Guest Blog: Margaret Etheridge

Happy Saturday, my darlings! Parker here. I’m excited to have one of my dearest writing buddies with us today. Margaret Etheridge (or Mags, as I call her) is here to tell you about her new boxed set – Enchanted Lover – and to talk about food. *le sigh* I do love this woman. :) Y’all please give Margaret a warm Love, Love and Laptops welcome!

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Comfort food

It’s fall, the season for all my favorite things – warm days, cool nights, college football (Go Hogs!) and comfort food!

Pot roast, chicken and dumplings, homemade vegetable soup… I love it all. There’s nothing better than a pot of chili simmering in the stove on a cold, wet day. When I know I’m going to be stuck inside, I like to bake Toll House cookies so I know I’ll be properly supplied for the duration. If I’m feeling under the weather I need Campbell’s Chicken Noodle soup and a peanut butter sandwich.

I’m a Catholic school survivor, so in my mind, Kraft Macaroni ‘n Cheese should be served on Fridays with tuna casserole. The kind with the crushed potato chips on top.

Paramour

In my book, Paramour, Camellia Stafford’s neighbor, Mrs. Kelly, expresses her condolences in a most time honored way. She presents the bereaved with a Corning Ware dish filled with tuna-noodle casserole. Later, Cam invites sexy ad man, Brad, to her apartment and seduces him with meatloaf and mashed potatoes. What man could resist?

We’re all susceptible to the lure of comfort food. My personal favorite? Toast – the perfect food for all occasions. When I’m anxious, I take it plain and dry. Feeling cozy? I slather that toasty goodness in real butter. You know I’m celebrating when I break out the cinnamon and sugar.
How about you? What’s your go-to food when you need a little solace?

ENCHANTED LOVER: Tales of Everlasting Love 

Seven Novels of Mystical, Magical and Paranormal Romance

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PARAMOUR by Margaret Ethridge (ghost)
Two men: one living, one dead, and both vying for her love. Camellia Stafford has never been alone in her room. For twenty years, she’s been engaged in a fierce power struggle with her bedroom’s previous tenant, Frank DeLuca, the ghost trapped in the light fixture above her bed.

ENTRANCED by Maddie James (time travel, reincarnation)
Jack and Claire set out on a wild search through time, not only for the resolution to a powerful attraction between them, but also for a historical artifact that holds the key to their future happiness–the coveted silver-plated chalice made from Blackbeard’s skull.

MYSTIC THUNDER by JC Wardon (witch, mystic)
Millennia of tempestuous ancestral history forewarn Rayne Cavanaugh to hide her ability to communicate with ghosts. But– When the nephew of the man she just can’t resist goes missing in the mountains of Mystic Waters, West Virginia, she must decide between self-preservation and love.

RUNNING OUT OF TIME by Cheryl Norman (time travel)
When Stacy Webber travels to Germany for her best friend’s wedding, she loses more than her luggage and purse. She lands in a different time, fifty years ago, with no idea how to return to her world.

TIMELESS by Jan Scarbrough (psychic, ghost, reincarnation)
When Beth Abbott receives a surprise inheritance from her birth mother, she travels to the family’s nineteenth century mansion in Old Louisville, KY, now a bed and breakfast. There she meets the resident ghost, a little girl whose crying not only scares, but also intrigues guests.

MAN OF HER DREAMS by Cat Shaffer (dreams, parallel times)
Jessi Flint has a perfectly good life with a successful business and the perfect man. So, he’s only in her dreams…until her flaky assistant goes to a New Age fair and Jessi suddenly begins receiving gifts with love notes signed by a mysterious Damian.

ALMOST MAGIC by J.M. Kelley (magic, witch, gifts)
When it came to Vivian Burroughs’ unique connection with nature, her grandmother always said, ‘Mediocrity may not burn as bright as a firecracker, but it seldom blows up in your face.’ But the old woman never advised her on what to do when a sexy new neighbor stokes the flames of attraction.

 AMAZON | BARNES & NOBLE | IBOOKS | KOBO | SMASHWORDS

 

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By day, Margaret Ethridge is buried in spreadsheets. At night she pens tales of people tangling up the sheets. The product of a charming rogue and a shameless flirt, you only have to scratch the surface of this mild-mannered married lady to find a naughty streak a mile wide.

Margaret pens tales of true-to-life women’s fiction, contemporary romance, and has been known to dabble a bit in the paranormal. She also writes steamy erotic romance under the pen name Maggie Wells.

Find her online at: http://www.margaretethridge.com/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/MKEthridge

FB: https://www.facebook.com/#!/AuthorMargaretEthridge

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Fall Madness and a Wedding

Happy Thursday my darlings! I love the fall. You know what I love best?

© dusk - Fotolia.com

© dusk – Fotolia.com

PUMPKIN!

That’s right, I’m one of those people. I buy pumpkin in bulk during the winter months, just to have it on hand in case I get a craving for something orange-ly delicious in the summer. (Yes, I’m aware orange-ly isn’t a legitimate word. But it works, right?).

 

Pumpkin pie, pumpkin cookies, pumpkin custard (are you seeing a pattern here?), pumpkin bread, pumpkin muffins, pumpkin latte … I’m starting to sound like that dude from Forrest Gump.

I shouldn’t discriminate against the other varieties of winter squash. The truth is, I love them all. My current favorite is the sweet dumpling squash. I like to carve out the top and clean out the insides (as you would a Halloween pumpkin – which is NOT a cooking/eating pumpkin). Then, I fill it 3/4 full with chicken broth. Replace the top and pop it in a 375 degree oven for an hour or so (until tender). Here’s the best part. Once I pull it out of the oven, I remove the top and spoon in 3 tablespoons of couscous. Replace the top and wait 5 minutes and voila! Dinner!

I wish I could take credit for this delicious way of preparing the sweet dumpling squash, but the credit goes to a male friend of mine who loves to cook. You know who you are. :-)

This fall also brings the wedding of Gavin Mathis and Lauren Delgado to Shadow Maverick Ranch! And you are all invited! Mark your calendars – for $0.99, this is one event you won’t want to miss!

WCW SAVE THE DATE

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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White Collar Wedding is an Amazon exclusive, bonus short story from the Shadow Maverick Ranch Novella series. Thank you to all the readers who requested this story. I’m thrilled to share Gavin and Lauren’s day (and night) with you. Available November 18th for the low price of $0.99!

 

 

 

Do you have any favorite pumpkin recipes? What are your favorite things about the fall?

Until next time,

~Parker

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Stories, Stories, & More Stories

cowboy saddle no faceI can’t keep up with the stories dancing around in my brain. Honestly, there are times when I want to strangle my thoughts. Right now I’m jostling four tales-Prymal Passion, Jomsviking Blood Brothers #1, The SEAL and The Pink Poodle, and the first book in The Warriors of Ragnarök. That’s not even including the tales that I’ve started and deliberately set aside-Rocking Around a Christmas Cowboy, Seathe, and Murder To Go.

So help me decide which beginning of the following should I finish:

hunk 062211Murder To Go – Excerpt:

Why the hell was he here?

Fernando Diaz jammed his back against the cool brick wall lining the periphery of Zanadu’s outdoor dance floor. He ignored the pulsing bass reverberating through the soles of his well-worn sneakers, scowled at the gyrating South Beach wannabes writhing on the dance floor, and slugged down his two-ounce shot of vodka. Eighteen months ago he’d have been in the midst of the dancers casting his eye over the crowd searching for a woman to screw. Eighteen months ago he’d been on top of the world, voted Food and Vine’s Best Chef of the Year, cast as the top competitor for The Next Iron Toque, slated to win, to take his spot next to Bobby, Cora, and all the rest.

F**k eighteen months.

The sting of the alcohol couldn’t mask the bile souring his saliva. Fernando pushed off the wall and headed to the jetty. His past life, lived in the glare of the lights from the dozens of paparazzi who dogged his every move, didn’t hold a teaspoon of appeal. Nowadays he relished privacy and solitude and avoided reporters and photographers.

The low-slung half moon cast a silvery glow over the artificial lake. Drawn by the solitary setting, by hypnotic pull of the shimmering water, he strolled in the direction of the pier. Things were finally looking up, the restaurant had had two months in the black, and with a little spit and luck, he would dig himself out of the mire of bankruptcy that had plagued him for the last eighteen months. So why couldn’t he shake the feeling that a meat cleaver was about to obliterate everything with one hack?

The humidity that dogged South Florida’s summer days and nights lifted and the first breezes of fall sloughed a cooling welcome around his nape whisking his hair away from his skin. He halted in the middle of the pier, jammed his hands into jeans’ pockets, leaned his head back, and enjoyed the playful wind dancing over his cheeks, hoping the magic of the moon’s beams, and the solace of the lapping lake would somehow erase the anger burning a hole in his chest.

“Are you okay?”

The soft question jerked his self-pitying thoughts out of his head.

What the?

He twisted to the sound and froze, stifling a curse.

His jaw dropped.

I’m finally losing it.

A fairy?

An ethereal woman-child sat sideways against the post at the end of the jetty. Bathed in moonlight, clothed in a diaphanous dress, the wings on her back fluttering in the wind, she tilted her chin, and when their gazes met he held his breath.The walls he’d built over the last eighteen months crumbled.

“You look like you could strangle someone with your bare hands,” the fairy said. The moon’s incandescence played with her silver hair, and her eyes glimmered like amethysts.

cowboy hat tattooRocking Around A Christmas Cowboy – Excerpt:

“You’re giving me a cowboy for Christmas?”

Esmé Rawlins, of the Southern Rawlins, the revival fundamentalist Christian Rawlins, knew her mother’d gone insane.

It had happened overnight.

On the day that her husband, the Reverend Deacon Montrichard, had been indicted on fraud and embezzlement charges, and bigamy. Or was the right word frigamy? Since there were five frigging wives and assorted sons and daughters scattered all over several Arkansas, Texas, and Louisiana counties.

“Mama, you cannot give me a human being as a Christmas present.” Esmé kept her eyes fixed on the photograph she’d unwrapped. The man wore a tan Stetson pulled low on his forehead and the wide brim cast a shadow over his narrowed eyes half-obscuring their shape and color. As if a guy this good looking would glance her way once. Esmé stifled a snort. Dream on Mama. Or maybe Mama had picked out this one for husband number three?

“Emmy honey, if there’s one thing I’ve learned in my short lifetime, it’s that’s money can buy anything.” Shelby, a former Miss Arkansas, had managed to prove that little pearl of wisdom with a justified, pecan pie sweetened spate of financial vengeance in a matter of days after the scandal had broken.

“I told you already, Mama, I’m going back to college tomorrow morning.” Esmé’s brother Colton scowled at the computer-printed certificate in his hand. “I’m not going to a dude ranch in the middle of nowhere.”

“And I don’t have any vacation left. I can’t take a whole week off. The library’s busy over Christmas.” A blatant lie, but since Shelby had never set foot in the building, she’d never know. Esmé crossed her fingers behind her back.

Shelby’s newly surgically plumped lips quivered. “You two are the only family I have left in this entire world. Neither of you can spare five days for the woman who birthed you? You’re going to leave me alone over the holidays?” The three-carat diamond on one slim French-manicured finger winked as Shelby patted her chest. “You know the doctor said I shouldn’t be alone.”

Colton and Esmé’s glances met over the top of their mother’s gold-dusted honey hair. Her brother rolled his eyes; Esmé cringed and barricaded her face with open palms. Here came the waterworks, the innuendoes re depression, and the inevitable “I chose Deacon because you two needed a father figure” laments.

“And it’s not as if you couldn’t afford to drop twenty pounds.” Shelby cut Esmé a glance. “It’s a spa/dude ranch combo. I paid for your horse riding lessons. And, as for you young man, I hired that coach you talked about to work on your golf swing.”

Two days, several boxes of Kleenex, and innumerable Shelby crying jags later, Esmé jerked out of deep sleep when bongo drums shattered her favorite sexcapade pre-dawn fantasy. Her unfocused gaze met a wood-timbered ceiling.

Where am I?

rolan cropped 022111Seathe – Excerpt:

“This is going to be a total disaster.”

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist,” Shaggy advised. “Try to look on the positive side. He saved the resort. If Seathe MacFarland hadn’t bought Ricky’s Landing, Jonathon Lowell would own us lock, stock, and barrel, and you know what that would mean.”

Genie scowled. She stared at the black pitch of the airport’s runway wanting nothing more than to get the whole meet and greet over and done with.

As usual for the dry season on a tropical island eleven degrees north of the equator, the day had dawned with a crisp clarity and a dazzling brilliance. Not a cloud marred the azure sky. A flock of vultures danced an apostrophe above the rugged peaks and dips of the mountain range above the galvanized roof of the airport hangar.

“Who has a name like Seathe, anyway? What kind of idiotic mother names her son, Seathe? He’s going to be a bully, I just know it. One of those arrogant, insufferable, whiny Yanks who thinks he’s better than us.” She had a love/hate relationship with Americans. Genie loved they thought they could rule the world, and she hated that they actually did, culture-wise.

“You forget I was there for the Skype negotiations, girlie? The man is reasonable. He agreed to keep everyone on, didn’t he? And he agreed to provide complete medical and dental care and a pension plan. Damn, I can finally get that cracked tooth fixed.”

Genie knew how terrible Shaggy’s toothache had grown, but her major worry on the medical score was the pending birth of her BFF’s first baby.

Chantal’s pregnancy had been smooth and easy until last week when she’d awoken in a pool of blood. Placenta previa had been Doc Harry’s conclusion. But Doc hadn’t been able to verify the diagnosis because the only ultrasound on the island belonged to the hospital her step-uncle Jonathon controlled.

When Genie’d researched the condition on the internet, she’d been scared spit less. The odds of Chantal and her baby surviving a natural childbirth were slim. That had cinched the decision in Seathe MacFarland’s favor.

In this case, better the devil you don’t know than the devil that you do. As in, her step-uncle Jonathon. Genie shivered when a chill settled on her nape even under the tropical heat and humidity.

Not going there.

It had taken her years to recover from Jonathon’s evil perfidy.

pink poodleThe SEAL and The Pink Poodle – Excerpt:

“What the fu—”

The pouffed, powdered, and perfumed poodle had the most ear-blasting, high-pitched bark on the planet.

Montana clenched his jaw for the umpteenth time today. In a brief lull of silence, he snapped, “Sit.”

He hadn’t been able to wrap his head or tongue around the dog’s full name—Priscilla Persephone Padigan.

Not that it mattered.

According to Clara O’Halloran, the woman who’d taken the dog in after Montana’s step-uncle died, the animal answered only to either the full version of its name or Prissy.

Prissy. He shuddered.

Montana had a history with canines.

None of it good.

A pit bull had killed his mother when she intervened during the dog’s mauling of him and his brother, Topeka. Not that he had any memory of the event him having been all of five years old when the tragedy had happened. He’d learned to respect canines during his time in the TEAMs, but tolerance didn’t equal anything near resembling liking.

How had a simple visit to inspect the property inherited from his recently deceased uncle on his mother’s side become a living nightmare?

The dog reared onto its hind legs and scraped the wooden door with eight pink-painted toenails.

Montana didn’t bother to repress a mortified-for-the-dog grunt when he spied the pooch’s manicured claws.

Why?

He jammed the heel of one palm against his forehead.

Why would any sane person paint a dog’s toenails pink? He grimaced. Swept a glance around a living area designed and detailed to celebrate every shade of pink in existence and then some.

Okay – someone choose – tell me what tale to write this merry Monday. I’m done in with confusion.

Cheers,

Jianne

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Happy Release Day, Annie Anthony!

Sometimes in this crazy world of publishing, you meet someone who not only touches your career but touches your life. I have been so very lucky in that aspect. I have the ladies here at LL&L who I know professionally and personally. I also belong to a great writing group for my other pen. I have forged such strong and amazing bonds with all of these women and am so happy to call them friends.

I love them all, but I have to say there is one lovely gal who takes the brunt of my love and affection. And I say “brunt” because not only am I full of love and affection, but I she also is the one I turn to when I need to vent, gripe, cry, and when I wonder why, oh, why do I keep going forward in this sometimes cruel and wicked world of publishing.

And today, this very day, just happens to be the release day on her first publication. I’m so proud of her because I know how difficult it is to be on both sides of the publishing game. Priorities get confused and it’s really difficult to put your own career first. I’m so excited she has!

I got a preview of her new release, Blue Suede Boi, and it is a sexy little lesbian erotica that is sure to melt your panties (well…at least the edible kind).

Hop on over to Musa Publishing and welcome my dear friend into the world of erotica!

Happy release day, Annie!

bluesuedeboi-200

 

Blurb:

Has Kaia’s hottest fantasy become a reality in her blue suede boi?

The unattainable object of Kaia’s fantasies is browsing in a store known for barely better than cheap shoes in the most bland strip mall in town. By the chemistry sparking between then, Kaia wonders whether Amanda may have come in looking for more than just the men’s shoe rack.  Has Kaia’s hottest fantasy become a reality in her blue suede boi?

Excerpt:

I’d first met Amanda when I was dating Zen, and yes, that’s really her name. Zen was a lawyer, and she loved having me on her arm at parties but she sucked at anything more than lavish dates. Amanda worked at Zen’s law firm, doing something—IT maybe? I’d met Amanda at the firm’s holiday party. I was dolled up in an outfit Zen had picked out. I grimaced thinking about Zen. She had embarrassed me, trotting me out as eye candy. She called me her modern day Ann-Margret. I have natural red hair and a thing for thick wings of black eyeliner, sort of a retro glam vibe. I’m a redhead who likes wearing red, but I remember fidgeting in the strapless dress bought to match Zen’s burgundy shirt and holiday tie. The tacky bridesmaid-y dress, the coordinating colors…the whole scene was so not me. Zen and I lasted only about three months. The holiday party had been the last straw.

I’d been standing alone waiting for Zen to get drinks from the bar. Amanda and her date, a crazy-hot black girl dressed almost as flashy as I was, were the only other lesbian couple. I noticed them right away, the way Amanda’s hand hovered at the curve above her date’s ass, her brilliant-white mohawk a stark contrast to the businesslike haircuts of most of the partygoers. Amanda owned her swagger. She laughed and touched her date, tossing back drinks as though the firm event was just a pre-party warm up before a night of athletic and intense fucking.

I’d felt so jealous. Jealous as fuck. Zen was a confident butch, a half- Korean girl with a close-cut boy’s haircut and a stylish andro wardrobe. We talked, but we had zero chemistry. She was only interested in how I looked to other people. I let her take me out, pay for everything, hoping things might turn into more…but they never did. At that party, I felt sick watching the chemistry spark off Amanda and her date. I wanted to take home that gorgeous boi and fuck her senseless, grab that white-hot hair between my fingers and tug her face to my tits. I would never have anything close to that with Zen. That night I knocked back too many glasses of wine and stared at Amanda from wherever Zen and I were—peering around the servers carrying cocktail snacks, running into Amanda in the ladies room. I’m sure I looked like a stalker, and I’d felt like the nerd at the high school dance with a lovesick crush on a popular athlete.

Zen had wanted to take me to her place after the holiday party. As she drove her sporty two-seater, she kept one hand under my dress, trying to stroke my pussy through my panties and teasing me when I didn’t get wet and encourage her.

“What’s up, baby?” She pulled her hand away and put both on the steering wheel. “Let’s go back to my place. I want you to sit on my face and come wearing that dress. You look so hot tonight, Kaia.”

I asked her to just take me home, told her I wasn’t feeling well. I hugged her before I went inside alone, knowing I would never see her again. I didn’t even feel like explaining. My heart sank and I felt alone and angry. Stupid candy-cane striped bow tie. Zen wasn’t a bad woman. She just wasn’t Amanda. I’d settled for Zen-relationships for too long. I wanted an Amanda of my own…that Amanda.

I got off that night, still wearing the bought-for-me red dress. I pushed my fingers deep inside my mouth, wetting them until they dripped. I rubbed my slick fingertips over my clit, arousal swelling my nub as I thought about how Amanda’s tongue would feel. I pictured her mohawk tickling my thighs as she licked me and imagined the feel of those spikes of sexy hair brushing against my chin as she sucked my nipples. I moaned so loud I probably woke my roommate, and a small squirt of come trickled down my fingers. I rolled over and grabbed my pillow for comfort, trying not to imagine what Amanda must have been doing with her date at that very moment.

Somehow, three months later, Amanda was in my shoe store.

Buy Blue Suede Boi here.

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Visit Annie Anthony here!

 

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New Release: Prime Imperative, Prime Chronicles #3

MM_TPC3_PrimeImperativeIolyn Caradoc’s book is out. In Prime Imperative, he finally finds his mate — and she’s in danger.

Dr. Brianna Martin (Bria), one of the Lost Ones, has her own enemies — a crazed Dornian security guard in her lab– and all the enemies of the Prime race plus the Pure Blood rebels since she’s trying to solve the Prime race’s negative population growth — and because she is mated to one of the Prime leader’s sons.

Iolyn races across the galaxy to protect his mate, only to find she isn’t where she’s supposed to be. In fact, she has found even more trouble.

For a Prime male who’d lost hope of ever finding a mate, Iolyn is one unhappy space camper.  Needless to say, when the two finally get together, it’s explosive.

Excerpt:

For now, Jotak mirrored her movements, stalking her like the predator he was, while closing any gap she created. Then he stopped. His head swept from side to side as his split-tongue tasted the air. His slitted yellow eyes flared. He’d noted Cheri’s lingering scent.

Thank the One, her friend was long gone, out of Jotak’s reach.

“Someone is-s-s here?” He pinned her with his basilisk stare.

It didn’t work on her.

“We’re alone.” Bria placed her workstation between her and the large male. “Now, say what you have to say and then go. I have work to do before I can leave for the day.”

He flicked his tongue, quickly tasting the air once more, and then emitted an almost orgasmic guttural sound. His body seemed to grow another inch in height and breadth. His thin lips twisted upward. If she were brave enough to look, she knew she’d find evidence of his arousal. He was feeding on the smell of her fear, and like the apex predator he was, he liked it.

Why had she ever thought she could be “just friends” with this man? She must’ve been nuts.

“If you wish to leave Oz, Brianna, I will take you wherever you wish to go. We can join my parent’s space caravan.”

“I am leaving Oz to do my job. I have no desire to wander the universe–”

She left “with you” unsaid.

“Wrong ans-s-swer,” he hissed.

Her gut told her an attack was imminent. How long had it been since Cheri left? Five standard minutes or less? It seemed like hours.

Hurry, hurry, hurry.

Copyright, Monette Michaels, 2014.

Prime Imperative Buy Links:

Liquid Silver Books

Amazon

Barnes and Noble

iBooks

Kobo

AllRomance E-Books

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Why KaLyn?

I get asked all the time about my name, KaLyn.

No, I didn’t make it up, my mother did. Back in the 1950’s, women were often named for those found in the Bible. Some venturous mothers dared name their little girls Sue, Linda, Sally, etc.

Mom must have known even then that I’d be different.

She didn’t spell it the way she should have either. According to my grandmother, it should have been Kay Lynn, or possibly even add an “e’ and it would have been Kaye Lynne. Note two separate words.

Nope, Mom made it KaLyn, with a capital “L” right in the middle like the spelling of JoAnn.

When I began romance writing, because there was no reason to use a pen name when I wrote non-fiction, I asked around and chose to become Kate Cooper. It was a simple, memorable name and everyone could spell it correctly, unlike the sir name I took when I married Macho Marine.

But as I pitched my two completed manuscripts, over and over again, I wanted to be remembered. Thirty-plus years of marketing and public relations kicked in, with a little push from my agent, and I decided to remain KaLyn. I’d use Cooper for the reason mentioned above.

The choice of my own name has been on my mind because my friend and beta reader, Vikki Vaught, is in a turmoil about her pen names.

I’ve decided to share my point of view here.

Today, authors often publish under several pen names, with good reason. If you write YA and BDSM, the audiences are different. You really don’t want a young child to search by author name and find a book they shouldn’t be reading. Flip side, your erotic readers probably aren’t going to want to buy a book about the woes of teenage heartbreak. That one is a no-brainer.

noraroberts

Nora Roberts a.k.a. J.D. Robb

Now we step into the area of muddled lines. There’s the situation of cross genre. I point to Nora Roberts, the queen herself. When she first wrote under J.D. Robb, her sales were nowhere near what the publisher anticipated until it was leaked that the two pen names were one in the same person. More recently, look at J.K. Rowling and Robert Galbraith. Again, her books sky rocketed once it was released that one woman wrote under both names.

Liliana-Hart

Liliana Hart

Wearing my marketing hat now, in my opinion, as long as the heat level is about the same, I believe that authors should use the same name and brand the hell out it. I’ll use one of my favorite authors as an example, Liliana Hart. She has expertly branded that pseudonym and her readers jump sub-genres from contemporary to suspense to sifi and it has garnered her millions of readers worldwide.

In conclusion, I am, and will always remain, KaLyn, since the only thing I write is romantic suspense and contemporary romance and all of it is blazing hot.

Explosive Combination Buy Links

Explosive Combination available now

If you are interested in what I write, I invite you to read Explosive Combination.

And {{happy dancing}} coming December 1, 2014 from Liquid Silver Books is Christmas In Cancun, the first romantic suspense book of the In Cancun series. Watch this blog for my cover reveal.

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How Narnia shaped my books

If you’ve ever read my personal blog Rosanna Leo’s Room or read any of my books, you will have understood I am influenced in great measure by the world of fantasy. One of my greatest literary influences has been The Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis.

 

Now, I know what you’re thinking. Rosanna writes erotic romance. What on earth does that have to do with Mr. Tumnus? Well, a great deal, as it happens.

I remember when I read the Chronicles the first time. I was in grade six, 11 years old. My mother purchased the entire set of 7 books for me from a school sale. I recall the day they were delivered to my classroom. Compact, shiny paperback copies of Lewis’ masterpieces. I kept those books until they literally fell apart, rereading them often.

Loving those stories the way I do, it was probably inevitable they influence my own work as a writer.

Who would not fall in love with the mighty lion Aslan? I think he’s one of the reasons I write shape shifter romances. Because of the enigmatic creature, so beautiful yet so awe-inspiring, the idea of infusing my leading men with animal tendencies was one I could not resist.

I always adored the Pevensie children and their various counterparts in the series. Such underdogs, such outsiders, they make you root for them. And when we see them vanquish their stronger enemies, our hearts soar. I try very hard to infuse my heroines with the same underdog qualities. I love making them the “odd man out” and in the case of my shifter books, my heroines are often different than anyone else around them.

Of course, you see many references to Greek mythology in the Narnia books as well. Anyone who has read my Greek god books knows how much I adore the world of mythology. This is due in large part to the characters I saw in Narnia.

However, I think the moment in The Chronicles of Narnia that influenced me most was seeing the great Aslan sacrifice himself for his human friends. Most of us understand Aslan was written as a Christ figure and Narnia a sort of Heaven. This appeals so much to my spiritual side. The theme of self-sacrifice is evident in each one of my books. At some point in my stories, a character invariably makes the decision to risk everything for the one he/she loves. Remember Eryx and Dionysus in my Greek god books? They gave up everything for their mortal heroines. My shifters and selkies are no different. Even my mortal characters often face this decision, a life-altering moment that leaves the character, and hopefully the reader, much changed.

I often joke that, as a little girl, I used to try to get to Narnia through my bedroom closet, not having a wardrobe. I don’t go looking for that strange passageway any longer, but I will confess this much. If I ever got there accidentally, you can bet I’d stay a while.

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