All right, ladies and gentlemen, time to give our real life heroes and heroines a shout out. I'm a romance writer. I spend countless hours a day with a fantasy man, and my real life hero doesn't mind. He deserves as shout out.
Bad day at work? If I tell hubby there's nothing he can do to fix it, he doesn't try. He just wraps his arms around me and holds me for as long as I need him too. Gotta give him a shout out.
He doesn't begrudge me my bad moods. Again, give that man a shout out.
He'll go with me to see a chick flick. Say it with me now. Shout out!
When I need silence in this world full of noise, he blocks it out. And when I'm ready to hear the world again, there he is. Shout out.
And when I feel like I need to watch my back, he's watching my front, sides and anywhere else I'm not looking. SHOUT OUT! The world ain't got nothing on us!
So, now it's your turn. Give your man or woman their shout out.
Hi Everyone!
It's been a long time since I've been here, but I'm back. A lot has happened since I last posted so without further ado, Dreamers is here! This is the book of my heart. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it!
Blurb:
Somiar Ayers always thought it was really cool that she could control her dreams. In one night, her world is shattered when she finds out not only is she adopted, but she comes from a race of female assassins called Dreamers. While in a dream state, Dreamers can astral project anywhere, any time. Since they don’t leave fingerprints or DNA they can literally get away with murder. Now that her biological mother is caught, she has been charged to get her back. At any cost. With the help of her adoptive mother, Somiar is in a race against time. Can she find her mother before Malachi finds out she is the key to the Dreamer he’s been seeking for years? Or will she find her whole life has been a lie?
Malachi Walker is a Dream Catcher who has been hunting Dreamers for the past seven years. Particularly the Dreamer that killed his best friend. When he saves Somiar Ayers from a Dreamer, he can’t believe his luck. If he can keep her alive, he can catch the one Dreamer that has haunted him most of his adult life. But as the past descends on them, and webs of deceit are untangled, he starts to wonder. Who will save him from her?
Excerpt:
"No questions. This is my dream and I want things my way.” His hand slid up her arm to her shoulder and unhooked the diamond and pearl clasp holding her sarong closed.
Somiar caught the soft material before it could fall, using it to shield the front of her body from his heated gaze. She shivered slightly, but the warm tropical breeze brushing across her bare ass had nothing to do with it. Or dear Lord, he thought he was dreaming. But he was a Catcher. He shouldn’t be here. Even if he were half Dreamer he wouldn’t be able to project. Her blood ran cold as she remembered her last thought. She wanted him here with her. With a jolt she realized he didn’t project, she pulled him in. He was here because of her. Oh great, she was in a real life version of “Nightmare on Elm Street.”
She needed to study that damned book and find out exactly what she was capable of. Stumbling on her abilities was turning out to be more than a little annoying. He would think she did this on purpose. Trying to ignore her pounding heart, she turned her head when he tried to kiss her again. She had to stop him. “Malachi, listen to me. This isn’t…”
He cut her off with his mouth on hers. There was nothing tender about this kiss. It was full of passion and fire. His tongue delved into her mouth, tasting and exploring. He plunged his fingers in her hair and gently tugged her head back to run his lips and tongue down her neck. Wrapping his fingers around her slim hands still full of the silk that hid her body, he nudged them down to her waist. When his lips closed around her nipple Somiar inhaled sharply.
She thought her legs would buckle under her but Malachi held her steady in his arms. The feel of her body entangled with his consumed her. All thoughts of warning him flew from her mind. The primitive part of her took over. She wanted to take him. And she wanted to take him slowly.
With a deep inhale, she pulled away from him, letting the sarong slide through her fingers, forming a shimmering white pool at her feet. When he reached for her, she stepped back. “No.” The word almost sounded like a hiss.
“No?”
“Have you ever let a woman take charge, Malachi?” Somiar smiled when he shook his head. “Let me. Let me have this night my way. You won’t regret it.” She moved in close, not letting their bodies touch, and ran a finger down his chest to the waistband of his jeans. “Let me take what I want.”
Dreamers:available at http://www.eredsage.com/store/index.html
http://www.shawndaltonsmith.com
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Twitter:@SDaltonSmith
So here's my writing day so far. I got my butt in the chair. I turn on my computer and open the file containing my wip. My characters are sitting at the dinner table and have nothing to say. They're frozen in time. They've been sitting at that damn table for the past three days. Three days of waiting for me to tell them what to do. If they know what comes next, they aren't sharing it with me.
Usually something happens after a couple of days when I get stuck. I get an AHA moment. So far the muse and the characters aren't speaking to me right now. This has happened to me before and I'm sure it will happen again. Maybe I should go to the grocery store, or read. Hopefully, soon, the muse and the characters will be ready to come out and play.
What do you do when your emotions interfere with your writing? I had an especially bad day. I got home, took an hour to decompress, and started on my wip. It was a disaster. Both my hero and heroine sounded cold, angry, and whiny all at the same time. I cut the whole scene and saved it in my junk file. Then I turned off my computer and attacked my bathroom with a scrub brush.
Let me tell you a little about my junk file. It's full of over the top, love you, hate you, wish you were dead scenes. The character's emotions are all over the place. Looking at the file, I realized something interesting about myself. I can't write usable scenes when I'm angry or stressed. I've heard it before and will probably hear again that I should be able to write no matter what. Sorry. I'm not wired that way. I can only handle one problem at a time.
Give me calm, happy, bored, or even sad and I can get in the zone, no problem. Thank God I'm not a chronically angry or stressed person. My bathroom would glisten, but I'd never get any writing done.
I've got a secret. I'm a habitual procrastinator. Biggest problem, I justify my habit with legitmate things that need to be done. The laundry is piling up, my living room is a mess, grandbaby wants to play. My family has decided to stop enabling me. My son cleaned the livng room, my daughter and her boyfriend took the baby shopping with them, and hubby did the laundry. Guess what I came up with next. I just want to wash my hair, then I'll get started.
That's when it hit me. What am I afraid of? So what if I sit at my desk and stare blankly at the screen? Turn out three pages of crap? No big deal. Realize I really hate my characters? No problem. But it is a problem. I make it a problem. I also have a bad habit of setting myself up for a bad writing day before my fingers hit the keyboard. But I sit down anyway, take a deep breath and write. Something wonderful happens. I don't have a bad writing day. I have a really good one. Sure, the chapter doesn't sparkle like I want, but I realize I can fix it.
And I turn out three pages of pretty good material. And my day has been saved. Now on to the next task. I really do have to wash my hair.
This month has been a wild one. I've had good and bad things happen. I have a new love in my life. My granddaughter, Jullian. She's two weeks old and like most newborns, a complete diva. She wants what she wants when she wants it, and I can't resist her. Neither can her other grandparents, her parents, aunts and uncles.
I've received three rejections on my manuscript and I'm still alive. I didn't break down into a sobbing puddle or throw my lap top out of the window, vowing to never write again. Instead I thought, Wow, they actually responded. I had to ask my critique partners if my reaction was normal. I didn't want the depression I just knew was coming to catch me off guard. I ignored the fact that they were form letters.
Yesterday, I participated in a three mile run-walk with my son. He finished in twenty minutes. I finished in an hour, but the point is I finished. Yeah me! Today, my legs are killing me, but I went to the day job and did what I had to do.
So now I have a screaming baby in the house, a host of people dropping by to see her, submissions, rejections, and new challenges. This is my life. It's become complete and utter chaos. I have no idea what's gong to happen next. And I wouldn't change a thing.
I love a kick ass heroine. Always have, always will. But if your hero and heroine are interchangeable, except for body parts, I get turned off.
Example #1: Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Totally rocks. She kicks some vampire ass, catches the bad guys, but still has time to act like a woman with steamy love interest, Angel. If memory serves, she even had a thing for Spike for a little stint.
Example #2: Sarah Connor: After the first Terminator movie, she turned into a man with boobs.
First scene: In her cell doing pull ups. Ripped arms. After her son risks his life to save her, she does nothing but feel him up to see if he's injured and tells him it was dumb for him to risk his life because he is too important to the future. If she had been more concerned about him as a mother, she would have come off as likeable. But his well being was treated as an after thought. No motherly love, no...nothing. She spent the rest of the movie as a hard ass sucking on cigarettes. A man could have played that part and I don't think I would have known the difference.
I've had the same experience with some books I've read, and they were supposed to be romance novels. They shall remain nameless. The heroine was trying so hard to prove she was just as good as a man, I couldn't tell the difference between her and the hero. Until it came down to sex. Of course she was soft as silk and he was hard as granite.
Maybe I'm old fashioned, but besides having a vagina, I'd like for there to be something feminine about the heroine.
Blog question: Where do you draw the line? Have you ever found yourself at a point where your heroine lost her femininity because she was supposed to be kick ass? Where does that leave your hero?
This is something that has weighed heavily on me for a long time and I would love to hear your responses. Have you ever been disappointed by a kick ass heroine because she was the female version of Arnold Schwarzenegger?
How do you keep that out of your writing?
