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Why do you write in your genre? What draws you to it?
To me, historical romances seems like fairy tales, at least, the ones I read do. But realistically, I would never want to live in the past. Life, especially for women, was not great, but in historical romance, most of the bad stuff gets ignored and the magic of the appropriate time period surfaces.
What research is required?
Anachronisms. I never knew that word until I started writing. Basically, it means that everything in a historical romance novel has to be of the appropriate time period. For example, a character cannot make a phone call before the phone was invented. Sounds simple, right? Well, certain words did not exist back in the early 19th century. Styles of clothes, types of guns, whether people danced the waltz… the list is endless. And I end up checking countless little details to ensure they are not anachronisms.
Name one thing you learned from your hero/heroine.
The hero taught me that risk is worthwhile, even if failure ensues. In the back of my mind, I’ve understood this concept, but I never really grasped how important it was till I wrote this novel and watched him take a huge risk. I don’t want to be the type of person who doesn’t take risks. I’d rather fail and try to achieve something.
Do you have any odd or interesting writing quirks, habits or superstitions?
I don’t know if this is odd, but before I write anything I always re-read the previous chapter. It might seem excessive but I feel I have a better idea of the flow than just reading the previous page.
Are you a plotter or pantser?
Pantser. And I question why frequently. I follow my heart, then have to change half the book. Perhaps one day logic will take over and I’ll start plotting.
Look to your right – what’s sitting there?
A blanket. Tonight, in South Dakota, the temperature is -6 degrees Fahrenheit. I’m cold, so I have a blanket covering my feet while my laptop keeps the rest of me warm. My house is heated, of course, but I’m a cold person.
Anything new coming up from you? What?
The next installment in my series! I’m pretty excited about it but have some revisions to do because I should have plotted the thing out. Still, I barely can wait to see the finished result.
Do you have a question for our readers?
Sure! What’s your favorite historical romance and why? I need some good reading material.
Lord Collins is plagued by an uncomfortable feeling whenever he goes near Miss Farris. One of annoyance. And yet, he can’t seem to stop thinking of her, touching her, kissing her...He must act in her brother’s stead, which means he has to approve her suitor and ensure her safety. Unfortunately, he can’t seem to find a worthy gentleman.
Wedding her off should be a simple task, but not if he can’t let her go.
Read an Excerpt:
She inhaled and stepped up to him. He was so tall, at least five inches taller than her, yet she would not allow him to intimidate her, not this gentleman she used to pester as a little girl. She peered up at him and planted her fists on her hips. “You cannot possibly imagine I would listen to you, can you?”
His eyes narrowed, and he straightened from his position against the wall which brought him that much closer to her. “I don’t only imagine. I know you will listen to me. You have no other options.”
“Of course I do.”
“No, you do not.”
Their gazes locked, and everything around Alexa faded away, except for the brilliant blue eyes which held her riveted in place. She brought her palm to her chest to make sure her heart still beat.
It did, just barely.
She finally broke away and whispered, “I have not given him a response yet.”
His responding smile lacked warmth, and he appeared to gloat as he said, “Excellent. I never have liked Lord Edwin and cannot fathom why you do.”
“I happen to be very much in love with him.” She colored. She had just told Lord Collins she loved Lord Edwin. Where was her fan when she needed it most? Next to Miss Cannis where she had forgotten it. And now, she had to endure a most frustrating conversation where she admitted a falsehood. Not a simple falsehood, either. One which competed with the largest untruths of her life.
Her rushed denial teetered on her lips as a stronger gust of wind tore through her hair, causing several more strands to dislodge. She muttered a curse and reached up to repair the damage the wind had made.
His large, warm hand shot out and stopped her. The humid night air could not compare to the warmth of his hand on hers, nor could it compete with the spasmodic tingles breaking out throughout her body.
The contact was too unexpected.
She darted a hesitant glance his way where he quickly masked a warm look and took a step away from her. “Leave your hair.”
She swayed from the loss of his touch and the lack of warmth in his tone.
“Are you quite all right?” he asked with a sneer, as if to erase all touches of warmth with harshness. It hadn’t worked, though. She knew better.
Whatever strange demon had overtaken him tonight was not normal and was, quite frankly, vexing to deal with. “I see you can choose to employ good manners when you wish.”
His countenance darkened and he lifted a brow. “You evidently are just fine.”
About the Author:
She resides in her home state of South Dakota with her husband and toddler. Her dream is to someday find an acreage where she can raise chickens and, naturally, continue her writing.
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