Saturday, 11 June 2011


Hello and welcome back to Six Sentence Sunday.

As I prepare for the imminent release of Cold, Cold Heart, I thought I would post a six from this tale that, I suppose, reflects my mood of the day....a lot of the time, men are just a bunch of.... best leave that blank. I usually steer away from posting sentences with sexual reference but I think this little speech by my heroine, Rachel, will strike a chord with anyone who has ever wanted to exact revenge on someone who has mistreated them in the past.

Rachel is confronting her ex-husband, Richard, a spiteful man who has spent the past five years trying to make her life a living hell. Fueled by too many cocktails, she finally finds the courage to give him a taste of his own medicine…..

“You once asked me a question, well, now here's your answer. Yes, he was a bloody fantastic fuck and he made me come every time. In fact, all he had to do was say my name and I came. You never made me come once in four years of marriage. Oh and just one more thing…” Rachel smiled at him ruefully. “I'm sorry to have to tell you, Richard, but you really do have an incredibly small cock!” She raised her empty glass to him. “Have a nice life!”

A round of applaud for Rachel, folks.

Want to read more? Before you do, check out all the other great Sunday Sixes.

Daniel Haynes has the world at his feet- fame, fortune, so why does he feel so empty inside? What is his interest in Rachel Warner, a girl from a quiet Home Counties English town? Why does she hold the key to his happiness?
But Rachel Warner is scared. Daniel's interest in her threatens her ordered yet unsatisfying life because she has to live with the shadow of her ex-father-in-law breathing over her shoulder. Can she let go of her fears?


Rachel awoke to a herd of wildebeests stampeding in her head. She opened one eye, half-expecting to see Simba come charging through her bedroom, but only the cold, December rain beat down against the windowpane. Funny, she thought, I don't have Georgian windows.
Both eyes now open, she lay still, wondering where her body had gone. I've got no legs. I've died and they've donated my body to medical science, the bastards.
“Alex!” she gasped. “I'm late!” She sat up – and wished she hadn't bothered. The room spun faster than Torvill and Dean. If hell existed, she was definitely in it. She clung to the quilt and hung on for dear life as the bed rose and hovered above the ground a la The Exorcist or was it Bedknobs and Broomsticks? She couldn't remember. She just wanted to die and die quickly.
The door crashed against the wall, and die she did. Lynn bounced in with a tray of coffee and a packet of painkillers in her hands.
“Wakey, wakey!”
She slammed the tray down on the bedside table and the entire London Symphony Orchestra percussion section went off in Rachel's sponge-filled brain. She pulled the duvet over her head.
“And how are we feeling this morning?”
Lynn's flat, Belfast tones grated at the best of times but the way Rachel felt, if she'd had a gun she would have cheerfully shot her. “Why are you shouting? And what are you doing in my bedroom?”
Lynn burst into a rousing chorus of U2's “Beautiful Day.” “I'd just like to point out, my dearest friend,” she pulled the duvet down and off Rachel's face, “that a: I am not shouting, and b: It’s not your bedroom. It is my spare room.”
“And how, may I ask, did I get here?” Rachel tentatively pulled herself up into a sitting position. She winced; those wildebeests were still on the rampage.
Lynn swept open the bedroom curtains. “Ask you certainly may. Being such a kind, considerate, caring friend, I brought you. It's the least I could do, seeing as you provided me with a most memorable and highly entertaining evening. I haven't had so much fun sincewellactually, I can't remember.” Lynn grinned at her. “And naturally I could hardly take you home to 'mummy' in that state, could I now?”
“And what state might that have been?” Rachel reached out for the mug of coffee. Unfortunately, her shaking hand was having none of it.
“Give it here.” Lynn sat down on the edge of the bed and held the mug up to Rachel's lips. “Honestly, Rach, you Brits are pathetic when it comes to drink.”
“Drink?” Hot liquid hit her raw stomach. “But I don't drink.”
“Well, you do now, and quite impressively, too. It was some performance.”
“Performance?” Rachel squeaked, a cold dread creeping over her.
“Oh, yes.”
“Was I very drunk?”
“Oh, yes.”
“I thinkI think I remember Richard.” Rachel racked her brain. “Did Idid we get into a fight?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Will you stop saying that?” Rachel banged her fist down on the bed. “Oh, now look what you made me do.” A red, hot knife buried itself in the back of her skull. “Quick! The drugs. I need drugs.” She downed two pills wishing it was morphine, and collapsed against the pillows. “Okay, what did I do?”
Lynn rubbed her hands together in glee and gaily regaled her with an animated account of the evening's events.
Rachel covered her eyes. She'd never be able to show her face in Wyeston again. “I said that? I don't believe you.”
“Oh, believe it.” Lynn's face split from ear to ear with a grin the size of Zippy's. “I've waited a long time for the prim Miss Warner to tell Richard to fuck off. And that's not all. You said cock, too—and come. Three times. It was inspiring.”
Wailing, Rachel burrowed under the duvet. Life as she knew it was well and truly over.
“Give over.” Lynn tugged at the cover. “You're quite the heroine, you know. Everyone was dead impressed, except Jimmy of course. Apparently that pot cost a fortune.”
“I broke a pot?” Rachel poked her nose from around the top of the cover.
“Naw, you just threw up in it.”
Rachel eyed her giggling friend through slanted eyes.
“You made that up. You're enjoying this, aren't you?”
“I'll say. But it was when I got you home that things became fascinating.”
“There's more?”
“Not much.” Lynn paused to admire her fingernails. “Only that you finally confessed that you are most definitely not over a certain luscious-lipped, blue-eyed boy.”
“I am.” Rachel protested.
“Of course you are. That must be why you keep a picture of him under your pillow.”
“I so do not.” Rachel threw back the duvet and slid her legs over the side of the bed. The conversation was too dangerous for her liking. She made a shaky attempt to get to her feet, but her knees buckled.
“Get back into bed.” Lynn scoffed. “It's too sad to watch. I'll go and run you a nice, hot bath. Then I'll whip up a big Irish breakfast. Best cure for a hangover. I should know; I've had a few.”
Rachel groaned. The thought of one of Lynn's greasy fry-ups made her heave. “Where are the kids?” She closed her eyes against the fresh wave of nausea. How did people put themselves through this torture weekend after weekend?
“Your dad has taken them to Kidzone. They're fine.”
“So, it's not a school day then?” Relief flooded through her battered and bruised mind. She didn't have to go to work after all. She could stay in bed forever and hide from the world.
But Lynn would have none of it. Ten minutes later, Rachel found herself dragged from her cocoon and unceremoniously pushed into the rather decadent Romanesque bathroom.
“In!” Lynn ordered.
Rachel stared down dubiously into the swirling waters of the Jacuzzi. “Breakfast will be ready soon.”
“You should have been a prison warden!” Rachel yelled after her retreating back, and then clutched the sink. The floor moved beneath her. It wasn't The Exorcist after all. It was End of Days.

Thank you for stopping by!/pages/Viviane-Brentanos-Author-of-Womens-contemporary-Romantic-fiction/78109311746

Thursday, 9 June 2011


Cliffhanger? My life is a cliffhanger. I go to bed every night , wondering, first – will I wake? {Always a good start.} second – did I remember to buy coffee

three – did Sir Maximus eat his way through my PC wire and and last, but most important, what will Lady Gaga wear today?
{Quite like this idea. Wonder if it is wireless?}

Sorry – this question is supposed to be about cliffhangers in writing. I don’t know if it is anything I have considered. I think, especially when reading a psychological thriller, cliffhangers are given. In romance, I think they are more subtle. I do agree that the end of each chapter must draw the reader into the next, perhaps ending a chapter with our two lovers almost coming together but not quite.
Cliffhangers in movies are my favourite and it would seem it has become the norm to leave us with one at the end of a movie, laying the path open for a sequel. Three sagas I can think of, off hand. Lord of the Rings, of course, Revenge of the Jedi {just who is the ‘other’ that is mentioned.} And the first part of Deathly Hallows. Heavy stuff.
The we come to my favourite t.v shows – two of which have recently ended on an nail-biting cliffhanger. Big Bang Theory – did Penny really sleep with Raj?

Greys Anatomy – will Derek and Meredith get back together? Will Owen calm down and forgive Christina? Great stuff and making damn sure I tune in next season.
Okay, time for shameless promo, here. In the second but last chapter of my soon to be released Cold, Cold Heart, I leave my reader with an almighty cliffhanger – will or won’t they?

A blurb, I hear you all beg, an excerpt…your wish is my command

A world-famous rock star, a struggling single mum afraid to love. Will this explosive mix bring happiness or disaster?
Daniel Haynes has the world at his feet- fame, fortune, so why does he feel so empty inside? What is his interest in Rachel Warner, a girl from a quiet Home Counties English town? Why does she hold the key to his happiness?
But Rachel Warner is scared. Daniel's interest in her threatens her ordered yet unsatisfying life because she has to live with the shadow of her ex-father-in-law breathing over her shoulder. Can she let go of her fears?


There he stood again…like Jaws. Just when she thought it safe to go back in the waterda da da da daand so on. “It's late,” she blurted out, because at that moment she couldn't think of anything else to say—at least nothing coherent.
“May I come in?” he asked quietly.
“No!” she shot back before thinking it through. The sight of Daniel Haines standing on her excuse-for-a-porch had her shell-shocked.
“Okay.” He gave that wry little smile. “Now let's see how this could play out.” He rubbed at his chin. “Mmmmyou don't let me in, I stand here and bang on your door until you do, by which time the neighbors come out, see me and wonder what I'm doing here. They then probably call the Sun or worse, the Star, and—”
Grabbing him by his sleeve, she dragged him into her home, slamming the door behind him. “You certainly know how to play dirty, don't you?” She snapped “Sorry but I'm desperate.” He looked around her humble abode. “Hey, nice place.”
“Now you're being facetious.” She folded her arms across her chest, all too aware she wore nothing more than a skimpy pair of pajama shorts and a revealing camisole top that had “come and get me” stamped across the front.
“Don't be so damn touchy, honey.” He turned to her, gaze flickering over her body.
Unease stabbed in her chest. “Touchy?” She stepped back, indignation threatening to choke her. “You've got a bloody nerveshowing up here in the middle and I'm not your honey.” The absurdity of the situation sank in. She wondered if she'd fallen asleep after all and was in the middle of a bad dream. Only it wasn't so bad because he did look rather hot in habitual black. He took a step closer to her and she smelled the fresh, clean scent of damp hair. He'd obviously come straight from the shower. Now she understood how Alice in Wonderland must have felt and for one scary moment she thought she might faint. He must have sensed it too and put his hand on her shoulder.
“Are you okay? You look pale.”
“Lowblood pressure,” she garbled.”Just what are you doing here and how did you find me?”
“Your receptionist, Lucy isn't it? She was very helpful, although I have to admit I didn't play fair. She gave me your address and I got my driver to bring me here.”
Rachel went into panic mode. “Please don't tell me you have a limo parked outside my driveway.”
“You don't give me a lot of credit, do you? I'm not that stupid. I sent him away.”
“A bit presumptuous of you, don't you think? Your audacity never ceases to amaze me. How did you know I'd let you in? Especially after you wasted my entire evening.”
“I didn't.” Daniel gave her that lazy smile. He held up his cell. “I can call him back anytime. It's not fair keeping him out so late, I admit, but as I said, I was desperate.” The smile disappeared, as, with trembling hand, he reached out to her again.
Rachel's mouth went dry but she held her ground. “And just why were you so desperate?” For one tension-filled moment he said nothing. He just stared into her eyes, pulling her in, drawing her to him until she thought she suffocated. She had to look away.
“I had to see you again. I couldn't leave town knowing you thought so badly of me, knowing I'd upset you.”
“You didn't upset me.” Rachel pushed him away. She turned her back to him. Once again he'd read her so easily. “Why should you have upset me? I meanyou're nothing to me I—”
“I saw you, Rachel.” He slipped an arm around her waist and, gently, turned her around to look at him. “I saw your face.” His voice was a soft caress. “And I know what you were thinking, but that's not what was happening.”
“It doesn't matter—”
Daniel put a finger to her lips. “It matters to me.”
Rachel listened, feeling a complete fool as he explained about the competition winners.
“I did ask Mai to cancel, but in the end I couldn't. The girls would have been so disappointed. I'm so sorry, but you do understand, don't you? Mai was supposed to let you know, butI guess she forgot.”
Her head was ready to explode. A mixer-tap of sensation ran through her body. Her madly beating heart felt too big for her chest. She shivered. The light in his eyes thrilled her and yet she was frightened. He held her in both arms now, fingertips searing through her flimsy attire. “Please“ She faltered. “Please don't touch me.” She removed his hands from her waist. “I don't understand. Why does my opinion of you matter so much?”
“Because.” He caressed her cheek.

Thank you for listening


Monday, 6 June 2011

Monday Muser's Mad Question Time- KAY DEE ROYAL

Well, it is official. Greek summer time is definitely here. Hot, hot, hot. In a few days I should begin my seasonal job at the hotel. Kids and tourists beware. Anyway, enough of me and on to my Mad Muser guest of the week. Without further ado, I would like to introduce Ms. Kay Dee Royal. With time travel seemingly the flavor of the - well - when has it not been, I asked Kay this

If you had to pick one period of history to which you could return, when would it be and why?

Her answer is amazing. Read on and please feel free to comment. Kay will have a nice prize for the best comment

Hello Viviane and Everyone.

Thank you for inviting me in to answer one of your Monday Author questions. This one gave me the license to tell something I’ve held tight inside me for years.

“If I had to pick one period of history to which I could return, when would it be and why?”

I didn’t think about this one too long because for my whole life, as long as I can remember anyway, I’ve had a reoccurring dream…
The colors and textures spring into form so vivid, fluffy white clouds, blue sky, purple hazy mountains, deep green forest, and a dramatic mix of color in the wildflowers along the stream.
A light breeze cools the film of moisture on my face and under my arms, results of my hoeing a fair-sized garden.
I’m wearing an ankle length cotton dress with some type of billowing sleeve that gathers loosely at my wrist, and it appears to have a full-sized apron covering my front and tying in the back. It’s a crisp morning, only my bare neck appreciates it because I rolled my hair into a thick bun at the base of my skull.
My husband fishes with a long branch and something tied to it acting as line. I see him from where I’m working. He’s after breakfast in the narrow stream not far from our meek home. Our dog barks at my husband’s heels every time he casts out his line.
Mountains touch the sky all around me in the distance, like our homestead is tucked inside a valley. Trees also lay a parameter around our meager area.
I suppose in this day and age what I’m describing could be recognized as a Hobby Farm – not many animals, only a few chickens, goats, a couple cows and horses, enough for a single family.
Our home might be considered large by some because it claims a full front porch with a roof. Smoke coils up from a stone chimney. I notice windows with cloth curtains, but I’m unsure if glass fills the openings. I’ve never actually gone inside.
Wooden fence enclosures keep the animals from running off, but it doesn’t keep small animals from gaining access underneath, like our dog…or wolves and coyotes I suppose.
When I awaken from this dream, my feeling has always been that I’ve actually lived this life, and it was a good life. It has made me crave living in a location like this. I think that’s why I love natural rustic areas so much.
It’s only a dream though, right? I don’t know. This dream has always made me thoughtful because it’s so real to me, so surreal, like I was physically there in that lifetime, in that period of history. Have you ever wondered about reincarnation?


Wow, thank you, Kay. Next time you step back in time, please take me with you. Wat to know more about Kay? Read on

Kay Dee Royal writes paranormal and fantasy romance—maybe because it's also her favorite genre to read! She pens tales with wild, rugged heroes and strong, intelligent heroines. She'll give them both a few shadowy secrets, making her stories intriguing and fun. She resides in Southern Michigan with her family (her dogs, her cats, her caged husband... you get the idea)

Here is a blurb and excerpt from her Muse release, Big Girls Don't Cry


After the tragic loss of her twin sister, Brea works hard to prove herself worthy of her adoptive parent’s extra attention. She focuses on the success of the rustic resort her parents deeded to her.
Priorities change when sexy twin wolves in human form walk into Brea’s life.
A dangerous rogue abducts her, but whom, if anyone comes to her rescue?


Brea watched Grey’s truck drive down the dirt path until she couldn’t see it through the trees. She shivered, instantly missing the warmth of Grey’s body next to hers. She looked one more time down the path in case Grey changed his mind about leaving her.
Did I misread Grey’s intentions? Gads, I threw myself at him. Maybe he isn’t into oversized women after all. I’m such an idiot!
Brea stepped through the door of her little stone cottage. She’d never questioned her size before, always fit her just fine. Not questioning it now either. Right now she needed cozy. As crappy as she felt over Grey’s quick departure, her head throbbed like the residual effects of a hangover, but it didn’t hinder her from throwing a few logs into the fireplace. Once a nice flame got going, she absorbed the comfort of its warmth. She lay back on her divan in front of the beautiful stone hearth.
Brea pulled her favorite blanket with images of howling wolves over her and laid her head on a matching throw pillow. Her whole room reflected her love of wolves, through pictures, statues, lamp shades, and her shelves full of books about them. She needed their comfort right now to take away Grey’s rejection of her.
Brea closed her eyes for a moment, fighting an overpowering sadness. Exhaustion finally pulled her into sleep.
* * * *
A haunting wolf howl crept into Brea’s dream. It wouldn’t stop; it was so loud…until Brea snapped awake. She sat up in darkness, not even embers glowed inside the hearth, moonlight streamed in through her sliding glass door with enough light to help her maneuver through the room. She went to the glass door to draw the curtains closed, but instead she was drawn to what lay beyond her porch.
Brea opened the door, stepped out, and walked over to the railing of her ground-level deck. She saw the light of the moon cut a path across the calm lake water to the sandy shoreline fifty feet away. Chilled damp air settled over her bare arms.
She glanced to the south tree line leading into miles of forest. Something shifted the shadows of the trees, maybe an animal hiding. She didn’t hear the rustle of dry leaves that usually accompanies animal movement in the forest.
A wolf howled a short distance from Brea. Its sound reverberated against the stone cottage wall behind her, sending a shiver from her skin into her bones. She knew wolves had been sighted a few miles away, but never at the resort. For as long as she’d lived in Northern Michigan, she’d never actually seen one. Now, she was about to have a very personal experience with one.
Brea had studied them enough to know not to move or she’d spook it. She heard it breathing and slowly turned to look. Wet, warm moisture carried on the slight breeze, settling on, around, and inside her.
The moon and all its light vanished behind an ominous cloud. Two glowing green orbs appeared to float in front of her. Somewhere in her consciousness she recognized the green eyes and the assailing breath.
A direct order, something she must do, jogged her memory, compelling her. She couldn’t look away. Her body became weightless, fluid and she wanted to follow. She moved forward, off the deck, following…following something that called her. She heard it and knew she must hurry.
Suddenly hands gripped her from behind, stopping her progress.
Another warm moist breath infiltrated her senses with the scent of pine, musk, and cloves. Her need to follow disintegrated like the ash of a spent campfire. Brea came awake in the middle of the forest. Strong arms wrapped around her waist.
“It’s alright, Brea. I think you were walking in your sleep.” Grey’s voice whispered through the layers of fog that began to break apart in her mind. “Brea, take a deep breath.”
Brea turned to face Grey.
“What…I’m…it’s night.” She couldn’t seem to grasp a total thought, other than being in the middle of the forest and in Grey’s arms. What was she doing here? What was he doing here?
Grey picked her up and carried her. She heard a wolf howl, so did Grey. He stopped and raised his face. Brea watched him sniff the air. She shrugged it off, her mind in no condition to make a judgment call of what he was doing, especially for something as strange as Grey sniffing the air.
The muscles in his arms tightened, squeezing her closer to him. He ran. How he could navigate through the trees in the darkness and carry her weight, Brea couldn’t fathom, but then her brain didn’t seem to be functioning with all lobes either. She closed her eyes and tucked her head into his shoulder, like a child in his arms, safe and loved.
Loved? Where did that come from?
Grey stepped onto Brea’s deck, walking through the open sliding glass door into her cottage.
“Gads, I left my door open?”
“Like I told you, I think you were walking in your sleep. Have you ever done that before?” Grey set Brea down on the divan and went back to the door to slide it closed. He switched on a small lamp in the corner and proceeded to re-build the fire in the hearth.
“I’ve never walked in my sleep that I’m aware of. I mean I’ve never woke up in the middle of the forest in the middle of the night. I guess I’m lucky you were there. Why were you there?”
Brea watched Grey’s sleek animal-like movements, stealthy, sure-footed, with muscles rippling. Again she saw him lift his head and sniff the air. His eyes glowed silver, reminding her of other glowing eyes and a shudder quaked down her body.


Big Girls Don’t Cry Wolf Amazon: http://tinyurl.comeqn6zoe

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