two days ago and am rather groggy from the pain meds. So I will leave you to the blurb and short excerpt and, hopefully, I'll return in the near future to talk about what I learned from the Gypsies.

Blurb:
Charlotte Nikolos keenly feels the difference between the dark coloring of the Gypsies who raised her and her own pale hair and skin. When she learns she has two sisters somewhere who share her looks and psychic powers, she's determined to search for her lost family and find answers about her past. But how?

For three years, Rafael Cazares has been away from the Gypsy camp and the woman who makes his blood boil. He's determined to win back Char's trust and recapture her heart. He insists on helping her to find her true family, but someone or something is determined to keep them apart. When a deep dark secret is revealed, Rafael would do everything in his power to keep the only women he has ever loved out of harm’s way. Even if he must die.

Excerpt:

“Return me to my father at once.”
Rafael planted his hands on his hips and gazed down at her with a long-reaching light of amusement. A light that brought clarity to Char.
“You wouldn’t dare!”
“But I did.”
“I’ll not be your wife by abduction.”
“You have no say in this, Char. I’ve paid the bride price. Your sire gave his blessing for our union.” He handed her a kerchief to wear.
Char refused to tie it around her head to show her acceptance. “You’ll not touch me.”
His raised brows mocked her.
Char straightened her shoulders. Rafael ignored her stubborn stance and gripped her upper arms, dragging her up his length.
“In time, you will beg me to take you to my bed.”
His mouth quashed her protest. No matter how much she abhorred Rafael, she succumbed to his meaningless kiss.

CHARLOTTE AND THE GYPSY is available in print and ebook at http://www.moongypsypress.com/.

ISBN: 1449976786
EAN-13: 9781449976781


Jannine Corti Petska
Assapora la passione (Feel the Passion)
CHARLOTTE AND THE GYPSY, Moongypsy Press, January 2010
CARINA AND THE NOBLEMAN, Available at http://www.eternalpress.ca/
KNIGHT'S DESIRE, Available at http://www.thedarkcastlelords.com/reviews-knight
REBEL HEART, 2007 Aspen Gold Finalist
http://www.jcortipetska.com/

Guest Author - Lisabet Sarai

Playing with Words

All my life I've been enthralled by words. The family folklore claims, improbably, that I was talking at six months old. I remember vividly learning to read when I was five―my pride when I could make it all the way through Dick, Jane and Sally on my own. I wrote my first poems and stories when I was seven. Throughout my childhood, while other kids were outside in the fresh air, I lay on my bed with a book, to my mother's considerable consternation. They might have been playing softball or jump rope or dodge ball. As for me, I was playing with words.

It's no accident that I adore Scrabble. I can't remember when I was introduced to this game, but I know that as soon as I discovered it, I was addicted. It's funny, because I've never been all that attracted to crossword puzzles, but something about Scrabble clicked. Perhaps it was the intertwining of chance and skill―luck of the draw gives you a set of letters, but what you make of them depends on your knowledge and your vision. Maybe it was the opportunity to use all the vocabulary I seemed to so effortlessly acquire. Whatever the reason, I played through college and grad school, and still do, when I can hook someone into facing off with me.

I'd already written one Scrabble scene in my erotic romance Ruby's Rules. The hero and heroine in this tale are antagonists fighting for a lucrative business deal. The game is a proxy for their real world competition as well as an expression of the sexual tension between them. Then about six months ago, my publisher Total-E-Bound issued a call for a M/M anthology called Gaymes: “Give us hot, hunky guys, strong and sweaty, playing games―and we're not talking Scrabble here, ladies.”

Of course, I couldn't resist. I queried my editor and got her okay. “If anyone can make Scrabble sexy,” she said, “it would be you, Lisabet.” The result was Crossed Hearts my M/M BDSM erotic romance set in the world of tournament Scrabble, which comes out today, January 18th.

As I researched the topic of Scrabble competitions, I was disappointed to learn that linguistic skill and literary brilliance have little place in these contests. Apparently, the key to winning at the tournament level is memorization: learning every possible two-, three- and four-letter word in the English language, so that you can take advantage of tricky cross-relationships and gain points. That kind of spoils things for me. It takes away the thrill of discovering great words hidden in your random collection of letters, of seeing a fabulous opportunity on the board and making it real. Scrabble by rote lacks the creativity, the inspiration, the excitement that attracts me to the game.

However, there's plenty of excitement in my story. For the past six years, Jason Hofstadter has attended the Four States Annual Scrabble Tournament. Jason comes to the Four States for two reasons - to play Scrabble and to get laid. Every year since his first, he has managed to hook up with one of the other players for some sexual fun. This year he has a chance at the grand prize in the tournament. Meanwhile, he figures he has hit the jackpot when he spots handsome, bookish Matt Sawyer, who's competing at the Four States for the first time.Shy and seemingly innocent, Matt turns out to be full of surprises. First, he jumps Jason in the rest room at Starbucks. Then he reveals that he's into BDSM and encourages Jason to experiment with topping him. Finally, despite his lack of experience with tournament play, Matt ends up competing with Jason in the semi-final round. When Matt throws the game he should have won, Jason is forced to confront his own feelings - about winning, about casual sex, and about Matt.

You can read an adult excerpt at http://www.lisabetsarai.com/crossedheartsex.html

I had a blast writing “Crossed Hearts”. Of course, that's not surprising. After all, writing fiction is just another way of playing with words.


LISABET SARAI has published six erotic novels,two short story collections and dozens of individual tales. She also edits the single-author charity series "Coming Together Presents" and reviews erotica for Erotica Readers and Writers Association and Erotica Revealed. Visit Lisabet online at Lisabet's Fantasy Factory and Beyond Romance.

Join Me!

I'm on Emma Lai's Blog today, talking about A COWBOY'S DREAM (part of The Wild Rose Press's Miniature Holiday Bundle special - 6 short stories for the low price of $12.00 - that's a 33% discount) and my writing style. Stop by and say hi, ask a question, or just wave. Anyone leaving a comment will be eligible for a drawing to win a copy of A COWBOY'S DREAM.

Anna Kathryn Lanier

www.aklanier.com

Guest Blogging

Today I'm guest blogging at Pamela S. Thibodeaux's blog about my holiday short story THE PRICELESS GIFT. A lucky commenter will win a copy of this number one best seller from The Wild Rose Press.

Will Gavin and Christina really get what they want for Christmas? Each other?

Anna Kathryn Lanier
www.aklanier.com

Guest Blogger - Toni V. Sweeney: Lost Toys

Today, I’m going to do a change-of-pace, change-of-face blog. I’ve always promoted my books or written some highly sensation something-or-other, but today, I’m going to reveal my soft, sentimental side (snicker softly, if you wish)…with the story of Shaggles and Clifford:

They were two stuffed animals…a dog and a cat, though most people thought the cat was a cream-colored bear because he was so shaggy. Never mind the fact that he had long whiskers and pointed ears and a long tail. He looked like a bear so he must be a bear.

The dog was found on a low concrete wall at a playground. Some child had left him there.

I saw him while watching by granddaughter celebrate her fourth birthday—climbing up the ladder, sliding down the slide, landing on her knees in the sandbox—again and again. I’m a sucker for lost animals, living or toy, but I ignored this one. “Someone will be back for him,” I told myself. “That child will be wanting his doggie.” So, after the party was over I went on my way.

But I didn’t forget that little stuffed dog.

That night it rained.

The next afternoon, I returned to the park. The dog still lay there, now a sodden mass of curly cloth. So. No one came back. No one searched for him. Or missed him. I picked him up. “Okay, buddy, want to go home with me?”

I gave him a bath, tossed him in the dryer, examined his sales tag. He was a Ty, Inc. creation. Not a beanie-baby, but manufactured by the same company. I named him Clifford, after a certain Big Red Dog. My granddaughter welcomed him with open arms though he stayed with me when she wasn’t around. When my son traveled back to Nebraska, it was asked—Does Clifford go or stay? I made a choice. Clifford flew to Lincoln inside my son’s suitcase along with Shaggles.

That’s my segue to talk about Shaggles. The cat-who-looks-like-a-bear. He was discovered at one of those Sidewalk Sales held by stores after a holiday, to get rid of the inventory they couldn’t sell during the season. I saw him lying face-down in a bin with candles and Christmas ornaments, went on my way, looking in other stores at other items. What did I need with a stuffed cat, anyway?

At closing time, I came back.

“I knew you wanted him,” the man with me, my beloved, stated.
“How?” I asked.
“Because you picked him up and patted him. You always do that.”

I looked at the tag. Shaggles. $35.00 marked down to $15.00, marked down to $5.00. How embarrassing.

He bought Shaggles for me.

Two days later, I had written the short story Sidewalk Sale, with Shaggles as the star of a piece about an unwanted toy and a woman who survived a deathcamp to find him. A few years later, Amazon bought it for their Amazon Shorts feature. Even later, I gave him up to let him accompany Clifford to Nebraska to live with my granddaughter.

Shaggles and Clifford are back now, reunited in the room I share with my granddaughter. A lot worse for wear but happy perhaps because—the lost dog and the cat who became the subject of a short story—are doing what they were created to do.

Be a child’s pets.

Toni V. Sweeney
http://www.tonivsweeney.com/
...where the Willing Suspension of Disbelief Reigns Supreme...
when the Condor Returned, from Lyrical Press
Bargain with Lucifer, from Class Act Books
Dark God Descending, from sams dot publishing

I'm over at Seduced by History today. Stop and leave a comment on my blog about what women faced when they made the Westward journey via wagon trains. Leave a comment for a chance to win Suzanne Enoch's book BEFORE THE SCANDAL.

Anna Kathryn Lanier
www.aklanier.com

Guest Blogger - Eliza Knight

Question and Answer with a Regency Heroine

I’m so excited to be at Chatting with Anna Kathryn today! I had the fabulous opportunity to meet Anna at RWA Nationals this past summer in DC.

I’d like to introduce you to Juliette, the heroine in my newest release, Her Captain Surrenders. She’s agreed to a little question and answer session today. I’m going to let her take over from here…

Juliette: Why, thank you Eliza. Eliza is really a dear isn’t she? I was so pleased when she asked me to do her blog for her today, although I wasn’t entirely sure what a blog was. She said, just to hit these odd little keys and words would appear. Imagine my surprise when I realized she was right?

So if you please, send me your questions in the comments area below and I will do my absolute best to answer.

Additionally, Anna has graciously included the description and an excerpt from my romance with Captain Cruise below.

Blurb:

Captain Nathaniel Cruise has a job to do. But what happens when a beautiful woman tempts him to turn his eye from his duties to pursue more…pleasurable entertainments? Not only that, the woman has a wit and intelligence that rivals his own and he finds himself falling deeper and harder for her.

Lady Juliette Blackburn, knows what she wants, and she wants Captain Cruise. A rich widow in her own right, she’s decided to take her love life in her own hands. However, at every turn the man of her dreams is running away from her. She’ll have to keep up a subtle chase to discreetly reel him in.

Despite their mutual attraction something darker is pulling them together. A rogue former lover of Juliette’s is the main suspect in Nathaniel’s investigation, and now he’s threatening both their livelihoods. Together they’ll fight the villain and perhaps on the way Nathaniel and Juliette will surrender to love.

Excerpt:

“Captain Cruise.” His hostess Lady Challedon came up behind him. “May I introduce to you to a dear friend?”

Nathaniel swallowed his distaste at meeting another groom hunter, and turned to gaze into the most stunning pair of lavender eyes, made all the more brilliant by a frame of thick, curling black lashes. Lady Blackburn. For a moment he was struck dumb. They’d never been formally introduced, yet he’d seen her everywhere, the park, ballrooms, Covent Garden, and dinner parties. And she had seen him. More than once, he’d looked up to find her eyes on him but he’d been too preoccupied helping Captain Montgomery, the Earl of Stafford, to beg an introduction. He’d managed to find out her name, that she was a widow, and little else.

“My pleasure, ladies.”

He bowed. She curtsied. Nathaniel let his gaze fall to where full breasts pushed the limits of her silvery gown. His gaze lingered on her breasts a scant moment longer before traveling the length of her narrow waist and rounded hips. The curves of her figure promised to be a lush experience for any man. His body stirred to life with the thought. Perhaps he could persuade her to enjoy a night with him.

He caught his bearings and managed a polite, “Lady Blackburn, would you care to honor me with a dance?”

“I should like that very much.”

Deep golden blonde hair, with hints of coral red, bobbed atop her delicate head as she nodded. She slipped her arm into the crook of his elbow, and gazed up at him. Her touch sent a shocking hunger racing through his veins. He’d never reacted this way to a woman before.

Get a hold of yourself, Nathaniel! He felt like an adolescent rather than the two and thirty years he was.

“Captain Cruise, I seem to be running into you quite often. Are you enjoying the Season?”

He paused a moment before answering. He couldn’t tell her he would rather chew off his own arm than attend another ball. He should let her know he didn’t intend to tarry long in London. The sea called his name, begged him to return, and he planned to answer as soon as he possibly could.

“’Tis a most fascinating way to distract myself until I return to my ship.” Nathaniel glanced at the lady to gage her reaction.

The corners of her mouth curved into a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She looked away, as if trying to hide her disappointment.

“What is the name of your ship, Captain?” Her voice held a note of pique. Was she a saucy lady then?


***

Eliza Knight is the author of sizzling historical romance and erotic time travel Highlander romance. Eliza is the author of the award-winning blog, History Undressed and has published numerous articles on writing craft and history. She is a freelance copy editor, professional critiquer, President of the Celtic Hearts Romance Writers signature chapter of the RWA and Contest Chair for Hearts Through History. She presents workshops on history, researching techniques and writing craft, to writing groups online. For more information on Eliza, please visit http://www.elizaknight.com/ or http://www.historyundressed.blogspot.com/.

Upcoming Workshops:
November:
~ Crafting the Sensual Novella
~ Conducting Historical Research Online

December:
~ Edit Your Book in a Month
~ The Hapsburg Dynasty

Rhodes Ends All Hallow's Eve Celebration

Welcome to Rhodes End’s Halloween where All Hallows’ Eve is celebrated on the Town Green.

Two churches bracketing the wide swath of grass like book-ends dispense orange and black decorated candy bags. The scents of cinnamon, burning candles and scorched pumpkin drift on the breeze. An owl hoots from a hollow tree in the ancient cemetery behind the church. The nearby streets are dark and empty in stark contrast to the noisy party-goers. No-one goes from house to house yelling Trick-or-Treat since an incident in 1943 that no one claims to remember.
A huge bonfire lights the night where excited children toast marshmallows donated by Nelson’s grocery store and parents drink heated apple cider from Styrofoam cups. Peter’s Pluckers’, a local blue-grass band is stomping out ‘Turkey in the Straw’ to loud clapping at the gazebo strung with bobbing skeletons and ghosts. Johnson’s Orchard donates huge tubs of shiny green Granny Smith’s for bobbing. The dripping faced kids hardly wait to be dried before running off to another game. Colorfully attired townsfolk escort laughing, excited children from event to event. Everyone wants to keep the little ones safe tonight.

Costumed or painted to reflect their own personality, every child is present except Mickey Burton. He has the measles. A few giddy teenagers who dared each other to climb the flat-topped boulder on Witch’s Rock Road, run onto the green shrieking. One shouts she saw a shape fly across the face of the rising full moon. Parents nod wisely and laugh. Kids!

The full moon rises as the evening wanes and the younger children are taken home, protesting through wide yawns. Parents cast uneasy glances into the shadows. Older children drift to the games and food offered inside the church halls. More and more are encouraged to return to the safety of home as the hour grows late.

The costumed crowd oddly thickens. The patrolling police cruiser stops to allow two witches, a werewolf and a ghoul to cross the street. Headlights pick out gleaming red eyes. A casual wave is exchanged.

Under the huge silver moon, the townsfolk circle the bonfire as midnight approaches. Thankfully, a full moon doesn’t occur every All Hallows’ Eve. The churches shoo the remaining families home, shut off the lights and lock their doors.

A few brave souls linger, nervously glancing over their shoulders. The air is electric with nerves, fear tickles. A dozen witches gather to one side. Shadows conceal details, but a gleaming fang or claw occasionally reflects the flames. Hair, hide and patchy skin conceal the wearers. Too many red eyes reflect the light.

A thick-set man wearing a knit cap feeds wood onto the fire and flames leap voraciously skyward. The crowd pulled back then surges closer. It’s almost midnight, the witching hour. The heavy wood-smoke mingles with a coppery smell of fresh blood and rotting flesh. Circles within the circle join hands and murmur. Not all are willing, but they must protect their secrets.

The Congregational church clock bongs, once, twice, and the flames explode up in a column of sparks. Three, four, five…chanting echoes across the Green. Six, seven, eight, nine… skeletal figures twist and turn, stretch clutching fingers from the seething flames, almost breaking free. Demons howl. Ghouls curse. Ten, eleven… the chants strengthen until they drown the unearthly noise. The threatening figures shudders with rage. Tonight is their night to walk free!

Twelve…

With a weary sigh, the fire shapes disappear. The fire dies. Only embers remain.

The crowd silently melts into the night leaving a few shivering adults to wonder what they just saw.

What's your favorite Halloween memory? Leave a comment (with your e-mail) for a chance to win Ancient Awakenings.

Barbara Edwards
Ancient Awakening, a Black Rose from The Wild Rose Press
http://www.barbaraedwards.net/
http://barbaraedwards.net/blog/blog.asp for Barb'Ed Comments

In Ancient Awakening, Police Officer ‘Mel’ Petersen investigates a death only she believes is murder. By disobeying direct orders from the Rhodes End Chief, she risks her career to follow clues that twist in circles to her backyard and lead the killer to her.

Her neighbor Stephen Zoriak is a prime suspect. Steve worked for a major pharmaceutical company where he discovered a weapon so dangerous he destroys the research. He is exposed to the dangerous organism. He suspects he is the killer and agrees to help her find the truth.
In the course of their investigation Mel and Steve find the real killer and a love that defies death.

Guest Author - Hannah Rhys

Hi Anna Kathryn. Thanks for having me.

Even though the weather is wacky (it was 85 degrees and sunny on Friday, when it should have been 65 degrees and rainy), the light is beginning to change and the days are getting shorter. My favorite time of year has arrived. Harvest Time, Autumn, Fall.

For farmers, it means time to gather in the last of the crops. For parents, it means back to school. For me, it means time for my book to be released.

Last Thursday, I was on my way out the door to go to class and as I turned to lock my front door, the UPS man was coming up the stairs. He hands me a box. I sign for it. Of course I have to look inside. Imagine my pleasure when I slice open the packing tape and find I’m staring at the cover of my very first novel! I took a copy from the box and rubbed my hand over the glossy cover. Without cracking the spine, I opened to the first page and read:

A chill wind ruffled the parchment on the table as Alaine de la Vierre paced the length of his cell-like room. If only the mere act of walking would relieve the boredom pressing against his need for adventure. Shut away in the northern most realms of the kingdom, he missed the drama of court life. . .

I have to say I was a little late for class. I’ve carried the book around with me for a the last few days.

When I got the release date from my editor, I thought, “That’s so far away.” Little did I realize how fast the time would fly.

The Wild Rose Press has released the print version of WIDOW’S PEAK a few weeks early as part of their September Specials promotion.

Here’s a bit more:

BLURB

When the love of your life is taken from you, memories keep you going.
Widowed for eight years, Lady Amye De Barnard has poured her heart into making her domain prosperous and her people happy.
But, when a handsome young man falls from her tree, what can a lady do but take him home, fix him up, and fall in love.

If you're an assassin, you never think about love, unless you're disguised as
the Queen's Troubadour.
When Laine de la Vierre finds himself in the care of a beautiful older widow, for the first time he wants to stay in one place. Yet he knows if he does stay, those who hunt him will certainly find him and kill him. Will Laine risk his life for a chance at happiness? Or will he pass up the love of his life?

EXCERPT

Morning sun streamed in through the open windows as Amye sat next to the young man's bed, silently reading her book of poetry. The small volume was the last gift Thomas gave her before leaving for Outremer. He must have spent a fortune to have a cleric copy the poems and bind the pages together in the leather cover. The parchment corners were worn smooth from the many times she had read through it. Amye did not know all of the men who penned the words, but they ardently expressed the love that she and Thomas had shared.

In the few moments he was conscious, the young stranger seemed to be in some pain. She had worried when he became fevered in his sleep, but now his deep full breaths told her he rested comfortably. He was quite handsome, almost angelic looking. The two-day growth of beard covering his swarthy face matched the dark curly hair that fell just to his shoulders. She had ordered him brought to a guest room where she and Sela had washed his body, and then Amye dressed his wounds with healing ointments. It was then she noticed the mark.
A crescent moon, the mark of the Saracens. The same mark Sir Edward had carried when he brought her Thomas' ring. Only this moon surrounded a symbol she had never seen before. A scripted letter M with an arrow at the end. What were the two men doing in that tree?
It had been obvious to her from the first he was no knight. His body was well muscled but lean, rather than bulky. And unlike a knight, his hands were smooth with only small calluses on the fingertips. The belongings on the horse they found confirmed him as a troubadour. Though they had never really met, she remembered seeing him at summer court one year. His bags held a book of songs and some scraps of parchment on which had been penned some verses of lyric poetry. Also, a beautiful psaltery carefully wrapped in a black velvet sack. The finely made stringed instrument must have cost a king's ransom. The clothing he carried was of the highest fashion. He must have been on his way to one of the courts to the south. Entertainers of his quality hardly ever stopped this far north.

"My Lady, where am I?"

The quiet, deep voice startled her from her musings, and she looked into stunning green eyes. She'd not noticed the vibrancy of their color before. But as he peered straight at her, Amye's heart began to pound so hard she thought it might leap from her chest. She took a deep breath as she stood and the beating slowed. "You are awake. This bodes well." She put down the book and moved toward the bed. "I am Lady Amye de Barnard. You fell from my tree and were brought to the castle so I might tend your injury."

"I thank you, my Lady Barnard, for your aid. I am Alain de la Vierre. Most call me Laine."
"Yes, I know."
The troubadour looked at her askance.

Amye walked over to the bedside table and held up his book of songs. "I beg your pardon, but I had to search your things. I could not have a thief or a rogue loose in my home. I have charges to consider."

"And how, my lady, can you tell I am not a rogue?" He arched a brow to emphasize his question.

"A rogue would not write in such a civilized manner. That aside, I have seen you at King Henry's court. You are a very fine court troubadour. You must sing for us when you recover." Amye felt a heated blush rise to her cheeks as a smile spread across his face.

"At your leisure, my lady." He tried to sit up but with a slight touch, she pushed him back against the pillow.

"Stay. You are still too weak. You have been unconscious for more than two days. I worried your injury might be too great for you to recover."

A sharp breath as he grasped at his side made Amye fold back the bed cover to check the cause of his discomfort. "Your wound was quite severe, so I thought it best to close it. I need to see to your stitches."

Surprise crossed his face. Though obviously still in pain, he smiled. "It seems I was most fortunate to fall from your tree and not some other."

Amye picked up a cup from the bedside table and held it to his lips. "Drink. This should help ease the pain."

He drank until she pulled it away. "My lady, does the king know you have such a fine brew wife. He would surely steal her away. I have never tasted such a fine ale in all my years. This house does boast a most delicious drink."

"Thank you." She helped him sit up so she could unwrap the binding. "You lost a bit of blood and though I could find no broken bones, there might be a more severe internal injury." She removed the sticky brown moss she used to draw the bad humors from wounds and inspected the neat row of stitching underneath.
Careful not to separate the newly healing wound, Amye pressed two fingers to the surrounding skin. It was cool to the touch, not hot as it had been when she had first stitched it closed. "`Tis healing nicely. I think we might do without the poultice now." She covered the wound with a clean cloth and rewound the binding around his chest.

"Are you hungry?" She helped him lie back, and he let out a deep breath once he rested on the bed. "I shall send for some gruel. I think you could stomach that now."

"My lady, might I meet your lord to thank him for saving my life?"

"Master de la Vierre, there is no lord at Edensmouth. My husband died in Outremer, eight years ago."

Hanna Rhys Barnes is one of those people with an evenly balanced right and left brain. She has a BA in English, but recently finished her final year as a high school math teacher.

A member of RWA’s national organization and of several local chapters, she currently lives and works in Portland, OR, but occasionally visits her retirement ranchette outside of Kingman, AZ.

Hanna’s Debut Novel, Widow’s Peak, is currently available in print at the Wild Rose Press, Amazon.com and BarnesandNoble.com. She is currently working on Book 2 in the series, Kissed By A Rose.

You can visit Hanna at her website http://www.hannarhys.com/ and at her blog Never Too LateFor Love

Share you reaction to gettig 'the call' or holding your book for the first time or seeing it for sale on your publisher's site....

Guest Author - Believe it or not. Truth really IS stranger....

I'd like to welcome multi published author Blythe Gifford as my guest today. Thank you, Blythe for being here. She's done a great blog on women disguised as men in historical novels. Leave a comment and you could win Blythe's book IN THE MASTER’S BED.

Believe it or not. Truth really IS stranger

An amazon.com poster has a put together a list of “woman disguised as a man” romances with the comment: “good for a laugh.” It does, indeed, require the reader to suspend a good deal of disbelief to accept that a woman could actually live hidden among men undetected, yet it remains a popular theme.

Perhaps even stranger, it has actually happened.

I took heart from that when I wrote my September release from Harlequin Historical, IN The MASTER’S BED. In it, my medieval heroine runs away from home disguised as a man in order to study at the University. At that time, women were not even allowed into the living quarters to do laundry, let alone into the classrooms to take courses. My heroine ends up living in the 14th century equivalent of a fraternity house, where she manages to maintain her secret for longer than you might expect.

To research how she might have done it, I read the biography of a real woman, Billy Tipton, who in the mid-twentieth century, managed to pass as a man for some 50 years. Reportedly, only when s/he died did his/her wife and adopted sons discover her real sex. I am not making this up! If you want to know more about Billy, read SUITS ME: The DOUBLE LIFE OF BILLY TIPTON by Diane Wood Middlebrook. As I read the book, I picked up several tips on how she fooled so many for so long and let my heroine in on the secrets.

Incredibly, it still happens today. While I was writing the book, I read a newspaper account of a 33 year old woman who attended school in Oslo, Norway, for months posing as a 13 year old boy. “It’s not easy to know,” the school principal said after the truth came out. “Children at that age can be so different.”

Very well, you might say, for the twentieth century, when women are accustomed to freedom. Surely it would be impossible in medieval times when pantsuits didn’t exist. Yet I discovered that Joan of Arc wasn’t the only medieval woman dressing as a man. There is a reliable account of a woman in medieval Poland who attended the university there for two years before she was discovered. This happened less than fifty years after my story is set, so I felt totally justified in thinking that it COULD have happened. In fact, I began to wonder whether that poor soul had tapped me on the psychic shoulder and asked me to tell her story.

Fooling the public is one thing. Fooling a strong, smart, sexy romance hero is much more challenging. Of course, my hero uncovers her identity before anyone else and then they must struggle to keep her secret while their growing feelings for each other threaten to expose all.
The woman-disguised-as- a-boy theme has been a mainstay of romance novels for years. What other classic themes are your favorites? Are there any conventions you find just too hard to believe or are you willing to go along with the story no matter what?

BLYTHE GIFFORD (http://www.blythegifford.com/) is the author of a four medieval romances from Harlequin Historical. She specializes in characters born on the wrong side of the royal blanket. A past president of Chicago-North RWA Chapter, she has given several online courses and spoken at numerous RWA Conferences, including the National Conference. When not nurturing her first love, writing historical romance, she feeds her muse with art, music, history, long walks, good food and good friends.

Blurb for IN THE MASTER'S BED:

She's disguised as a man in a place where women are forbidden. Now, she's met a man who, for the first time, makes her want to be a woman. What will happen when he discovers her secret and she's discovered IN THE MASTER'S BED?

Cover Art used by arrangement with Harlequin Enterprises Limited. All rights reserved. ®and T are trademarks of Harlequin Enterprises Limited and/or its affiliated companies, used under license.

Welcome Aboard Flight 6578….

Good morning! A huge thank you to Anna for having me visit today. Let me just say that I’m thrilled to be here. As thrilled (but in a good way) as an experience I had a couple of months ago….

I’ve been flying for years. For the past ten I’ve traveled by air 3-4 times annually for work, plus usually took some sort of vacation with my sisters or family. No problem. Board. Stuff my carryon in the overhead. Take my seat and hope for the best--that is, hope not to be scrunched by the person next to me as his or her arm or leg encroaches into my area. I hate that. I always keep my arms within my allotted space. But isn’t it amazing how, without even the slightest twinge of guilt, someone can keep their arm on the entire armrest for the whole trip? It happens all the time. Once I sat next to a man who, for no reason I can fathom other than wanting to be contrary, wedged his briefcase and knees—didn’t know it was possible-- against the back of my seatback so I couldn’t recline.

During flight I’m not much for talking, but I will if my neighbors seem friendly and want to. I’m happy to carry on a conversation. But mostly I read or sleep or think. It’s amazing how trusting we are as a whole, allowing a total stranger, the pilot, to hold our lives in the palm of his hand, whether it be a steady, trustworthy one, or one less experienced. Who’s to know?

This is where my story begins. In March, my extended family--sisters, brother-in-laws, nieces and grandnephew--had to travel from California to Kentucky. We were all on one flight, and the reason for that would be a topic for a whole other blog. First let me say, I had the worst seat on the plane. Last row, middle seat, engine covering the window. There was no way of seeing anything unless I got up and looked over the shoulder of the person in the row ahead of me. We were descending into our connecting city, Fort Worth.

On my right was a sleeping soldier, and on my left my husband, next to the isle. When you can’t see, everything seems to slow down, so I wasn’t surprised when I began to fret that our descent seemed to be taking a very long time. Just then the plane surged forward, as if the pilot had stepped on the gas for some reason, instead of slowing down. I froze. The acceleration let up. I exhaled. Moments later we plunged forward and slightly downward again, like a rock pitched by a mighty arm. This time I grabbed for my husband’s arm and gave him a look. His eyebrows arched up knowingly. I looked around. Tried to stay calm.

The plane continued to surge forcefully forward, then let up for a moment or two. Each time it happened, I thought that would be the end of it. My husband, realizing my state of near-panic, began to crane his neck around to see out a window; then he told me we were almost down. He could see the ground. We would touch the tarmac in moments. Well, if that was the case, why were we thrusting forward yet again with a power I’d never experienced before?

It was then I knew this was it. I believed with all my heart I was about to die. At least my boys aren’t on this plane, I thought desperately. My youngest couldn’t get out of his advanced individual training with the Army and my oldest, who was in school at Purdue, was driving down. Thank God they would be spared.

The plane was deadly quiet, as I believe everyone was having the same thoughts as I was. We were ready for anything. To crash. To explode. Something was very wrong. Then, again unexpectedly, the nose pulled up sharply and the throttle, if that is what it’s called in a plane, felt as if it had been pushed completely forward, the ascent was so strong. Of course I was praying for all I was worth. After a minute or two, the pilot came on the sound system. He said that the wind was very strong and the gusts (I was so rattled I can’t remember how strong he said they were) were making landing too dangerous. As a result, the tower had advised him to abort the landing and try coming in from the other direction, where we’d be going into the wind, instead of with it. From there it was an easy landing, if you can call drenched in sweat and shaken to the core “easy.”

In my eyes, this pilot was a hero. He brought us back to earth in one piece and, happily, I’m here to tell the story. Like a bad dream, it’s in the telling that makes the nightmare less potent. I’m sure lots of you have similar accounts. Since we’re all getting ready to board for Nationals, I thought (in a crazy sort of way) it would be fun to share our stories. Have you had a flying experience that was less than wonderful in some way? Or, on the other hand, what is it about flying that you absolutely adore? We’d love to hear....

And, speaking of flying high, to celebrate the coming release of my debut novel, Where The Wind Blows, I'm giving away an advance copy to someone who leaves a comment. Also, August 1st. will kickoff my Under a Western Sky Contest, with a grand prize of a night’s stay in a bunkhouse (with an outdoor shower and a bed as big as Montana!). So be sure to check out my website www.carolinefyffe.com for all the details.

Don't know why my book cover uploaded in the strange blue tones. Just pretend it's at night.....

I'm Guest Blogging Today

I'm guest blogging today at Slip Into Something Victorian. Stop by and learn about the conflicts women faced when they stepped outside the box society put them in during the 1800's. Leave a comment and you could win a copy of my novella, SALVATION BRIDE.

Anna Kathryn

I'm blogging at Roses of Houston

I'm blogging on Monday, April 13 at Roses of Houston blog. Last week, two different online newspapers reported on the recession proof of romance novels . Come see what they had to say and what my comments are about it. Leave your own comments and you could win a copy of Salvation Bride, my mail-order bride historical.

http://rosesofhouston.blogspot.com/


Anna Kathryn Lanier
More than Tumbleweeds
Heartwarming, Sensual Westerns
http://www.aklanier.com/