Even Muses Need Inspiration

Sometime after last Thanksgiving, my muse began to harry me to finish my most recent work-in-progress: Duty, Honor, Murder. Since I’d started to write—that is, plot it—years earlier for an online class, I was equally anxious to finish the first draft. I did, in fact, write The End on December 31, 2012.

I gave myself a round of applause, a few pats on the back and mentally added another glass of champagne to my New Year celebration. My mouth started to water, anticipating the extra large chocolate bar I’d get at my next RWA chapter meeting as a reward for finishing.

On January 2^nd I reviewed and posted my critique partners’ comments and suggestions. (I try not to start revisions until I finish the first draft—otherwise I keep fiddling until even I can’t recognize the story I intended to write.)

About the middle of February I finished adding a bunch of scenes in my latter chapters and handed everything off to my cps for what I hoped was a final review, but I found myself making excuses not to post what they’d already given me.

Now, every writer is used to the muse taking off for vacation—sometimes for far longer than we like. This time, however, my muse was waiting on me.

I looked at other stories I had started, but those were pages and pages (and pages)—all handwritten. Have I mentioned that I really hate to type? Typing is at the very top of my least favorite writing tasks—a fraction higher than trying to teach my dictation system to understand me. I have the same issue with my cell phone not recognizing commands, so I can’t blame the software—even though I’d like to.

 

Anyway…I was mired in a morass of my own making. Reduced to watching television reruns while my muse whispered foul names and threatened to leave me—this time forever.

It was while watching a program I’d recorded that inspiration struck. I realized I’d procrastinated because I didn’t have something brand new to work on; now I did! And I can type it in small increments.

If only I knew where the story was going! But that’s the joy of being a pantser—the unexpected is such fun. And the muse is celebrating with me.

Am celebrating my ménages. Check them out.

Happy Spring!

Dee Brice

Erotic Fantasies Where Nothing is Forbidden

February Flying

For such a short month, February was really busy.

It started with a radio interview set up by sister writer, Cindy Sample, on our local public radio station. Beth Ruyak, well known to Sacramento TV watchers and radio listeners, interviewed Cindy and me. Beth had a variety of guests, the first several discussing gun control, which made some listeners hot under the collar. Cindy and I built some heat of a different sort.

If you’d like to hear the interview, here’s the link: Radio Interview – Fifty Shades of Romance

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=5JyFgnwneoo

Then, the Sunday before Valentine’s Day, we met up with two more authors from the Sacramento Valley Rose Chapter of Romance Writers of America. We talked about the different kinds of romance and how the genres have grown and are continuing to grow. Had a pretty good turn out and sold some books. From left to right: Cindy Sample, Dee Brice, Donna del Oro and Paisley Kirkpatrick.

Catch the panel discussion at: http://www.youtube.com/MarketPlaceFolsom

My publisher, Ellora’s Cave, is offering the first book in my Passion’s Treasures series for free. You may download the e-book from: http://www.ellorascave.com/passion-s-four-towers.html

And, yes, the cover model does look like Angelina Jolie--but who's complaining?

 

And then…tomorrow (heavy sigh) we’re having our income taxes computed. Oh well, oh dear. Guess everyday can’t be filled with roses and chocolates—no matter how hard I wish.

Have a wonderful rest of the month and may March fulfill all your wishes.

Dee Brice

Erotic Fantasies Where Nothing is Forbidden

Critique or No Critique

When I first became a published author, my DH was my first and only critique partner. Then I realized a couple of things. First, while his input was usually right on—and it took me a while to accept that—he was reader, not a writer. And that’s what I needed—someone who could tell me “This part drags” or “You had a pov shift here.” All that stuff another writer sees and points out (Very nicely, of course. No “This sucks” allowed.)

So if you’re on the verge of becoming published, find yourself a critique partner or two. I think you’ll find the time you spend revising based on solid criticism well worth it. Hang your ego on the porch and remember, the baby can always use a bit of spit and polish to really shine.

 Have a wonderful Sunday. I'm going to root for the 49ers to win today.

Dee Brice

Erotic Fantasies Where Nothing is Forbidden

Merry Christmas

I was going to rant about the United Nations trying to take over the internet, but that issue has been resolved--for the time being anyway. So I'll just wish everyone a wonderful Merry Christmas and a prosperous and Happy New Year.

Dee Brice
Erotic Fantasies Where Nothing is Forbidden

Happy Thanksgiving

Last month DH and I were freezing our butts off in Canada. That was after attending another blowout RomantiCon conference, this one in Canton, Ohio, sponsored by Ellora's Cave. That's where this picture was taken. DH then worked his magic, making the text within my award almost readable.

Thanks to EC, I am now an award-winning author in the category Sleeping with the Enemy for my romantic suspense It Takes a Thief.

Great fun and we're looking forward to attending next year. In the meantime, hope everyone has a wonderful and safe Thanksgiving.

Dee Brice
Erotic Fantasies Where Nothing is Forbidden.

1 Night Stand or NAUGHTY SLEEPOVER? Try my MORE THAN YOU KNOW!

He is not scrumptious?

Who is he?

The bartender at The Menger Hotel in San Antonio, Texas, Luke Hurley has the hots for one of his customers whom he sees rarely.

She kills him with her looks. And just who does she resemble?

Rita Hayworth.

This is My Main Man in my newest, out tomorrow, MORE THAN YOU KNOW from http://decadentpublishing.com .

More Than You Know by Cerise DeLand

One redhead. One bartender. Lots of laughter. A desire so tender that the sheets they burn up together could set the hotel on fire. But can he intrigue a woman who’s older? What if he never lets her out of bed? Will she still want him tomorrow?

Excerpt, Copyright 2012, Cerise DeLand. All rights reserved.

“Hi, Luke Hurley.” His redhead stood right in front of him, beaming at him so the world glowed suddenly more brightly in this dark crowded room.

“Hi, there,” he said to her, as she inched closer to the bar. “I’m so glad you came in.”

“Thish has got to be Rita. Right?” Teresa took a slow gander at the woman he had told her kept him awake at night.

“Rita?” asked the lady in question, looking humored. “I’m—“

“Rita Hayworth. You bet!” Teresa clamped a hand on his lady’s arm and peered at her like an X-ray machine. “Luke, you pegged her. That is who she looks like. Gee. Lucky you, huh?”

Rita questioned him with a sideways grin. “Luke, I—”

“Teresa is my friend,” he explained, trying to keep Rita here until he got her phone number and her real name.

“I’m his copyeditor!” Teresa put in. “His friend.”

“Yes, Teresa, and the lady would like to have her arm back.”

“Oh, don’t chu worry yourself none, Luke and Rita. I am leaving. I am!”

He turned back to his redhead. “I’m glad you came in tonight. I’ve been trying to find out your name. Went to the catering manager and asked about the wedding here tomorrow, but she says the mother of the groom is a platinum blonde and short.”

“She is,” Rita exclaimed, little chuckles escaping her.

Someone shouted out that he had to stop holding hands with the bombshell and take his order. Where was his assistant bartender? He looked around but tugged at Rita’s hand.

“Okay, okay!” Luke told him, but zeroed in on Rita. “I want to call you. Ask you to dinner or drinks. Coffee, anything. I need your phone number.”

“Really? Oh, Luke, please let me—”

“I’ll find a pencil and pad. And by the way, that gown is unbelievable.” He had to tame his voice so he could speak about the gold-sequined mermaid thing that made his cock twitch. “I think I just went blind. Don’t move.”

He strode toward the register, found what he needed and stepped toward her.

But her son and Blondie appeared beside her. Blondie was pouting. The son raked his hair.

“I’m sorry. Tamara,” Rita bit off the words, never looking at her future daughter-in-law as she took Luke’s pen and wrote on his paper. “But I am the one who brought up Josh. And I will sit in the first pew. If you or your parents don’t like it, too bad. And Josh, if your father or his new wife don’t like it, tough.”

Luke watched the family drama, realizing why he hadn’t been able to learn Rita’s name. She was the divorced wife of Mr. Silver-haired Banker. And judging from the close ages of stepmother and son, Rita might actually be wife numero dos.

The son cursed. “Tam, I want her to sit in the front pew. This is my mother, and she deserves to take precedence.”

Ouch. Luke couldn’t help but look at Rita, who locked her gaze on his and grinned.

Blondie stomped her foot. “I won’t do this to my daddy. He wants this to look good for his friends. You know how he is about marriages made in heaven and no divorce.”

“Well, Tam, next to golf, divorce is my father’s favorite pastime,” Josh retorted, as Blondie huffed and made a beeline toward the door. “Aw, hell. Mom, what can I do here?”

Before Rita could answer, he fled. To Luke’s dismay, Rita raised her hands in frustration, threw him an apologetic look and followed her son.

Luke pounded his fist on the bar and the pad of paper jumped with the blow. Numbers and words bounced around. He grabbed the sheet.

Room 428. Rita

“Ricardo!” Luke called out to his assistant, as he ripped off his bar apron. “Take over here.”

Shameless Promotion

 I have a release date! October 5, 2012!

Temptress of Time Blurb

Swept away into past lives she does not remember, erotic romance author Diane de Bourgh is thrown together with two men—her masters, her jailers…her lovers.

Compassion. Compromise. Control…and letting go. These are the lessons Diane must learn before she can find contentment. Two noblemen, Walker Mornay and Adrian de Vesay, are swept into Diane’s journeys through the Medieval, Tudor and Regency eras and their own passionate past lives. Masters of Time, they see themselves as Diane’s tutors and resent the fact that she has an agenda of her own—to control them and, perhaps, to control time itself.

They, too, must learn lessons of the heart, especially those of relinquishing control to win a woman—body, mind and soul.

Excerpt—Temptress of Time

San Francisco, California

Present day

Diane de Bourgh stared at the cover art for her next medieval romance and felt her heartbeat double. The artist must have invaded her dreams, drawing not only two physically perfect, warrior-like specimens, but their faces too. The dark-haired man had the face of a fallen angel—cynical and weary. The blond looked like the kid-next-door—open to any adventure that might come his way. Devil and angel in the bodies of sculpted gods, hewn not by chisels but by long hours of training with sword and mace and shield and by even longer hours on the battlefield.

What made her heart race like a horse hitched to an old-fashioned fire engine was the certainty that she knew them both. She could have met them at a release party her publisher had hosted, but since she made it a point to arrive late and leave early on those occasions, she doubted they’d met there. She despised promotional conferences, attending solely because they increased sales. Besides, the way she reacted to the men was so intense, so visceral, that were they to appear in her home office she wouldn’t know which one to throw herself at first. Given that they both looked accustomed to doing the ravishing, she doubted they’d have any problems in the sex department.

She was the problem. She had difficulty making choices and when she did…she usually made the wrong one. On the other hand, if she met up with one or both of them, she might learn more about true passion and real love—emotions she found it difficult to write about with any degree of honesty. She did feel aroused—on occasion—but it felt more like an itch that needed scratching than a precursor to undying commitment.

With these two, however, she’d bet her last dollar they’d make the choice for her— just like her medieval hero tried to do with her spirited heroine. While her heroine had to live within the morés and conventions of the time period, Diane always imbued the young women in her books with spunk or wile or feminine charms that made the hero realize his chosen mate wasn’t a carpet upon which he could tread with muddy boots.

She glanced at the cover art again. The pair seemed so much like her chauvinist heroes, she vowed that if she ever met them in their own milieu, she’d teach them a thing or two about how to treat a woman.

Reaching out to shut off her computer, a wave of dizziness caught her off-guard. Nausea roiled in her belly and bile bubbled in her throat. The room spun as if an earthquake had struck, but it didn’t stop. It spun until she blacked out, lost in blessed darkness.

Available October 5, 2012

Ellora’s Cave

Amazon, Barnes and Noble, All Romance e-books

ISBN: 9781419935619