Monday Muser's Mad Question Time - Marsha Moore

Kalimera from a warm, sunny Corfu,

It is Easter weak - a huge event in the Greek Orthodox calender and Corfu is the place to be. The island is world famous for its spectacular celebrations and throughout the week, I will be posting pics and snippets of information. But on to todays Mad Muser question.

In the Hot seat, we have Marsha Moore, Muse It's very own 'mermaid' so who better than to answer my fun question...

Walt Disney comes back from the dead and is disgusted with the movies being produced in his name. He appoints you the task of revamping…yes, you guess it….The little Mermaid and making it a real-life movie as opposed to animated. What present day movie stars would you use to play a} Ariel b} Prince Eric and {have fun with this one} c}Ursela the sea witch.

Over to you Marsha...

This is an appropriate question since I’m certainly the Muse mermaid expert, having written Tears on a Tranquil Lake, a love triangle/adventure among a mermaid, a merman, and a pirate captain.
My taste in movies, actors, and actresses tends to be rather quirky. While Ariel is a sweet character, I’d likely select an actress capable of some spunk, wittiness, and dimension alongside her caring gentleness. My first choice would be Drew Barrymore. My second choice would be Renee Zellweger.
For Prince Eric it’s an easy choice--Johnny Depp. He’s one actor who can be convincing, charming, and funny in a fantasy setting and plenty sexy at the same time. I write fantasy romance and through five books, I have yet to not find a role for that man’s intriguing personality. The upcoming Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides has mermaids! Yeah! Cannot wait!
For Usela, another no brainer—Helena Bonham Carter. Who else could be crazy, wacky, devilish enough? And to hold her own with Mr. Depp? And to feel totally comfortable in a wild tentacled costume?

Mmm...interesting choices, Marsha. Thank you for your'professional' input.
What to know more about Miss Moore? Read on...
Marsha A. Moore is a romantic and a writer of fantasy romance. She loves being creative and enjoying the creativity of others in all art forms. Her other artistic pursuits include watercolor painting and drawing. She moved from Toledo to Tampa in 2008 and is happily transforming into a Floridian. Crazy about cycling, she usually passes the 1,000 mile mark yearly. She is learning kayaking and loving it. She’s also a yoga enthusiast and never has enough days spent at the beach, usually scribbling away at new stories with toes wiggling in the sand.

Tears on a Tranquil Lake:

What a surprise for a young woman, to find herself suddenly transformed into a mermaid.
Ciel’s first thought – track down the merman who changed her and make him reverse his magic.
Unable to find him, survival in her new world becomes paramount. She eagerly accepts help from a dashing pirate captain who takes a fancy to her, lavishing her with finery. When her merman does show up, he competes for her affection. One look into his eyes makes her life more complex -- he is her soul mate.
Which man will she choose – pirate captain or merman? Which life – human or mermaid? Caribbean adventures and dangers chase Ciel as she searches for decisions and the key to her happiness.

Warning: This book contains Haitian vodou, sultry wenches, foul-mouthed scalliwag pirates, overindulgence of fine Caribbean rum, and amorous encounters on deserted beaches.

ISBN: 978-1-926931-29-6

Hooked? Read a short excerpt...
Excerpt from Chapter 1, Tears on a Tranquil Lake, fantasy romance

The ‘gator wanted to drown me….make me an easier meal. A chill passed through my body and I shivered. Feverish heat built up inside me, spreading from my head and torso down my limbs. Eventually the wild drumbeat of my heart obliterated everything. I panicked and tried to move, but lacked control of my muscles. Immobile and helpless, I could only listen. The throbbing pulse dimmed as the lake’s waters claimed my life. I submitted…mind blank to all except the faint thump. For an immeasurably long time I heard its rhythm fading away. Seconds or dozens of minutes, I didn't know; altered perception foiled my judgment. Then, a touch against my face—shattering my delirium.Fear engulfed my barely conscious mind. What was it? Death seemed welcome compared to experiencing an alligator attack upon my body.
Something soft caressed my lips, not at all like hard reptilian scales. My sense of touch heightened. Encouraged by returning consciousness, I struggled against the darkness. My eyes searched, yet still failed to see.
Soon, I understood the feeling of lips pressing upon mine. Their burning heat made me panic. I tried to jerk back, but had no muscle control, no way to resist. They forced my lips apart, and a fiery tongue thrust inside my mouth.
In short time my limbs tingled with renewed sensation. Attempting to thrash my arms, I found them both secured.The mysterious tongue persisted, searing my own.
Strangely, the warmth moved across my entire body and I calmed, mesmerized by this unusual kiss. In some curious manner it restored my consciousness. Peacefulness spread over me, and I accepted this connection as my life force. Our kiss grew pleasurable and I slipped my tongue along the other. Waves of passion rippled through my body and I desired whatever being touched me. Wanting to know more, I opened my eyes. Light pained my limited vision.
A hazy image flashed in front of me.
I pulled back, ending the kiss and viewed a sweep of dark hair turning away, moving up toward the surface.
Marsha's links..

http://museituppublishing.com/bookstore2/index.php?page=shop.product_details&flypage=flypage-ask.tpl&product_id=124&category_id=2&option=com_virtuemart&Itemid=1&vmcchk=1&Itemid=1

http://www.marshaamoore.com/

http://www.marshaamoore.blogspot.com/

http://twitter.com/MarshaAMoore

http://www.facebook.com/marshaamooreauthorpage

So, folks, there you have it; an insight into Marsha's world. Who would you choose to play Areil? Please leave a comment for a chance to win a copy of Tranquil and tune in next Monday when Killarney Sheffield will be here to battle with whatever task my devious mind can come up with.
Viv

AUTHOR BLOG HOP-WHAT SOFTWARE HELPS ME WRITE

Morning all from Corfu,

Sorry I could not join you last week but, what with the 'visit', I had to do some spring cleaning.

Well, it’s Thursday blog hop time again, that wonderful day when we all get to answer a question in our blogs and then share. This week’s question is – what soft ware do you use when writing?
Being none too pc savvy, I had to think for a minute. Soft ware? That would be my comfy pyjamas. Being a bit of a cheat, I clicked on to blogs all ready posted and came away thinking, hell, I cannot compete with that. Okay, so I am not that ditsy. I do know all about word and windows media blah blah but I thought it would be fun to give you my tongue in cheek take on my most precious soft ware so here is my list of what soft ware is essential for my creative juices to flow.

First off - An essential that all authors, pubbed or aspiring need; a comfy 'soft' chair

After all, this is where I spend most of my time parked so it makes sense. Which brings me on to the nest soft essential. A nice, soft arse to hold up all that creative genius.

Comfy clothes are essential in this job.I spend all the winter dressed in a variety of my son's cast-off heavy metal t.shirts and pyjama bottoms. Lovely soft material

Now I am dressed, time for a crispy soft croissant and coffee



Before I begin, its time for my morning meeting with my agent. He is one of the softest agents I know

Okay, so now I am set to rattle off a couple of masterpieces before it is time for a lovely soft piece of cake and a cup of tea

Time for a bit of soft music from the lovely Darren{ you can't get any smoother or softer than him}

Which brings me on the highlight of my day. A beautiful soft pita all washed down bu a soft golden glass of mythos beer.

Of course by the now, I am exhausted from negotiating my way around all the soft ware I need to sustain me through my writing so time to fall into bed and dream up my next plot, staring the man with some of the sexiest eyes and softest lips on the planet.

Well, folks. I hope this answered the blog question. I have to say, I am a great fan of software.

See ya,

Viv

Monday Muser's Mad Question Time - Roseanne Dowell

And a very glorious Corfu Monday it is too. So, without further ado, I would like to welcome this week's Monday Muser's victim, the wonderful and extremely talented Ms. Roseanne Dowell. When I presented her with her question, I think the poor lady nearly passed out but she has written a beautiful answer for us all. My question was....

If you had three wishes what would you wish for? Haha - not so easy. These wishes must be entirely selfish. No world peace blah blah. This is all about you.

I turn you over to Roseanne...

Three selfish wishes. Wow, that's a tough one. Probably the first wish would be: for me and my husband's health. For no diabetes and blood pressure problems and no emphysema for hubby. It would be great to take a walk and not have to stop and rest until he can breathe. I'd love to be able to do some of the things I used to do, like hiking. Of course that includes being the weight I was 10 years ago. It's much easier to do things when your thin.
My second wish is for all my children and grandchildren to live long, happy, healthy lives and for me to see my grandchildren married and settled down. My parents got to see this with their grandchildren and they were so proud.
The third wish was originally going to be for a lot of money so my children and grandchildren didn't have to struggle. But I thought about it and my husband and I had to struggle all our lives just to make ends meet. I think that struggle helped make me who I am today. What kind of person would I be if everything had been handed to me. So instead instead of a lot of money, I'd like enough to be a little more than comfortable. I'd like to not watch how we spend every penny. It would be fun to be able to buy something for someone, and not have to give something else up. And oh, how I'd love to buy Christmas gifts. Fun things, things my children and grandchildren couldn't buy for themselves. And of course, I'd help make it easier for them. No reason they have to stuggle all the time, especially in this economy.
So those are my three wishes.

Lovely thoughts, Roseanne and thank you for stopping by. Roseanne is out of the very talented MuseItUp and MuseItHot stable of wonderful writers. Here is a little bit about her..

Roseanne Dowell is an avid reader and writes various types of romance - paranormal, contemporary, and mystery. She has several books published as well as over 40 articles and short stories published in magazines such as Good Old Days, Nostalgia, and Ohio Writer and several online publications. Besides teaching writing courses for Long Story School of Writing www.lsswritingschool.com ,she also taught two writing courses for the Encore Program at Cuyahoga Community College.

Roseanne lives in Northeast Ohio and where she enjoys life as a wife, mother, grandmother and great grandmother, Besides writing, Roseanne enjoys embroidery and quilting, especially combining the two.

For a taste of just how wonderful a writer Roseanne is, here is a blurb and excerpt from her current release...

Blurb: Stranger on the Shore
It’s not every day you find a body washed up on your shore, but that’s exactly what happened to author, Jordan Blake, during an early Lake Effect snowstorm. So much for her quiet existence.
While she’s on her deck securing chair cushions and chairs, something along the rocky shoreline caught her eye. A body? Hard to tell from where she stood.
Not being one to ignore someone in need, she rushed across the yard. It was a body all right–a male’s body. Thank God he was alive, but unfortunately unconscious. After much pulling, rolling and pushing, Jordan manages to get him into her house. Finally inside, undressed and into something dry, she finds herself strangely attracted to the man.
More than a storm rages inside and out.


Excerpt from Strange on the Shore

“Darn, it’s getting cold.” Jordan shivered and zipped her sweat shirt. She hated storms, hated thunder and lightning most of all. Grabbing at some papers that flew across the deck as the wind picked up, a movement caught the corner of her eye. Something washed up on the shore. Something big. A body?
Jordan jumped off the deck and raced toward the craggy shoreline. Dark clouds hovered across the lake. Cold water splashed against her as waves crashed against the rocks like angry arms hurling water at an invisible enemy. The crash of thunder echoed across the lake. Ducking her head as lightening streaked across the sky and the air crackled with electricity, she thought she must be nuts. Probably just a bunch of old clothes washed up. Still, she had to see for herself.
Surely, no one in their right mind would be in the water this time of year? There had been storm warnings on the radio all morning. No one would be stupid enough to ignore the forecast. Would they? Heavy rain and strong winds then turning to snow, with a drastic drop in temperature, and blizzard-like conditions weren’t anything to ignore. Jordan winced as lightning flashed again, back-lighting the dark clouds. Darn it, she wanted to be inside cuddling by the fire not out here in a storm. For two cents, she’d turn around and go back. But something drew her forward.
A man’s body against the rocks.
Oh, Lord, please don’t let him be dead. She had planned for a quiet weekend, writing. A weekend with a corpse wasn’t on her list of quiet. But she couldn’t leave him out here either.
Jordan came closer and stooped down next to him. Lifting his head out of the water, above the crashing waves, she felt for a pulse. Thank God, he’s alive. Now how to get him out of here? She grabbed his arm, rolled him over and tried to pull him from the fury of the lake. Wave after wave pounced on him, their foamy peaks trying to reclaim him. Lord, if she ever needed help, now was the time. Struggling to roll him to higher ground, she lost her breath. His long, muscular frame outweighed her slender five foot two body and felt like dead weight.
“You’re going to have to help me.” Jordan grunted and gasped for breath when the full force of icy waves pulled her down and washed over both of them.
No response.
“Damn it. I can’t do this alone.”
Still no response.
Great, how was she going to pull him to safety? “I hate to do this, but I see no alternative.” Jordan took a deep breath and pushed him over, rolling him like a barrel and trying to avoid cutting him on the sharp rocks. It wasn’t easy, but at least he moved.
“Come on!” Jordan tried to encourage some life from his limp body. Once he was far enough away from the waves, she stared at him for a moment, before leaning down to give him mouth to mouth. His long straight nose, eyes set wide with bushy eyebrows and the grin on his lips, even in his unconscious state, sent a ripple of excitement through her body.
Not a handsome man, but something about him caused heat deep inside her. Shrugging off the urge to run her fingers through his curly black hair, she began mouth to mouth. When her mouth touched his lips, opened them slightly, something familiar tugged on her heart. She hadn’t touched a man's lips in, what, three years. This wasn’t exactly the way she imagined touching them again. Not that she ever imagined it. Never even thought about it. She’d had enough of men to last her a lifetime.

Roseanne's links
http://museituppublishing.com/musepub/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=104&Itemid=82

http://roseanne-dowell.tripod.com/



http://roseannedowellauthor.blogspot.com/

Tune in next week when the Muse's own 'Mermaid', Marsha Moore, slips into the hot seat.

SIX SENTENCE SUNDAY -BROKEN DREAMS

It's Six Sentence Sunday time again and, once again, I am posting a six from my reworking of an old m.s. I have been tossing titles around in my head for this one. It is rather an angsty tale so I want to come up with the right one. Meanwhile, I leave you with my six, literally just hot off the press and another raw excerpt....

A silent laugh dragged at her throat. How ironic. After all she’d suffered, all she’d triumphed over, here she was, destroyed by a broken heart. Her hand closed around her father’s sleeping pills.Her hands shook as she tipped two of the white tablets into her hand.Swallowing them without water, she crept back to her room and locking out the world, she prayed for a deep, dreamless sleep.

Check out more wonderful sixes at this link
http://sixsunday.blogspot.com/
Excerpt:

The surreal scene that met his eyes made dread crawl over his skin like a dose of shingles. Alerted by screams, a crowd had gathered, cheering and laughing in that cruel manner adopted the world over by blood-lust hungry teenagers. Yelling at them to move out of his way, he pushed through. Brendan Hanna lay on the ground, curled up in a foetal position, blood-streaked hands holding his head in an attempt to ward off Rebecca’s brutal attack. He cried; he actually cried in fear and Max didn’t blame him.
Screaming at him with Exorcist-style obscenities, Rebecca kicked out at him again and again, her hair in disarray, her features contorted with pure rage and hate.
“Rebecca!” His command didn’t penetrate the frenzied assault. “Rebecca, stop.” She left him no choice. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he lifted her off the ground and dragged her away. Turning in his arms, she lashed out at him, her eyes wide and crazed, screaming and screaming. Her torment broke his heart in two. “Rebecca.”
No response.
“Rebecca, stop!” In his arms, she grew less stiff. “It’s okay.” He lowered his tone to a bare whisper so only she could hear him. “It’s me. I’ve got you, sweetheart. It’s over. Rebecca, look at me.” Tentatively, he relaxed his tight grip. “Look at me.” Hands on her face, he tilted her face up, forcing her to focus and look into his eyes. “Forget about everything else. I just want you to concentrate on me. That’s it. Take a deep breath.” He coaxed her down from the near-hyperventilation, thumb stroking her chin.”
“Oh my, God, what the hell happened, here.” Tom materialised at his side whilst Fiona rushed to Brendon’s aid. The boy remained in a ball, whimpering like a frightened child. “Get back, you morbid bunch of idiots. Show’s over. Will, help me get him to my car. We can get him to a hospital quicker. God, what a bloody mess. What the hell did she do to him?”
Max didn’t know and he didn’t care; he focused all his attention on the near-catatonic girl in his arms. Whatever punishment she’d inflicted on Brendon, intuition told him the boy deserved it. “Here.” He pulled his keys from his pocket. “Go and wait in my car.” Rebecca didn’t move. She swayed against him and for one terrifying moment he thought he was losing her. “Rebecca, Go! For once in your life do as you’re bloody told.” His feigned anger jolted her out of her trance. For a split second, she looked at him as if she hated him but she took the keys and, head held high, she walked to his car.
“What’s going on, Max?” Will looked dazed, as they all did. “I’ve never seen anything like it. She was....like an animal.”

Enjoy.
http://corfu-author.tripod.com
http://museithotpublishing.com/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=68&Itemid=82

Monday Muser's Mad Question Time

Good day, happy little Musers. Starting off the Muse Monday happy blog is my dear friend, critique partner and fellow Gerard Butler fancier, Christine London. Her question is…

Knowing your penchant for all things and persons British, if you had to chose one British woman, historical or contemporary, whom you most admire, who would you choose and why?
Take it away, Chris....

Thanks for hosting me today Viv and for your fresh approach. Viva the questions that don't focus on our path to publication or writing style!

My first proclivity was to choose a contemporary woman that might spark recognition in everyone's eye. Lady Di and her tireless campaigning to rid third world nations of landmines, the Queen mum and her one hundred years living in both spotlight and shadow of royalty, or even Margaret Thatcher as she parried with some of the world's most powerful men.

And then my choice became as suddenly clear as this woman's meteoric rise to fame. On April 11, 2009 a plain middle-aged woman from Blackburn East Lothian Scotland took the stage on one of the United Kingdom's most popular reality television shows. The juxtaposition of the audience's first impression of her, with the standing ovation she received during and after her performance, led to an international media and internet tsunami. Within nine days of the audition, videos of her from the show, and various interviews had been watched over 100 million times. Since that time, her audition video has been viewed on the internet several hundred million times.

So unpretentious, unguarded and fresh was her rendition of I Dreamed A Dream, such an icon of everyday woman, Ms Susan Boyle brushed the gates of heaven. If she could grasp her brass ring, then so could we all. Frumpiness, unibrow and graceless appeal washed away as she sang into the blinding lights of Britain's Got Talent. Even Simon stood, smiling broadly, and applauded.

In years past such moments have been witnessed by the lucky few who might be in their presence. In the spring of 2009, the world paused to touch the face of God with her.
In September 2010, Boyle was officially recognized by Guinness World Records as having had the best selling debut album of a female artist, the most successful first week sales of a debut album in the UK, and was also awarded the record for being the oldest person to reach number one with a debut album in the UK.
Thanks for allowing us to dream with you, Susan, and to believe that just maybe anything is possible.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8OcQ9A-5noM


Okay, so good answer from Chris. Tune in next week when Ms. Roseanne Dowell will be in the hot seat. Meanwhile, here is a blurb and excerpt from Ms. London's wonderful
Shadows Steals the Light

Author: Christine London
Genre: Contemporary Romantic Suspense Erotica
Release: February 1, 2011
Editor: Fiona-Young Brown
Line: Antonia Tiranth
Cover artist: Delilah K. Stephans
Word count: 95,863
Pages: 258
ISBN: 978-1-926931-34-0
E-book price: $5.95
Warning: Contains moderate violence and/or sexual

Blurb:
It’s love at first sight for rock star Colin Dunlow when he runs into sultry jazz singer, Jenna Lindstrom, with a few complications. The woman of his dreams hates rockers and there’s someone who wants him dead.
Excerpt:
He heard the pop of a gun. Diving behind the mailbox bolted to the edge of the curb, heart racing in his throat, he rolled back into a crouch. The silver coupe had turned and was now coming at him along the sidewalk. He bolted across the street and ran, full tilt into a side street bordered by old twenties houses interspersed with more modern apartment complexes. Craning his neck for a brief backward glance, he spilled over the tire of a bicycle and into a row of similarly parked bikes outside the entrance to an apartment building. Tumbling onto the grass easement between sidewalk and street, he scrambled to his feet, looking for the coupe. It was turning the corner from 32nd Street parallel to the Shrine, onto his side street. Searching frantically for someway, something to slow the vehicle down, he picked up one of the bicycles, now flattened in a domino effect against the others and flung it into the street.
He looked back toward the approaching coupe: a maelstrom of jacaranda blossoms swirled in its wake as it accelerated toward him. He took off down the sidewalk again, this time not looking back. The centrifugal force behind the speed of his flight projected him out into 30th Street as he flew around the corner toward Figueroa. At an all out sprint, he dashed across the major artery, dodging the still clogged traffic exiting the Shrine toward the freeway. Running past Carl’s Junior, he headed for the overpass just the other side of Flower Street.
Shite. Who the hell? His mind raced on ahead of him as he pumped his arms in Olympic exertion. Having the green chain link mesh of the overpass fencing in clear view, he risked a glance back. The coupe was weaving around the cross traffic of Figueroa in perfunctory fashion, nearly clipping the bumper of a black SUV. Only one way out; he bolted toward the fence, leaping in upward propulsion, reaching for the top crossbar, propelling himself over with raw strength, determination and adrenaline.
His body slammed against the freeway overpass sign, dangling like the condemned from the gallows. Hands clamped tightly to the crossbar, teeth gritted, he lowered his chin to look below him. A catwalk of sorts, supporting lights for the sign, was but a few meter drop. He stole one more glance toward the street, just catching a blur of silver going north around the corner on Flower, toward downtown, the freeway flyover and against traffic. The metallic clunk and reverberation up his legs as his feet landed on the catwalk jarred him into a contracted crouch. Looking behind and down, he saw the rooftops of lethargic traffic scooting forward in preemptory battle to get ahead.
The unmistakable sound of large masses of metal being compacted came from the direction of Flower Street. An ivy cover fence screened any view of what had occurred. It wasn’t thirty seconds later, as Colin assessed the distance to the pavement, that he saw the form of a man catapulting over the ivy clad fence, leaping onto the overpass.
Head and face covered with a black ski mask, the identity of his pursuer was impossible to detect. Judging from the agility and muscularity of the man, Colin was in for some serious trouble. Damn! He timed his descent to coincide with the eighteen-wheeler passing under him. Pulling in a resolute lungful of air, he leapt.
The roof of the truck gave slightly with the impact of his weight. Its forward movement was slow enough, that it jolted him from his feet onto his knees, but did not propel him head over heels. Palms flat, he braced himself in anticipation of greater force. Shooting a glance at the receding over pass, he saw the darkly clothed athletic figure of the man in the ski mask land on a truck with a short red trailer, not two lengths behind him. Colin searched three hundred sixty degrees, twisting his crouched body to obtain the widest possible panorama of the rapidly degrading situation. His options were narrowing.
As the red truck moved forward, its driver signaled a lane change toward the left. Traffic was beginning to pick up speed as the effects of the merging onramp were diminishing. Wind now played a factor in not only his stability, but his ability to see as his long hair whipped about his cheeks and eyes. He moved along the roof toward the cab, remaining crouched to preserve what advantage a lower center of gravity might afford.
He felt, rather than saw, his assailant landing on the cold reflective grey of the truck’s roof; vibrating shockwaves caused by the weight of his body striking the rear of the trailer telegraphed through the metal like a seismic shock. Colin turned to see the man leaping across the long surface of the roof. Who is this…f**king Spiderman? Colin’s racing thoughts jumbled in an upset of twisted incomprehension as he tried to force his mind to cooperate through the serge of adrenaline-laced resolve coursing through him.

Reviews: I really liked this one. And maybe it was because some of the plot points hit pretty close to home (no, I don’t think anyone has ever tried to kill me), but I thought that Christine London did a remarkable job with capturing the intricacies of emotional turmoil and struggle. -One Hundred Romances Project 4 stars-READ FULL REVIEW

https://museituppublishing.com/bookstore2/index.php?page=shop.product_details&flypage=flypage.tpl&product_id=40&category_id=72&option=com_virtuemart&Itemid=1

http://www.amazon.com/Shadows-Steal-the-Light-ebook/dp/B004M5HHVE/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2&s=books&qid=1301587381&sr=8-1

SIX SENTENCE SUNDAY - IN LOVE - MOI?

Okay, it's that time of the week again. I thought I would post from my wip, again {working title Class Act}. I have been steaming along with this and I am quite enamoured with my leading man.

Love - Rebecca Harding didn’t do love. She wouldn’t know where to begin. No, she hadn’t meant that. She didn’t love him because she didn’t know him and that would mean it was nothing more than a school girl crush and she, Rebecca Harding would never stoop so low. What she meant was she admired him. Yes, that was it; admire was a good word.

Does anyone remember that time when you first realised you were in love? It can make one feel so vulnerable. How would you sum up first love in one word? The best answer wins a free download of their choice from my backlist. Meanwhile, here's another excerpt from the newbie:....

CH ONE

A hard rain drummed out an incessant beat. Max Jackson rested his head against the mullioned windowpane and wondered if he’d ever get used to the capricious climate. A mundane deliberation, really. The weather was the least of his worries. Ok, it wasn’t as if he was a total novice but teaching English to foreign adults wasn’t much in the way of preparation for a class of twenty or more hormonal teenagers. All the degrees in the world couldn’t make up for hard experience.
A sense of inadequacy blotted out his earlier good mood. What the hell was he doing there? Tom was nuts.
Despite his black mood, he smiled. Tom Black – the only one amongst his Oxford chums who’d matched him pint for pint. Now the conscientious headmaster of Thamesford Independent School? He laughed out loud. How insane was that? Even crazier; he’d offered Max the post of substitute teacher of English without hesitation. That was Tom; ever loyal, always having faith in him. Was he up to the job? Certainly he knew his father didn’t think so but then his father didn’t believe him capable of much.
Max gave himself a mental kick up the butt; it wasn’t the time to be heading down that long, sorry road and, besides, he hadn’t finished his first beer. Time to remedy that.
Crossing to the chintz sofa, he sat and picked up the bottle of Fosters from the rosewood occasional table. Ice-cold nectar worked a satisfying trail down his throat. His gaze strayed to the photograph on top of the cast-iron fireplace. For once, Kate’s cool beauty failed to invoke a gut-wrenching reaction. Max lobbed the empty bottle into the wastepaper basket. He wouldn’t think about Kate. What was done was done.

http://corfu-author.tripod.com
http://museithotpublishing.com/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=68&Itemid=82

WHAT'S IN A GENRE?

I have never really got to terms with all these different genres now floating around the writing world. For me, anything that has a love interest present is romantic and when I was a mere lowly reader, as opposed to an even merer and lowlier author, I didn’t give two willies about genre. I picked up a book, read the blurb and if it tweaked my interest, I bought it. Too much analyzing, folks: Romantic fiction, contemporary romance, suspense, historical suspense, futuristic suspense, futuristic romance with flash backs to historical. Chick lit, mummy lit, manny lit, nanny lit, Erotic, Erotica, paranormal, historical suspense, and romantic erotic starring aliens from outer space – gay aliens at that all dressed up as cowboys. Anyway, barring the outer space angle, I think Tolkien pretty much covered everything in Lord of the Rings.

I think I will create a new category. How about; anything I bloody want it to be romance coz its fantastic and you ought to buy it? Have I answered this question? Probably not but I have had fun trying. Back to work I go on my romance whatever it turns into and if any agent or publisher is reading this - I plead insanity.

Viviane