PoV Pop Quiz

PoV Pop Quiz

We’ve discussed point of view (PoV), what it is and how it works, over the past two days. Let’s take this discussion from theory to a practical pop quiz. Below are several paragraphs written in third person deep PoV, each containing an accidental break. See if you can find all of them.

The answers are at the end, so no peeking.

Here’s the first one, “borrowed” from the rough draft of Kay Springsteen’s upcoming sweet romance, Elusive Echoes:

“Ry’s got me on babysitting duty tomorrow morning.” Sean swirled his beer, keeping his gaze on the amber liquid sloshing against the edges of the mug. Mel gripped the towel beneath her folded hands more tightly. She’d likely need it soon.

That one’s pretty simple, though, isn’t it? Let’s try something a little tougher. This is from a previous draft of my upcoming historical mystery, Deal with the Devil:

The German officer’s earlier anger had drained, leaving his brown eyes clear, and Clarke knew he wasn’t imagining the touch of derision now in their depths.

Remember, anything that’s not from the leading character’s perspective, anything he or she wouldn’t naturally think about, qualifies as a break in deep PoV.

Let’s try another. This is also from Deal and it’s pretty similar to the preceding one:

For one crazy moment, Clarke believed he had known this man at some point in their past, that he had only to sweep away his agitation to remember a more innocent age. But of course that was impossible.

Here’s one final example. This one I’m creating off the top of my head, but it’s a commonly seen error:

“You don’t want to mess with me,” Luke said, a hint of menace in his voice.

Feel free to discuss these in the comments if you like.

Or you can read the answers after the blurb and excerpt.

Blurb:

In August 1940, German Army Major Faust is unexpectedly captured by the English and he must escape before they break him. But every time he gets away, a woman is raped and murdered, and the English are looking for someone to hang. Faust must catch the killer, even though he’s helping the enemy—even though he’s making a Deal with the Devil.

Excerpt:

Stoner withdrew his silver cigarette case from his breast pocket and lit up, too, leaving the case open on the desk. “Well. Let us review your situation, shall we? First, you have readily admitted you serve in the Wehrmacht, not the Luftwaffe.”

Faust paused, uncertain where Stoner was leading him. “That’s right.”

Stoner tilted his head. “I was not aware German Army officers crewed Air Force warplanes.”

He winced. Should he try to bluff something here? No, the intelligence lectures he had mostly slept through had repeatedly emphasized never lie to an interrogator, and although he couldn’t recall why, there had to be a good reason. “We don’t.”

“So we have immediately established you are not here for a legitimate military purpose, which leaves two possibilities: either you are here as the result of an accident—”

“Which is the case.”

“—or you are here for an illegitimate purpose.”

“An illegitimate purpose?” Faust dragged again, thinking through the implications of that phrase. “You mean espionage?”

“Indeed.”

He let smoke drift from his mouth. Him as a spy—now that was a novel concept. “You know, Mr. Stoner, I was starting to like you—”

“I’m touched.” The irony was light.

“—but you play rough.”

Stoner tapped ash and continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “Your German military intelligence service, the Abwehr, has experienced difficulty obtaining information regarding our defenses in these islands.”

He took a long last drag and stubbed the quarter-inch butt out in the glass ashtray on the table at his elbow. “I didn’t know that.”

“The Royal Air Force, on the other hand, has had remarkable success against Luftwaffe reconnaissance aircraft, which has denied the Abwehr aerial photographs of those defenses.”

“I didn’t know that, either.”

“As it would be criminal folly for the German high command to attempt an invasion without first fully analyzing the defenses of their intended target, the Abwehr has little option but to infiltrate agents within England.”

Faust cradled his injured arm against his side. He could see where the conversation was going now and Stoner’s relentless logic left him cold.

“Herr Major, if the Abwehr selected an agent to infiltrate the Oxford area, it would be someone with your precise qualifications.”

Even knowing it was coming, the blow was a knockout. Faust rubbed his neck and forced himself to breathe. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Then allow me to conclude.” Stoner folded his hands atop his spotless blotter. “We know there is a German intelligence network in place within Oxford.”

“You know more than I do.”

“We know that because we’ve broken it.”

“Then it wasn’t so hot, was it?”

“And they told us another agent was coming.”

Faust quit breathing again.

“Under these circumstances, Herr Major, surely you understand we must verify your position before accepting you as an honorable prisoner of war.”

To Buy Deal With the Devil

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Answers to Quiz 

1. The end of the paragraph shows us Mel’s thoughts, so we’re in her PoV. How could she know what Sean’s actually looking at? He might be thinking he needs his nails trimmed and not even notice the beer’s about to spill.

2. We’re in Clarke’s PoV, looking at the German officer. But Clarke wouldn’t be thinking about what he knows or doesn’t know, especially since his life is at stake in this scene. An alternative method of phrasing this might be, “The touch of derision in their depths wasn’t subtle.” Or some such.

3. Yeah, it’s the same thing: Clarke wouldn’t be thinking about what he believes or doesn’t, while he’s trying to find some means of surviving. This one could be rephrased with a question. “Had he known this man, perhaps years ago?” Or it could be rewritten as:

There was something familiar about this man, as if Clarke had known him at some point in their past and if he could sweep away his agitation, he’d remember a more innocent age. It was the sort of feeling to drive him crazy, but of course it was impossible.

4. Most of us don’t spend much time thinking about our voices and how we sound. If this imaginary Luke is fixating upon putting “a hint of menace” in his voice, then he’s pretty egocentric or at least comes across that way.

Thanks for your informative and fun quiz, Cheryl :-) 

Please come back tomorrow  and discover how to become 'An Educated Writer'

Please welcome Melissa McClone's Niko and Lizzie

Thanks for having me on your blog today. I brought along His Royal Highness Crown Prince Nikola Kresimir and Her Royal Highness Crown Princess Isabel Poussard Zvonimir Kresimir of Vernonia from Expecting Royal Twins! for a little Q&A session.


Are you ready to get started, Your Highnesses?



Princess Isabel: Please call us Niko and Izzy. We're not that big on formality and protocol around here.

Niko: At least not anymore.

Izzy: He used to be a lot stuffier.

Niko: That implies I'm still stuffy, Highness.

Izzy: Only a little, my love. So what questions did you have for us today?

Can you please tell us a little bit about where you come from?

Niko: Vernonia is located in the northeastern part of the Balkans, near the Romanian and Serbian border. We've been rebuilding following an internal conflict that ended five years ago. Our hope is to be invited into the European Union, but we have many projects still to complete before that becomes a reality. Natural gas is our most prized natural resource. Anything you care to add, Izzy?

Izzy: Vernonia is a charming little country surrounded by snowcapped peaks. It's full of dense forests and lush valleys. Many of the villages dot the mountainsides. A change for me coming from Charlotte, North Carolina aka NASCAR country. But I've fallen in love with the land and the people. Vernonians are loyal and passionate.

Niko: Izzy is also a Vernonian. She was just raised in America.

What's been the biggest challenge in going from a mechanic in Charlotte, NC to a princess of Vernonia?

Niko: Keeping the grease off her designer clothes.

Izzy: He's only half-right. I still enjoy working on cars, but I've learned to wear coveralls when in the royal garage. I'm still trying to get the hang of wearing high heels. I much prefer flats. Never twisted my ankle wearing my steel-toed work boots. All the make-up, hair product and jewelry have taken some getting used to, but there are days when I don't bother with any of that.

Niko: You look beautiful no matter. Izzy has redefined what being a princess is all about. She's a breath of fresh air to the monarchy.

Izzy: Tradition is deeply woven into the people of Vernonia. It goes beyond shooting off fireworks at the Fourth of July and eating turkey at Thanksgiving as I did when I lived in America. At first I didn't understand that, but now that I do it's made things easier for all of us.

Niko: We can move forward and respect the past at the same time.

Izzy: Exactly.

Niko: Tell them about your princess lessons.

Izzy: Well, Princess Julianna of Aliestle taught me what I needed to know about being a princess. At least she tried. She was so patient. I wasn't always the best student when it came to posture and protocol or how to eat properly at dinner. I always want to eat the entire dish of sorbet when you're only supposed to take a bite to cleanse your palate. But I did master the wave.

Niko: She's got the princess wave down.

Izzy: It's much easier to master than wearing heels. And dancing in them! Torture devices, I'm telling you.

So anything else you'd like to tell us?

Niko: Vernonia is the perfect place to visit if anyone is looking for an escape.

Izzy: Oh, yes. Please do! I never thought I'd wind up with a happily ever after there. Who knows what you'll find?

Blurb:-

Suddenly a Princess...

It's not every day that a tall, dark, handsome prince strides into your workshop and announces he's your husband! Mechanic Izzy nearly drops her wrench. Never in her wildest dreams did she imagine that she'd become a princess!
Independent Izzy struggles with exchanging her oil-stained overalls for silken gowns, let alone becoming responsible for an entire country! Yet her attraction to Prince Niko tempts her further into the fairy tale. And then two small surprises change all the rules of the game....

EXCERPT:-
Inside Bay #2 at Rowdy's One Stop Garage in Charlotte, North Carolina, a Brad Paisley song blared from a nearby boom box. Oil, gasoline and grease scented the air. Isabel Poussard bent over a Chevy 350 small block engine. The bolt she needed to remove wouldn't budge, but she wasn't giving up or asking for help. She wanted the guys to see her as an equal, not a woman who couldn't make it on her own.
She adjusted the wrench. "Come on now. Turn for Izzy."
A swatch of light brown hair fell across her eyes so she couldn't see.
Darn ponytail. It never stayed put. If she had any extra money, she would get a short hairstyle so she wouldn't be bothered any more. She didn't dare cut it herself. For years her Uncle Frank had chopped her hair with whatever was handy, scissors or razor blades. She'd grown up looking more like a boy than a girl. Not that any dresses hung in her closest today.
Izzy tucked the stray strands behind her ear. She struggled to turn the wrench. Her palm sweated. The wrench slipped.
Frustrated, she blew out a puff of air. "No one is going to let you work over the wall in the pits during a race if you can't loosen a little bolt."
She imagined the start of the Daytona 500. The roar of the crowd. The heat from the pavement. The smell of burning of rubber. The rev of engines.
Excitement surged through her.
Being on a professional pit crew had been Uncle Frank's dream for as long as Izzy remembered. An aneurysm had cut his life short. Now it was up to her to turn his dream into a reality. He'd spent his life caring for her and sharing his skill and love of cars. More than once he'd had the opportunity to be on a pit crew, but he hadn't wanted to leave her. This was the least she could do for him.
As soon as she saved enough money, she would enroll in pit crew school. She wanted to put her days at dirt tracks and stock car circuits behind her and take a shot at the big leagues. For Uncle Frank and herself. She had bigger goals than just being on the pit crew. She wanted to be the crew chief. Izzy would show those kids who laughed at her grease stained hands they were wrong. She would do something with her life. Something big.
She adjusted her grip on the wrench and tried again. The bolt turned. "Yes."
"Hey, Izzy," the garage owner's son and her closest friend Boyd shouted to her over the Lady Antebellum song now playing on the radio. "Some folks here to see you."
Word of mouth about her skills kept spreading. She could not only fix old engines, but the new hybrids, too. Her understanding of the computer and electronics side of things coupled with a gift for diagnostics drew in new clients daily. Her boss Rowdy was so happy he'd given Izzy a raise. If this kept up, she could enroll in school in a few months.
With a smile, she placed her wrench and the bolt on the top of her toolbox.
Izzy stepped outside. Fresh air filled her lungs. Sunshine warmed her face. She loved spring days better than the humid ones summer brought with it.
In front of her, a black limousine gleamed beneath the midday sun. The engine idled perfectly. Darkened windows hid the identity of the car's passengers, but uniformed police officers stood nearby.
Not simply "some folks" wanting to see her. Must be a VIP inside the limo if police escorts were needed.
Izzy couldn't imagine what they wanted with her since the car sounded like it was running fine.
She wiped her dirty hands on the thighs of her cotton coveralls. Not exactly clean, especially with grease caked under her fingernails, but cleaner.
One of the police officers gave her the once over, as if sizing up her danger potential. A good thing she'd left the wrench in the garage.
A chauffeur walked around the car and opened the back door. A blond man exited. He wore a designer suit and nicely polished black dress shoes. With a classically handsome face and short clipped hair, he was easy on the eyes. But his good looks seemed a little bland like a bowl of vanilla ice cream without any hot fudge, whipped cream and candy sprinkles. She preferred men who weren't quite so pretty, men with a little more…character.
"Isabel Poussard?" the man asked.
She stiffened. The last time anyone used her real name had been during her high school graduation ceremony when she received her diploma. She'd always been Izzy, ever since she was a little girl. Uncle Frank had taught her to be careful and cautious around strangers. He'd worried about her and been very protective. She knew he'd be that way now if he were here.
Izzy raised her chin and stared down her nose. The gesture had sent more than one guy running in the opposite direction. "Who wants to know?"
Warm, brown eyes met hers. The guy wasn't intimidated at all. He looked almost amused for some strange reason. "I am Jovan Novak, aide to His Royal Highness Crown Prince Nikola Tomislav Kresimir."
Jovan's accent sounded European. Interesting since this was NASCAR country, not Formula 1 territory. "Never heard of him."
"He's from Vernonia."
"Vernonia." The name sounded vaguely familiar. Izzy rolled the word over in her mind. Suddenly, she remembered. "That's one of those Balkan countries. Fairytale castles and snowcapped mountains. There was a civil war there."
"Yes."
"Hey, Izzy," Boyd shouted from behind her. "You need any help?"
She glanced back at the bear of a man who stood with a mallet in his hands and curiosity in his eyes. A grin tugged at her lips. She appreciated how Boyd treated her like a little sister, especially since she had no family. Of course that made things interesting the few times she had a date pick her up after work. "Not yet, Boyd, but I'll let you know if I do."
Jovan looked like he might be in shape, but she could probably take him without Boyd's help thanks to Uncle Frank. When she was younger, he used to barter his mechanic skills for her martial arts class tuition. Now she worked out every day to get in shape for the work necessary by a pit crew member during a race.
"Isabel. Izzy." Jovan's smile reached all the way to his eyes. He bowed. "It is such a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Your—"
"Is this about a car repair?" He acted so happy to meet her. That bothered Izzy. Most customers limited their interactions to questions about their cars. Some simply ignored her. The men who went out of their way to talk to her usually ended up propositioning her. "Or do you want something else? I'm in the middle of a job?"
Not exactly the most friendly customer service, but something felt off. No customer would know her real name. And the guy smiled too much to be having car trouble.
"One moment please." Jovan ducked into the limousine.
Time ticked by. Seconds or minutes Izzy couldn't tell since she wasn't wearing a watch. She used the clock hanging in the garage or her cellphone to keep track of time while she worked.
Izzy tapped her foot. She had to get the Chevy finished so she could work on the Dodge Grand Caravan. Somewhere a frazzled mom with four kids was waiting to get her minivan back. It was up to Izzy to get the job done.
Jovan stepped out of the limo finally.
About time, she thought.
Another man in a dark suit followed. Izzy took a closer look.
Smokin'.
The thought shot from her brain to the tips of her steel-toed boots and ricocheted back to the top of her head.
The guy was at least six feet tall with thick, shoulder length brown hair and piercing blue-green eyes framed by dark lashes.
She straightened as if an extra inch could bring her closer to his height. Even then the top of her head would barely come to his chin.
But what a chin.
Izzy swallowed a sigh.
A strong nose, chiseled cheekbones, dark brows. Rugged features that made for an interesting—a handsome—combination in spite of a jagged scar on his right cheek.
Talk about character. He had it in spades.
Not that she was interested.
Spending her entire life surrounded by men, car mechanics, gave her an understanding of how the opposite sex thought and operated. The one standing in front of her wearing a nice suit and shiny shoes was trouble. Dangerous, too.
The limo, expensive clothing, personal aide and police escort meant he lived in a completely different world than her, a world where she was seen as nothing more than a servant or wallpaper or worse, a one night stand. Having to deal with mysterious rich people intimated her. She wanted nothing to do with him.
But she didn't mind looking. The man belonged on the cover of a glossy men's magazine. He moved with the grace and agility of an athlete. The fit of his suit made her wonder what was underneath the fancy fabric.
Everyone else around her seemed to fade into the background with him around. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had this kind of reaction to a guy. No doubt the result of working too much overtime. Time to take a night off and have some fun. That would keep her from mooning over the next gorgeous guy who crossed her path.
"You are Isabel Poussard." His accent, a mix of British and something else, could melt a frozen stick of butter.
She nodded, not trusting her voice.
His assessing gaze traveled the length of her. Nothing in his eyes or on his face hinted if he liked what he saw.
Not that she cared. Not much anyway.
A hottie like him would never be interested in a grease monkey like her. Still he was a yummy piece of eye candy. One she could appreciate.
Izzy raised her chin again, but didn't stare down her nose the way she'd done with Jovan. She wasn't ready to send this one on his way just yet. "You know my name, but I don't know yours."
"I am Prince Nikola of Vernonia."
"A prince?"
"Yes."
She supposed a prince would have a police escort as well as an aide, but this was just the kind of prank Boyd would pull and kid Izzy about for the rest of her life. She glanced around looking for a camera. "Am I being punk'd?"

Melissa's website: http://www.melissamcclone.com/
You can by Expecting Royal Twins at Amazon

Thank you for joining us today Melissa and introducing us to Nikola and Izzy. And best wishes with your latest book :-)

Heartsight ~ Blurb & Excerpt plus more

Author bio:
Kay Springsteen grew up in Michigan but transplanted to the south about 10 years ago and now resides in the shadow of the Blue Ridge Mountains in Virginia with her five small dogs. Two of her four children live nearby, a married son who has a daughter of his own, and one of her twins. The other twin lives just outside of USMC Camp Lejeune in North Carolina. Her oldest daughter still resides in Michigan. When she's not writing, she is transcribing and editing medical reports. Besides being an avid reader, hobbies include photography, gardening, hiking and camping, and of course spending time with her terrific G-baby. She is a firm believer in happily ever after endings and believes there is one out there for everyone; it just may not be exactly what you expect or think you want.
*****************

Blurb:

Heartsight by Kay Springsteen

On a secluded beach in North Carolina, three lonely people find hope in each other.
Trish Evers is an artist and single mother, who has inherited her grandmother's Bed and Breakfast in a North Carolina coastal town. Though she must sell the house, she decides to bring her daughter to the beach for one last summer vacation in her childhood town.
Bella is a six-year-old girl who has Down syndrome. Rejected by her father, Trish, is the only parent she's ever known. Bella likes to explore the beach and has a tendency to wander off. One day, Bella goes exploring on her own, and Trish finds her in the company of an intriguing stranger.
Dan Conway is a U.S. Marine, who had been born into a family of Marines. Now blind as a result of combat injuries and unable to "suit up," he feels he no longer has a purpose in life. He's come home to the beach, where he spends his days in solitude. Dan must learn to believe in himself and to love life again, which he begins to do through his interactions with Bella and Trish. When a hurricane strikes, and Bella wanders off again, her only hope for rescue is Dan.
Working within the confines of his blindness, he must overcome his fear of failure and recall his training in order to search for the little girl and bring her to safety.
*****************

Excerpt (Dan):
Using the sound of the surf and the sun's warmth for orientation, Dan sat on a large rock facing east and enjoyed the sunrise. The kiss of waves on sandy shoreline became louder, more insistent, as the gentle predawn breeze turned into an early morning wind. The air around him warmed rapidly, and the beach life started to awaken as well.
The cries of gulls in the distance held an eerie, human-like quality, which could as easily have been the delighted squeals of children playing or the terror-filled shrieks of children dying.
Dan breathed slowly in then out, and re-oriented himself to his surroundings. The sand beneath his feet was the foot-sucking grain-like consistency found on the beach, not the diamond-hard dust he'd grown used to in the desert. The air surrounding him was humid, not arid.
Beach grasses whispered, stroked by the onshore ocean breeze. Nearby, scuttling ghost crabs bulldozed the sand, each tumbling grain sounding like a rockslide to Dan's sensitive ears. The air smelled a bit of midsummer rain, hinting of possible relief from the early summer swelter by mid-afternoon.
His hand rested on the old guitar, unmoving, the instrument silent, as he considered a future in the dark. He had few options and limited time to make a decision that would affect the rest of his life. Did he try to maintain a semblance of the life he'd once planned for himself? Or leave all that and carve a new niche elsewhere?
Who was he kidding? No one wanted a wounded warrior, let alone one who could no longer see.
He caressed the low E string with his thumb, frowning at the dull, not-quite-in-tune sound. Automatically, he adjusted the string until he was pleased with the pitch, repeating the process for the rest of the strings.
Leaning over her, Dan hugged the guitar to him in the manner a man should embrace such a lady. She'd been his best friend since he was a kid, had never failed to bring him comfort and healing through the secret language they shared.
Dan played a few soft chords, walking his fingers up and down the fretboard, not playing anything specific, the tones coming more easily than he'd expected them to. He stopped to adjust the G string, then played a few more chords, falling into a slow rhythm, one good for thinking.
Without conscious thought, he inserted a simple, impromptu melody, making love to his lady in earnest now, expressing the deepest, most vulnerable aspects of himself through the movements of his fingers. The lonely sound drifted across the beach to join the cries of the gulls, as he laid bare the layers of pain for the audience of his solitude.
As he lost himself in the haunting music, Dan felt the first stirring of a curious sense of freedom. Recent memories were pushed to the rear in lieu of less troublesome ones from his boyhood, when scuttling crabs had held him enthralled, and thoughts of where driftwood came from had fascinated him. The music swelled under his hands as he revisited that time of innocence.
At his feet, Jack stirred and whined. Dan stopped playing, abruptly pulled back into the present. Barely a second later, he heard something shuffling through the beach grass behind him and the scents of caramel and cotton candy wafted into his awareness.
His private beach had been discovered.
The air next to him stirred softly as whoever it was took a seat on his rock. Dan was about to ask if the intruder had noticed the private property sign at the entrance to the beach, when sticky fingers were thrust against his palm. Startled by the sudden invasive touch, Dan nonetheless instinctively closed his fingers about the delicate hand that had placed itself into his.
"Well, hello." Dan listened for the sound of someone else approaching but heard nothing. "Is your mom or dad around?"
The only answer he received was a tiny contented sigh. He could feel the rhythmic movement of the child's feet swinging over the edge of the rock on which they sat.
*****************
Available at astraeapress
****************

Purchases made through the Astraea Press website between March 1 and June 1 will generate a $2 donation to the USO for the Wounded Warrior Program.

For more information, please read on:-

A Place In the World
Have you ever felt out of place? Most people have at one time or another. An awkward social situation, a feeling of just not belonging. Can you imagine feeling that way about your entire life? What if everything you ever worked for was suddenly ripped away? What if the pages of your life were no longer already written but were suddenly blank and you had no idea how to fill them?
My hero in Heartsight was born into a family of Marines. His entire life was geared toward serving in the USMC. But a tragic incident in Afghanistan robs him of his sight. Not so much call for a wounded warrior, let alone one who can no longer see. This story is 100% fiction, but, like most stories, it imitates real life. War injuries happen.
I can think of no more painful outcome to serving in the military than for those who were wounded to be forgotten, to feel that because they may be missing limbs, or not have the ability to walk, or see, or carry out business in the way of non-injured people, they have no productive place in the world. All persons have value and worth, something to contribute to the world. Sometimes it just takes a little push to find our purpose.
If you’re a veteran or you know a vet who needs a hand, please reach out. The help is there. If you can offer a hand, please show our vets that you care.
http://www.bnwest.woundedwarriorregiment.org/ 
http://www.militaryonesource.com/MOS/MarineCorps.aspx?MRole=Family&Branch=MarineCorps&Component=Active 
http://www.uso.org/ 
We are still working out the details, but a portion of Heartsight sales through the Astraea Press website, from March 1 to June 1, 2011 will be donated to the USO.

To find out more details you can find me at:-
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Kay-Springsteen-Author-of-Romance/143469035711422
Blog: http://kayspringsteen.wordpress.com/

Thanks Kay, for joining us here for the last few days, Kay.  best wishes with your debut novel and your new venture.

Debut Author Spot ~ Meet Kay Springsteen

For the next four days I am turning over the debut author spot to Kay Springsteen.  Please come by and give her your support.

Hi Kay, Welcome to THoR. It is lovely to have you here.
Thank you very much for hosting me on your blog. It's nice to be here.

Please will you tell us a little bit about yourself and how you got into writing?
When I was a kid, there were no digital cameras and film was very expensive. My parents gave me a camera but then we were limited in how many and what kind of pictures they could afford me to take. When we would go on vacations, I wanted a way to remember every little detail, not just the handful of vacation photos of us standing in front of landmarks. So I began to write about our vacations. Then I wrote about special events, Christmas, and so on. I didn't keep a daily diary or journal but did record the things most important to me, the writing bringing to my mind those inner pictures that helped me hold onto the fond memories. When I was in fifth grade, I shared some of these with my teacher and she liked them enough to tell my parents that I should pursue writing.

Release Day for your debut novel, Heartsight, Astraea Press, is magical and special, how are you feeling right now at March 1st draws closer.
It doesn't feel quite real yet. I see the cover art and my name above the title and get chills but I keep wondering if I will wake up and find my rejection notice waiting in my email after all. It's not that I don't believe in my story--I truly do. It's just that it's so hard to get noticed in the publishing field. The closer the day gets, though, the more real it becomes, and the more those butterflies fluttering in my stomach dance!

From what you’ve learned so far on your writing journey, what advice would you give to other debut novelists awaiting their first release date?
If you've already been accepted for publication, relax and enjoy it for a day, let it sink in, tell all your friends and family. Then start looking into methods of marketing. These days it's really all about social media. I recommend they start following other people's blogs before they are even published, and if they don't have a Facebook account, or Twitter, and don't have a blog, they need to work on getting these things. The market is competitive and you have to get your name out there. Follow people like Kristen Lamb (she's on Facebook), who has the most social media savvy I've ever seen. Start building your network of friends. They will be a major key in getting the word out for your work.

What drew you to write in your chosen genre, and do you do a lot of research for your books?
One summer when I was 13, I was bored. All my friends had gone on prolonged vacations or to camp. I went grocery shopping with my mom and there at the checkout was a Harlequin Romance. It had a blue top and a picture of a horse - that's all I remember about my first Harlequin lol. My mom, knowing Harlequin's reputation for quality clean reads (this was 1970), bought me the book and I fell in love with falling in love. I tried historicals back then but they were the "bodice-rippers" and not really a good fit for me. Since then, I've read some historicals I really like. But I keep coming back to contemporary romance and contemporary romance with elements of suspense. I like reading it the best and so I like writing it the best. 
 As far as research, I do pretty extensive research for everything I write. I often set my stories in fictional towns but in real geographic areas. Heartsight takes place on the North Carolina Coast in a fictional place called Lookout Island. Harkening Point, where the lighthouse is located in the story actually came from the name of a mountain that is local to where I live called Harkening Hill. But the other elements of the story, the blindness of my male lead, I did extensive research on what blind people are capable of - many might be surprised they can do anything. I interviewed a couple of people who have been blinded, and I read stories on blind participants in extreme sports (rock climbing, swimming, triathelons, etc.). My research on Down syndrome, for my little girl's character was a bit easier, as my first child was born with Down syndrome in 1984. I needed only to tap into my feelings as I recalled them from back then to understand the feelings of Trish in my story. Unfortunately, my own daughter never lived to be six, the age of the girl in my story, so I did some research into what children with this disorder are capable of, how they learn, and all the positive and negative things I could find on the subject. 

What do you love most about writing?
The absolute best thing for me is when I type that last line and know that I've nailed the basic story. I know it's not completely finished; there will always be editing--I write in layers, getting the basics then adding the details. But when I know I've captured the basics of how the hero and heroine get from point A to point B, there is no greater satisfaction.

And what do you like least, and why?
The scariest is the actual submission, pushing that SEND button. I'm a perfectionist and I always worry, even after SEND, whether the MS is right. Are there errors I missed or my critique partners missed? Did I capture the emotions well? Did I leave a huge plot hole no one noticed in my extensive editing process? That sort of thing. In other words, is it really good enough to send off? My hand hovers over that SEND button for a long time and several deep breaths before I actually push it.

 What draws you to your favourite colour?

My favorite color has always been blue. I don't even know what draws me to it, but certain blue things can really make me feel great - the color of Lake Superior in Michigan on a summer day, a cloudless spring sky over the Blue Ridge Mountains.

Who or what is the greatest inspiration/influence in your writing?

Inspirations for various stories can come from any source at any time. I don't know when or where they will hit, but when they do I am instantly aware of them and must start to develop them, even though I don't actually dive on in -- first it's research and character development, plot development, and then writing. I'm not saying that my inspiration is prophetic or anything but I do feel that my best work is when I pay attention to the things God shows me and follow His lead. My greatest supporters really are my children. They believe in me and encourage me, and they appreciate that I put my dream of writing on hold while I was raising them. Now they're grown and they give back in big ways -- helping with marketing, running to the store for me, helping me plot my stories.

What kind of car do you drive?

I drive an older Dodge Neon, red, with a 5-speed standard transmission - holds the curves well and fun to drive in the mountains near my home.

Who are your favourite authors?

I have a few authors I will always buy - Tori Carrington, Nora Roberts, Jill Shalvis. But I love, LOVE discovering new authors. I read a great story by new author Lisa Vance this past December about losing love and second chances. And there is this book I plan to order right away called "The Brat." :-)

Where do you get your characters from?

They are all inside me somewhere. But sometimes I need a little extra something, so I go people watching. I pay attention to quirks I notice in people around me as I sit or stroll anonymously through a crowd and often expand on these. A lot of my characters end up with "theme songs," which I play while writing their specific scenes.

If you were a flower, what would you be?

A daisy--sturdy, hard to get rid of and pleasant to look at with their heads bobbing in the wind.

Are you a plotter or a ‘pantser’?

Mostly a plotter but I take the best of pantster personalities as well, meaning I know where my characters are going, I know most of the plot twists they will encounter, but I do NOT always know how they are going to react to those twists until we get there. Sometimes that changes the way the story goes but the ending is generally going to be the same.

Do you have any pets, and what are they?

I have five small dogs - mixed breeds (terrier, yorkie, chihuahua) who go on hikes with me in the mountains and keep me company by lazing all over me while I write, read, watch TV...

If you could give a gift to anyone, who would you give it to and what would it be?

Okay, this is probably the toughest question of the day. I would love to say I have some great altruistic answer but I don't. I've joined friends and family in the fantasy of winning the lottery and thinking of the charities I would share with. But if I could give anything to anyone, I would probably give the knowledge of how to reach inner happiness to each of my children, my daughter-in-law, and my granddaughter. It took me a long time to learn that it's not about what you have, where you are, or ever who you are with. It's about how you let yourself feel inside.

Do you have another novel in the pipeline?

I just resubmitted a novel to another publisher after making changes at the suggestion of an editor there. She was very interested in the work and loved the writing but showed me where I could make it better. From what I understand this is not often done, so I paid attention to her advice...and I really liked the outcome. Even if it's not ultimately accepted by that publisher, I have no doubt it will be placed somewhere.

What are you working on now?

I'm currently working on a novel set on Mackinac Island in Michigan. If readers don't know this place, I truly suggest a virtual trip there - really just google Mackinac Island and check it out. This WIP is another sweet romance that is being written to the high standards of Astraea Press. 

Heartsight is available at astraeapress    

Purchases made through the Astraea Press website between March 1 and June 1 will generate a $2 donation to the USO for the Wounded Warrior Program.

Please come back tomorrow when Kay interviews her hero in Heartsight

An interview with romance author Linda Morris

Today, it's my pleasure to welcome fellow The Wild Rose Press author, Linda Morris.  Thank you for joining us today, Linda.

Please will you tell us a little bit about yourself and your latest book?
Sure. First off, thanks for having me. My novella, Montana Belle, has just been released as an ebook by the Wild Rose Press. It tells the story of Augusta Springer, whose father summons her back to their Montana ranch and orders her to marry a childhood friend, Joshua Bradley. Augusta, never at home in her father's world, has been making a life of her own at school in Boston and isn't eager to return.

What is your favourite colour and why? 
Red. It's flattering and always cheers me up.

Words have power, few people would argue with that, but do you believe numbers carry the same power influence? 
I don't think so. Words have moved me, made me laugh, made me think . . . that's a tall order for numbers to live up to!

Do you find your job as a technical writer makes creative writing fiction easier?It's a whole different ballgame. Actually, the ability to shift gears and exercise a whole different part of my brain is part of why I love writing fiction. (And the ability it gives me to pay bills is part of why I write technical materials!)

Does your job as an editor of technical writing help you when it comes to editing your own work?
Sometimes, because grammar and punctuation are the same no matter what you're writing. The concerns of fiction editing are very different though and much more demanding. With fiction, accurate spelling, grammar, and punctuation are just the beginning of what you need to worry about during editing. You also need to eliminate weak sentence construction, overused words, dialogue tags, etc. With a technical work, clarity is the most important thing. You don't have to worry about pacing or keeping the reader from getting bored--the reader will keep reading because they need to know how this programming language works or whatever. And nobody ever scolded me for "showing instead of telling" in a book about computer programming! 

Do you have a writing routine?
I write each morning after getting my son off to school, usually for about 1 or 1 1/2 hours. After that, I have to move on to my "day job."  

Do you have a special writing spot?
I'm lucky enough to have a home office overlooking the pond outside our backyard. In the summertime, I love to listen to the birds and bullfrogs while I write. 

 Do you enjoy cooking, and if so, what is your favourite recipe? Will you share it with us?
I do love to cook, although I'm better at baking and entertaining than I am at everyday cooking. I get a bit bored with putting supper on the table every day. I fall back on soups a lot, especially in winter. They can simmer away downstairs while I'm writing and they make the whole house smell wonderful!
I've included a recipe for minestrone:-

Minestrone

1/4 cup olive oil

1 medium onion, chopped

1 carrot, chopped

1 celery stalk, chopped

1 1/2 to 2 cups potatoes, chopped small

Salt and pepper

6 cups vegetable broth

1 16-oz can diced tomatoes

1 1/2 to 2 cups green beans

1 16-oz can beans (such as kidney, cannellini, white, or chickpeas)

1/2 to 1 cup small pasta such as orzo

1 tsp minced garlic

Grated parmesan cheese for serving (optional)

Put 3 Tbs. olive oil in a Dutch over and heat over medium. When hot, add the onion, celery, and carrot. Cook, stirring, until onion is soft, about 5 minutes.

Add the potatoes and sprinkle with salt and pepper. Cook stirring for 1-2 minutes. Add the stock and the tomato. Bring to a boil and then reduce heat to a simmer. Cook, stirring occasionally, for 15 minutes.

Add the green beans, canned beans, parsley, and pasta. Increase heat if necessary to maintain a simmer. Cook about 10 minutes more. Stir in chopped garlic and cook for 5 minutes. Add the remaining olive oil and serve with grated parmesan cheese.

My mouth is watering, I'm gong to try this out tomorrow.  

Who, or what, has been the biggest influence in your writing?

I love Jane Austen--she's my favorite writer--but my biggest influences were probably the writers I read when I was a little girl: Louisa May Alcott, Carolyn Keene, Margaret Mitchell. And Kathleen Woodiwiss's "Ashes in the Wind" got me addicted to romance.

Do you base you characters on friends or family? And if so, do they know and what is their reaction?

No, not really. Oddly, none of my friends are a good fit for a romance novel heroine from the Old West! (Or hero, darn it.)

How long did it take you to write Montana Belle?

About three months (it's only a novella), but that was only the beginning. I got interest from the second editor I sent it to, but she wanted some changes. I had to go through several rounds of revision before finally making the sale. That process took longer than the initial writing.

Please will you share the blurb and an excerpt from Montana Belle?

Sent to Boston for a proper education after her mother's death, Augusta Springer loves her cultured life there, helping the headmistress and planning a teaching career. But when her brother dies unexpectedly, she is summoned home by her headstrong father and ordered to marry the only man for whom she has ever cared— Joshua Bradley.

Joshua has planned for years to win Augusta's heart. Building a life to share with her has been his ultimate goal, but she has learned to despise ranch life and all that goes with it. Can he persuade this independent woman to stay and share the dreams he has for both of them?

Here's an excerpt:

drink I might be ever so slightly...thunk,” Augusta confided, laboring to pronounce every word correctly, and then giggled when she realized her mistake. She struggled to regain a serious mien. Miss Levon denounced giggling as unladylike.

Joshua reached to pull her wineglass away from her. “You’ve had enough,” he said, his gaze warm. “We have a long ride back in the dark, so you’d better keep your head. Of course, you’re welcome to spend the night here, if you like.” He made the outrageous offer calmly, as if it were quite unexceptionable.

Augusta, well aware of the impropriety of his offer, fixed him with a stare. “I am an adult, and not totally inex-, inexper-...I have drunk spirits before,” she corrected herself finally, with careful enunciation. She reached to pull her glass back, and her hand brushed against his on the stem. His palm, warm and roughened, sent a thrill of awareness up her arm—for a businessman, he still spent a good deal of time outdoors. His hand bore the marks of sun, wind, and leather.

“A regular tippler, are you?” he asked with a smile, his eyes lingering for a moment on the daring décolletage of her gown, and she felt a surge of warmth through her body that had nothing to do with alcohol. She tried to pull the glass toward her, but somehow found that her hand caught in his.

“Miss Levon believes that young girls should experience all of the social graces,” she said faintly, awed by the gleam of his dark eyes. He wanted her. She could not doubt it. Shockingly, she wanted him very much in return.

You can buy Montana Belle at the Wild Rose Press Web site -- http://tinyurl.com/5tadfcs -- or Amazon: http://tinyurl.com/4cx7qcj.

I blog here: http://lindamorriswriter.blogspot.com/

Do you have any other books coming out?

Yes, I have a romantic suspense novel called Forget-Me-Not to be published on Feb. 18th, in print and ebook. It's about a heroine trying to regroup in a remote cabin after a personal and professional disaster, and the mysterious man who seeks her out there. When he suffers memory loss after a head injury, they work together to find out who is and why he has come looking for her.

You can buy it here: http://thewildrosepress.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=191&products_id=4410

It will also be available at Amazon.com 

Here is a very short teaser from my forthcoming romantic suspense, Forget-Me-Not, available on Feb. 18th from the Wild Rose Press. 

Lara Crosby moves to a remote cabin in the Minnesota wilderness to regroup after a personal and professional disaster. One night during a violent storm, she begins to fear her past may be catching up to her:

Lara hadn't had to use this generator yet during the year she'd been living up here. She only hoped it still worked, and that she still remembered how to start it. Lara had just found the pull start on the generator when a noise she hadn't been aware of before reached her. The sound was alien in these deserted woods. It wasn't from an animal, and it wasn't a lingering sound of the storm as it petered out. It was definitely manmade.

An excerpt from The Texan's Irish Bride

This evening (Texas time), I’ll donate a free PDF download

to someone who comments here on Sherry’s blog Saturday through today, Tuesday, and tells me they’ve gone to my blog http://carolineclemmons.blogspot.com to sign up for my Mostly Monthly Newsletter.

The Texan’s Irish Bride ~ An Excerpt

Her rose scent filled him, and he thought he would never tire of it. She fumbled with his shirt buttons then pushed it from his shoulders.
“Yours is a very broad chest.”
Her fingers skimmed across him, and his need for her magnified. When she traced the whorls of his nipple, he thought his knees might give way. He stilled her hand.
“There’s something I want from you, have wanted since we met.”
Fear sprang into her widened emerald eyes and she paled. Dang, he cursed himself for frightening her and her for not trusting him.
Her voice trembled. “Wh—What would you be asking?”
“Dance for me.” He knew it sounded crazy, but he’d imagined this for days.
She looked askance. “Here? But ‘tis your bedroom, and not a note ‘o music playing.”
“Our bedroom, and you can sing or hear the music in your head to keep time.”
“But—”
“Please? Not for coins or where others can see, but only for me.”
A slow smile spread across her face, and she cocked her head to one side. “Aye, I see now. If ‘tis for your pleasure, then ‘twill be mine.”
After she took off her shoes and stockings, she spun away. But not in the regimented dance he’d seen when other women accompanied her. This time she took the red scarf from her waist and used it as an instrument meant to entice a man.
Her man.
Him.
She twirled as if to a measured rhythm only she heard. Her green skirt and white petticoats billowed out to reveal long, perfect legs. Legs he wanted around him. She slid the scarf in imitation of a caress along her slender arms. Then she moved the red silk along her body.
Dang, he was hot as a gunslinger’s pistol and just as hard. His manhood strained against his britches until he thought he’d pop through the fabric. He loosened the buttons and stepped from his clothes, never taking his gaze from her. Reaching behind him, he turned back the bedding and sat on the sheet.
Before his heat warmed the cool fabric, she pulled him to the middle of the room and circled around him. He pivoted, naked as a newborn, and watched her every move. Dipping, fluttering, and arching her lithe frame, she lured him with each sinuous flow of her body.
Flush with the throbbing pulsating through him, he pictured himself plunging into her again and again as she wound around him. Her erotic gyrations set his already heated blood at a boil, but he stood mesmerized by her and the dance.
Her flaming hair streamed around her in a fiery cloud. She looped the scarf over his head, and the red silk left a tingling trail across his shoulders and down his right arm. Then she threaded it around her own shoulders and sawed it while she shrugged first one shoulder up and then the other one. Fabric of her blouse pulled taut against her full breasts and pushed the peaked nipples into view.
Dang, he couldn’t take much more of this, or he’d explode like fireworks on the Fourth of July. On and on she whirled and kicked, first coming near to brush against him, then moving back with a captivating smile. Teasing him with the piece of silk as she pulled it across his body, she seared him with her touch and made him part of her beguiling ritual.
When he could stand it no longer, he said, “Come here, let’s dance together in bed.” To his ears, his voice rasped hoarse with the need that burned inside him.
She approached slowly, seductively, with fluid grace. As she moved, she drew off her remaining clothes. Twining the scarf around his wrists, she pulled his arms high until she slid under them, imprisoning him and herself in their circle.
“Now we are truly bound together,” she said, her voice breathy from her exotic dance.
“Am I your prisoner, then?” he asked, amused at her tempting play even as her touch fueled his need.
“Yes, and I am yours.” She met his gaze, but her jewel eyes held uncertainty. “Did I please you then, or was I too forward with meself?”
“You are beautiful and graceful, and your dance was even more special than I’d hoped.”
She breathed a big sigh. “Then you approve and will be taking me to bed now?”
“I suppose I must do as you say, since I’m your prisoner.” He nibbled at her neck, and she released the scarf binding him. The silk fell from his skin as her arms slid around his shoulders.
Their lips met, and he delved his tongue to sample her nectar. She responded with fervor. He rejoiced that if he must be tied to this woman, at least she shared his apparently boundless passion. He pulled her with him across the bed, then scooted her until she lay cushioned in the center of the thick mattress.
“Finally, I can see and taste all of you.”
“I’m hoping ‘tis all right for us to act so heathen.”
He lay propped on an elbow beside her, content for a moment to look his fill of her. “It isn’t heathen for a husband and wife to enjoy one another. Doesn’t it feel right?”
In the golden lamplight, her skin gleamed like ivory.
“Aye, it feels more than right. It’s as if being with you is where I was meant to be.”
He smoothed her auburn hair across the pillow. It looked even more glorious there than he had dreamed. Desire darkened her emerald eyes, and the pink of exertion tinged her cheeks.
“No woman will ever be more beautiful than you are right now.”
“If you think that, then we’re well matched, for never lived a more handsome man than you are.”
He took her graceful hand in his and brought it to his lips. After he pressed a kiss to her palm, he suckled each fingertip.
She pulled away and put her hands under her. “You’ll be driving me mad with wanting. Hurry.”
He smiled down at her and shook his head. “Nope. I’ve thought about this night since we wed. Reckon we might not get much sleep, for I intend to take my time.”
“But ‘tis torture waiting.” She reached for his manhood.
He twisted away. “Let me give you something to think about, then.” Starting with her beautiful eyes, he rained kisses on her face, her neck, and her shoulders. He cradled one of her ample breasts while his mouth suckled the other.
She moaned and clutched him to her.
In spite of his throbbing need, he restrained his own urgency and slowly trailed kisses down her ribs, her stomach, to her mound of curls. He slid a finger inside her moist heat.
“Now, Dallas, now. I can’t wait another second.”
Desire won, and he stretched himself over her. “Nor can I,” he said and slid into her. “Let’s begin our own dance.

Look out for the lucky winner

This evening (Texas time), I’ll donate a free PDF download
to someone who comments here on Sherry’s blog Saturday through today, Tuesday and tells me they’ve gone to my blog http://carolineclemmons.blogspot.com to sign up for my Mostly Monthly Newsletter.

The buy link for THE TEXAN’S IRISH BRIDE is www.thewildrosepress.com/caroline-clemmons-m-638.html in print and e-download, and it’s also available at Amazon and other online stores.
My website is www.carolineclemmons.com

My Website: www.carolineclemmons.com
My Blog: http://carolineclemmons.blogspot.com
My email: caroline@carolineclemmons.com










Thanks very much, Sherry, for having me as your guest. It's been a pleasure, Caroline.