Category Archives: Inspiration

INTERVIEWING WADE Launch Celebration: Bowling with Wade & Carla

March 22, 2015Inspirationgrace marshall, hot romance, Interviewing Wade, meeting the characters, new release, romance, The Executive Decisions novelsK D Grace

After a celebration launch breakfast with Wade and Carla in Wade’s Dungeon, involving a fabulous sampling of Pop Tarts a la Flannery and Marshmallow Cream chocolate coffee, a la Chrittenden, Wade and Carla invite me to join them for an early morning bowling session at Clyde’s bowling alley – the place that has inspired some of Wade’s most innovative inventions.

Right off the bat, I march up to the lane, take three steps, as everyone has instructed me, let the ball go and fall flat on my ass, while the ball with some serious momentum, gutters long before it gets to the pins.

Wade watches it nodding. ‘I’ve never seen quite that kind of back spin on a ball. I think it has something to do with the way you were off balance when you let it go.’ The earnestness of his observation makes me laugh as I wait for the ball return rubbing my bruised butt.

‘Is that engineer speak for what happens when you fall an your ass while swinging a bowling ball?’

‘Well I suppose there’s a bit of that,’ he says, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. ‘I can give you the mathematics of what just happened if you’d like.’ The man has shed his requisite black hoodie and I’m suddenly reminded just how well-built he is. He’s sporting a faded red t-shirt on which I can barely make out a diagram of a carbon molecule superimposed over the Coca Cola logo with the words Carbon Nation written in the Coke font. ‘But I don’t think it would help your game.’

This time I managed to stay on my feet and boldly take out one pin on the far left after the ball slo-mo’s its way down the lane. ‘I don’t think much of anything would help my game,’ I say.

‘Looks to me like your ball’s to heavy,’ Clyde says.

‘Heavy balls can be a real problem,’ Carla says around a mouthful of Doritos. Wade gives her a sideways glance. She shrugs and Clyde sniggers.

As Clyde offers me several lighter balls to try, I watch out of the corner of my eyes as Wade bowls a beautiful strike. Twice. ‘You’ve known him for a long time?’ I ask.

Clyde nods and the smile on his face reminds me of a proud father watching his well-accomplished son. ‘Couldn’t bowl a lick when he came in here the first time. Don’t know why he chose bowling over anything else. But I showed him the basics, and Crittenden being who he is, it didn’t take him long. Tried to get him to bowl with a league. Thought it would be good for him – you know some social interaction. He told me …’ Clyde chuckles, ‘Well what he told me wasn’t very nice, but made it very clear that he didn’t bowl to be social.’

We both watch as he leans close and whispers something to Carla, who laughs congenially and musses his hair before rising to bowl her own strike. Clyde nods and his smile broadens considerably. ‘That one, well, she’s way better for him than any bowling league. Take the fact that he invited you along to bowl, KD. That young woman can cajole him and pester him and tease him in ways I’ve never seen anyone do. I mean even Ellis Thorne knows not to cross the line with Crittenden, and they’re best friends. But it’s like, well it’s like with Carla, there is no line.’

‘You think he’s a better person for having her in his life?’ I ask, choosing a pretty blue ball with sparkles that may actually be too light, but the way I bowl, I doubt it’ll matter much.

‘Nah,’ he says, watching Carla deal surgically with a difficult split. ‘He’s always been a good person. Might have taken her to show him that. I’ve seen a lot of teamwork here on league nights. Some teams just click, and they win even when they lose. These two, well they’re like that together. They’re a team.’

‘It’s your turn, KD,’ Wade calls over his shoulder. I return to find him sharing a package of Ding Dongs with Carla.

‘You want one?’ Carla asks. ‘I have another package.’

I take the precious gift of junk food assuring myself that though I don’t usually eat such empty calories and I don’t have the metabolism these to do, it’s a special occasion and, let’s face it, sometimes the emptier the calories, the better they taste.

This time my bright blue ball takes a swath right out of the middle of the pins and I take a bow to the cheers from my audience of three. However I may well have taken my kudos too soon as the second attempt hits the floor with a kathunk and then promptly gutters.

‘Never mind,’ Carla says. ‘Here, eat your Ding Dongs, and you’ll feel better.’ She’s right. I do.

‘So, back to work on the photovoltaic prototype after bowling?’ I ask Wade.

He’s just bowled another strike and we both watch Carla position herself. ‘Nope. We’re heading over to Stacie’s Clear-cut after this.’

‘Oh? How’s that going, the re-planting, I mean.’

We watch Carla bowl a split with a ball that curved just slightly too much to the right at the last minute. Clyde tells me that. I would have had no clue why. Carla calls the ball a few choice names and waits at the return.

‘In spite of the planting and the careful management,’ Wade says, returning to the topic of the clear-cut, there are still problems with erosion when we get heavy rains.’ He shrugs broad shoulders. ‘We always get heavy rains here, so I’ve designed a new type of ground cover that I hope will help.’

‘And I’m coming along to take a few photos and catch the story.’ Carla says, plopping down next to Wade. ‘Something that’ll fight erosion in a place with massive rainfall is big news.’

‘Almost as big as illegal cage fighting,’ Wade says with a twitch of a smile.

She shrugs. ‘Well if the inventor of the new ground cover will traipse around on the hillside in shiny shorts and no shirt, it would be a toss-up.’

Clyde and I snigger, and Wade waves me to take the floor with a quirk of a smile.

We bowl four games, and by the end, I’ve actually managed two Ding Dongs, a bag of Doritos and a Snickers Bar. Oh, and three strikes! Well a girl needs her strength to keep up with Wade and Carla in Clyde’s bowling alley.

Wade and Carla drop me in the parking garage at the Pneuma Building. I say my good-byes and wish the two well at the clear-cut. They both give me hugs and congratulations. Before they leave, Wade turns to me and offers me a rare full smile. ‘I’m looking forward to Carla reading the next chapter of your book to me. But that’ll have to wait till tonight,’ he glances over his shoulder at Carla who is now talking to one of her fathers security men, ‘Tonight after we’re home alone. It’s the Chinese food chapter, she tells me. Not for public consumption.’ Wade Crittenden actually winks at me … around a heroic blush, then he turns, pulls Carla in close to his side and I watch the two disappear into the Dungeon entrance from the parking garage.

The Interviewing Wade Blog Tour and Giveaway Begins Tomorrow, the 23^rd. For the next two weeks find Carla, Wade and me on these fabulous blogs

Mar 23 L. C. Wilkinson http://lcwilkinson.com/

Mar 24 Jan Graham http://jangraham.blogspot.com/

Mar 25 Lynelle Clark http://lynelleclarkaspiredwriter.blogspot.com/

Mar 26 Nice Ladies, Naughty Books http://niceladiesnaughtybooks.com/

Mar 27 Love Bites & Silk Ties http://www.lovebitessilkties.co.uk/

Mar 30 Books and Banter http://locglin.blogspot.com/

Mar 31 Case Sharidan http://casesheridan.wordpress.com/

Apr 1 Lisabet Sarai http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com

Ap 2 Gale Stanley http://galestanley.blogspot.com/

Ap 3 Illustrious Illusions http://www.illustriousillusions.com/

Interviewing Wade is An Executive Decision novel

(Click Here for Book One | Book Two | Book Three)

The Executive Decisions Trilogy may be over, but the story continues. Intrepid reporter, Carla Flannery, wants to interview Wade Crittenden, the secretive creative genius behind Pneuma Inc. But when, against all odds, Wade actually agrees to the interview, Carla suspects ulterior motives.

Carla has made a lot of enemies in her work and when Wade discovers she’s being stalked, he agrees to the interview to keep her close and safe. As the situation turns deadly, lives and hearts are on the line, and the interview reveals far more about both than either ever expected.

Excerpt:

‘What do you want, Carla?’ His abrupt change of subject derailed her before she could get started on her well-deserved rant. Who the hell did he think he was anyway? It was just an act of kindness, nothing more. Surely he wasn’t too stupid to see that. She watched, speechless as he hopped up and lobbed a killer ball that would have been devastating if it hadn’t guttered half way down the lane and rolled benignly the rest of the way to the soundtrack of half-hissed curses that would have hurt a sailor’s ears. She had no idea until last night that Wade Crittenden had such a colourful vocabulary. She watched his shoulders rise and fall in what she thought was the nerd’s last-ditch effort at some calming Zen. Then he took a deep breath and spoke without looking at her. ‘What do you want?’ He repeated.

Thanks to Devon’s poorly-timed call, it was far to late to sweeten him up, so she’d just have to go for it and hope for the best. She took a deep breath and said. ‘I want to interview you.’ She stuffed the notebook back into her shoulder bag, shoved it onto the seat and coming to stand by his side as he waited for the ball to return.

‘No,’ he replied, calmly taking up the ball and this time sending it waltzing right down the centre of the lane for a slo-mo strike.

‘Oh it’s not about last night. You’ve already said plenty about last night. It’s about Pneuma Inc. I’ve already interviewed Dee and Ellis.’

‘Then you don’t need to interview me. They know everything I know.’

‘Oh I got great stuff from them, but people want to know about the genius behind Pneuma Inc, the mystery man. Come on, Wade, I promise I’ll be gentle.’

She gave a little squeak of surprise as he grabbed her by the lapel of her shirt, led her unceremoniously back to the seat and pushed her gently down in it. ‘No,’ he said. Then he grabbed the ball and bowled yet another strike.

‘You’re pretty good,’ she said.

‘I’m better when no one is bothering me.’ He tapped his fingers on the ball return in a definite ‘get-lost-Carla’ rhythm.

‘Look,’ she shoved out of the seat and came to his side again. ‘You’ve been hounding me to be a good girl, to play it safe, to stay out of danger, well…’

He picked up the returned ball and took his stance, with her standing right beside him.

‘What could be safer than me interviewing the mysterious Wade Crittenden of Pneuma Inc?’ She followed on his heels as he positioned himself, took three quick steps and let the ball go. She nearly rear-ended him at his quick stop.

He turned suddenly and she found herself cheek to chest with him. They were both breathing much harder than their little bowling waltz demanded. Then, fuck if he didn’t lift her bodily over his shoulders, carry her back to the chair and drop into it like an oversized sack of potatoes before the ball flattened all the pins. Again. With a hand on either side of the chair, trapping her there, he held her gaze, nearly nose to nose. ‘I may be a lot of things, Flannery, but I’m not safe.’ Before she could protest further, he turned and bellowed, ‘Clyde, Ms Flannery’s leaving. Show her out please. And then lock the damned door.’

Interviewing Wad is available from:

Sleepwalking the Dog: More Morphine Dreams

March 11, 2015Blog, Inspirationcreativity, journal, Morphine Dreams, my writing process, writingK D Grace

Drugs, hospital stays, going under the knife. I’ve only ever had that experience three times in my life, and once was when I had my tonsils taken out as a very young child. Frankly it was a lot scarier as an adult. Things go wrong. People go under anesthesia for a simple surgery and there are complications. I’m a horrible patient under the best of times, but when control, everything, ALL OF IT, is taken out of my hands by anesthetists and surgeons, even when it’s for my own good, I wonder how I’ll come out on the other side. I wonder IF I’ll come out on the other side. I distinctly remember waking up in the recovery room after both my surgeries as an adult and my first feeling being an incredible sense of joy. Maybe that was just the drugs, but my first real thought, both times was, ‘I made it!’

There are no dreams under anesthesia or at least I’ve never dreamed. It’s like I’m conscious one second and then for however long the surgeon works on my, I no longer exist. I’m just not there. And frankly recovery afterwards demands too much attention to really consider the thought of where I went while I was somewhere else. Perhaps the anesthetist took ME out of my body and put me in a Mason jar by the side of the operating table until the surgeon was done, and then she stuffed ME back into my flesh.

But if I really was somewhere else, and it wasn’t a Mason jar by the operating table, then where was I? Surely I had to be somewhere. And that begs the next question. Wherever I was, was I there alone? And if not, is it possible that just maybe I didn’t come back alone? Sorry! I’m having a goose bumps moment here. Both times following surgery, I’ve come back to myself wondering if I’m still the same me. There are parts missing, parts repaired, parts bruised and stitched and stapled, BUT that’s just flesh. The first surgery, there was blood – someone else’s blood, transfused into
my body, but surely that’s just flesh too. I was just as gone then as I was this last time, and for a whole lot longer. And it only now occurs to me that it was after that first surgery that the stories began to flow fast and furious, and I couldn’t write them down fast enough. Oh I’d always written, always been good at it, but everything I wrote up until that point felt more like stuff I’d just made up. After … well after that first surgery it was different. Afterwards, wherever the stories came from, more often than not it felt like it wasn’t from me. It felt like someone opened up a place in my unconscious and dumped them into me, and I became the conduit, the scribe, nothing more. Sometimes I was a good scribe. Sometimes I could have been better because the material dumped into the conduit made me uncomfortable, made me squirm, and I didn’t want to write it. But if I didn’t write it, if I didn’t get it right, well the characters haunted my dreams, and they weren’t always very nice about it either.

Strange that it took a simple knee surgery to bring all this stuff back to me, to make me think about where I go, where I’ve been, and what that has to do with how the ideas get in my head. But maybe it’s not so strange at all, since the first surgery was major and all of me was much more taken up with recovery. But so many of the pieces fit together now. Where do I go when I’m not there in my body? Well at least this time, I went to Vegas, where I communed with a big-ass dog, a dark man who was brooding and beautiful in a scary as hell way; and a woman with the most incredible hair I’ve ever seen. Surgery, jet-lag, pain meds, and I find myself sleepwalking that big-ass dog through the streets of Vegas.

Well, actually it’s more like the dog is sleepwalking me. I wake up in the Elara, where I always wake up, and it’s late. It must be long toward morning because some of the brighter lights on the strip have been dimmed, and Vegas is as quiet as it ever gets. It’s the dog licking my face that wakes me. And the next thing I know I’m wrapped in a sheet toga-style and I’m following the dog down the Strip heading toward Caesar’s Palace. I don’t know why I keep following the dog. He’s not my dog, and he clearly doesn’t need me to look out for him. He clearly outweighs me, and his teeth are a lot bigger than mine. But I keep following him. It seems essential that I follow him. The Strip is strangely quiet, and dark, and then I realize it’s because I’m not actually on the Strip any more, but I’m down below it, in some strange tunnel.

I dream of tunnels a lot, so that doesn’t surprise me, and neither does it surprise me that though it’s pitch dark, I can see enough to follow the dog. I notice the smell of ozone, like you smell just before a coming lightening storm, and the fine hairs on my arms bristle. The dog stops, and I’m standing next to him peering out into what looks like a large ballroom. People are dancing to strange music, slow dancing, close and sensual, and my skin prickles all over. Then I realize I’m standing right behind the dark man and the woman with the hair, who are watching the goings on of the dance floor. I’m standing there, and I’m listening.

‘You promised me anonymity when I came here,’ the man says to the woman. There seems to be some sort of breeze coming from somewhere, teasing and caressing her hair and making it dance and sway against her back.

She laughs softly. ‘Surely you don’t think it’s your story I want to her to tell. Your story has been told ad nauseum.’

I can see the man bristle with her words, and I know his pride has just been stung. His response is soft, and I feel it more than hear it. ‘They’ll be telling my story long after you’re gone.’

She laughs again, and I find myself fascinated by the sway and shift of her hair with the movement of her body. I find myself wanting to reach out and touch it. ‘No doubt,’ she says, ‘but nonetheless, it’s not your story I want her to tell.’

At first I think it’s the dog growling, then with a shiver, I realize it’s the man. ‘You bring her here to my realm, where you know damn good and well she doesn’t belong and then you tell me it’s not about me?’

‘She’s a scribe,’ the woman says unperturbed. ‘That means there’s no place that she doesn’t belong, no boundary she can’t cross, and right now she works for me. If I want her to tell your story or the story of your mangy dog, or the story of some reclusive blood sucker across the pond, it’s not your business. You’d do well to remember that.’

I work for her? It is at that moment I realize the woman is talking about me! Suddenly I have the overwhelming urge to turn and run, though I’m not sure my legs will support me any longer. Besides I realize I can’t begin to find my way back. I followed the dog. I feel like my whole body has turned to ice, and I can’t move. I literally can’t move!

For a moment there’s silence. The music stops, but the people on the dance floor don’t seem to notice. They keep swaying and undulating as though they still hear the melody in their heads, and the rising wind I think I hear in the tunnel is only my own efforts to breathe.

‘Who then?’ The man asks at last. ‘Whose story do you want her to write?’

She leans forward and whispers in his ear, and I see his shoulders stiffen and his whole body convulses.

‘Who?’ I ask. ‘How can I know whose story you want me to write if you don’t tell me?’ But the woman doesn’t hear me. Neither of them do. And I’m shocked at the sound of my own voice. I haven’t agreed to write any story for her. Why would I? Why would I do anything for either of them? And yet I have to know! I have to.

‘Goddamn it, if you want me to write a story then tell me who it’s about,’ I shout.

And then I jerk awake as though I’ve just fallen from a great height. My knees hurt like crazy, and I’m trembling and sweating in the hospital bed. My husband is gripping my hand. The look on his face tells me that he’s concerned, that my dreams have bled into the waking world. He’s called the nurse. She takes my temperature and blood pressure, gives
me more pain meds and tells me to get some rest.

After she’s gone, my husband says, ‘you weren’t dreaming about a waterslide that time.’

I shake my head.

‘Was it bad?’ he asks.

‘Just strange. I was sleepwalking the dog,’ I manage just before I plunge back into drugged oblivion.

New Years Resolutions Through the Back Door

January 7, 2015Blog, Inspirationcreativity, New Years resolutions, psychology, writingK D Grace

Well what do you know? Here it is the 7^th of January already! 2015 is well and truly under way, and I’ve revamped this post from the archives because it’s a post that I need to re-read for my own benefit every year, and I hope it will be something to encourage readers as well.

The gym was overflowing with New Years Resolutioners yesterday when I went to Kettle Bells class; all around the world new diets have been begun as soon as the New Year hangover wears off; people stop drinking, stop smoking, begin learning Spanish or French, people promise to take better care of themselves, spend more time with good friends, waste less time in front of the telly, read more, exercise more, write more, and the list goes on. On January 7^th the universal urge to be ‘better’ in the New Year is nearly palpable in the soggy English air.

And I’m behind somehow, as I have been for the last few years. New Years Eve passes me by in a daze and so does New Years Day, and in the midst of it all I have this vague notion that I should do something, or at least think something profound. That urge to reflect on what has been and plan how the New Year will be better is always there, but somehow ends up subsumed in the immediacy of everything else going on as the old year hear hammers down to the wire and the new one barrels down on me. Hope and excitement at new beginnings is so much a part of our human nature that the end of a year and the beginning of another one can’t help but be the time when we anticipate, plan change, and dare to dream of what wonderful things we can bring about in the next year. In fact there’s a heady sense of power in the New Year. I think it’s the time when we’re most confident that we can make changes, that we really do have power over our own lives. It’s the time when we’re most proactive toward those changes, those visions of the people we want to be. I think that’s because it’s the one time of the year when there is a clear delineation between what has been and what will be – even if it is really rather arbitrary.

Before I actually began to sell my writing, back when I dreamed of that first publication, back when there seemed to be a lot more time for navel gazing than is now, I was a consummate journaler. I filled pages and pages, notebooks and notebooks full of my reflections, ruminations and navel gazes. And nothing took more time and energy than the end of the year entry, in which I reflected on how I did on the year’s resolutions and planned my resolutions for the next. This was a process that often began late in November with me reading back through journals, taking notes, tracing down some of what I’d been reading during that year and reflecting on it. Yeah, I know. I needed to get a life!

By the time New Years Day rolled around, I had an extensive list of resolutions, each with a detailed outline of action as to how I was going to achieve it. I found that some of those resolutions simply fell by the wayside almost before the year began — those things that if I’m honest with myself, I know I’m never gonna do, no matter how much I wish I would. Others I achieved in varying degrees-ish. But sadly, for the most part, a month or maybe two into the year, that hard core maniacal urge to be a better me no matter what cooled to tepid indifference as every-day life took the shine off the New Year.

It was only when there stopped being time for such ginormous navel-gazes and micro-planning that I discovered I actually had achieved a lot of those goals that were my resolutions simply by just getting on with it. As I began to think more about how different my approach to all things new in the New Year had become the busier I became, I realised that I had, through no planning on my part, perfected the sneak-in-through-the-back-door method of dealing with the New Year. The big, bright New Year changes I used to spend days plotting and planning no longer got written down, no longer got planned out. Instead, they sort of implemented themselves in a totally unorganised way somewhere between the middle of January and the middle of February. They were easy on me, sort of whispering and smiling unobtrusively from the corners of my life. They came upon me, not in a sneak attack so much as a passing brush with someone who would somehow become my best friend.

All together, I’ve written more that a half a million words this year. Needless to say, I’m my own harsh taskmaster. I’m driven, I’m tunnel-visioned, I’m a pit bull when I grab on to what I want to achieve with my writing. No one is harder on me than I am – no one is even close. And yet from somewhere there’s a gentler voice that sneaks in through the back door of the New Year and through the back doors of my life and reminds me to be kinder to me, to be easier on me, to find ways to rest and recreate and feed my creative self. I’ll never stop being driven. The time I’ve been given, the time we’ve all been given, is finite. And that gentler part of ourselves must somehow be a constant reminder of comfort and forgiveness, of self-betterment that comes, not from brow-beating and berating ourselves, not from forced regimentation, but from easing into it, making ourselves comfortable with it. We, all of us, live in a time when life is snatched away from us one sound-bite, one reality TV show, one advert at a time. Often our time, our precious time is bargained away from us by harsher forces, by ideals and scripts that aren’t our own, and the less time we have to dwell
on the still small voice, the deeper the loss.

So my resolution, my only resolution every year is to listen more carefully to that gentler, quieter part of me, to forgive myself for not being able to be the super-human I think I should be, to settle into the arms of and be comfortable with the quieter me, the wiser me who knows how far I’ve really come, who knows that the shaping of a human being goes way deeper than what’s achieved in the outer world, and every heart that beats needs to find its own refuge in the value of just being who we are, of living in the present and coming quietly and gently and hopefully into 2015.

My 2014 Photo Album

January 2, 2015Blog, Inspiration2014 in pictures, Happy New YearK D Grace

Happy 2015 Everyone! 2014 has been a year busy enough and full enough to feel like three, and looking back makes me a little bit dizzy. I think a lot of writers live in the moment — especially when we’re in the middle of writing a story. I find that I often forget all about what happened three days ago and am totally unmindful of what will happen three days in the future. Makes planning a bit of a challenge from time to time, but it does mean that I’m great at being totally tunnel-visioned.

This year, I thought I’d review the year in pictures rather than do quite so much navel gazing, and I’ve always been a sucker for photo albums. So grab a cuppa, sit back in the recliner and let me show you my 2014.

The year began with two major launches, both very different. The first was my novel, Fulfilling the Contract, which is book 2 in The Mount Series.

Book two of The Mount trilogy (Click here for Book One | Book Three)

Limo driver, NICK CHASE’s bad night gets worse when he picks up TANYA POVIC at a bar only to discover the explosive sex they share lands her in breach of her very strange contract. Blaming himself that Tanya will lose the large completion bonus earmarked for her mother’s surgery, Nick negotiates with her boss, the tough and mysterious ELSA CRANE, to allow him to fulfill Tanya’s contract and secure her bonus.

Elsa runs Mount Vegas, which offers voyeuristic pleasures for a price. Nick’s job, with Elsa and her quirky team, is to give clients something worth watching through the plate glass windows of Vegas’s luxury hotels and beyond. The learning curve is steep and kinky. As Nick and Elsa’s relationship sizzles and ignites more than hotel room rendezvouses are exposed. In this sequel to The Initiation of Ms Holly things get positively dangerous as Rita Holly and her team are called in from London to lend a helping hand. Bets are being placed. Will Nick fulfil the contract? Will he and Elsa take the gamble? And will they find a way to win at the high stakes, double or nothing, game of hearts?

The second launch was my first ever attempt at a serial, Demon Interrupted, DI is a Lakeland Witches story, which began on the 2nd of February and finished on Halloween. I reran it over Christmas so people could read it all together. It was a very exciting way to write a story, and I found myself feeling quite bereft when I finished it. I’m hoping to do another series on my blog this year.

Blurb:

What secrets does a man have that would cause him to chooses to live under a spell that magically erased his past? When that spell is broken Ferris Ryder must choose to remember all that he was, all that he has done and all that drove him to willingly forget. If he chooses not to remember, the consequences will be dire for himself and the Elemental Coven, who are now his family.

Is the mysterious Elaine, who both fears and desires Ferris, a ghost with a past all her own, or merely a figment of his fevered dreams as he struggles against time to remember the past he fears or destroy the very people for whom he chose to forget.

If you want to know more about the Elemental Coven’s sexy adventures, check out the Lakeland Heatwave Trilogy: Body Temperature and Rising, Riding the Ether and Elemental Fire.

In March it was time for Eroticon 2014! An event I always look forward to, and one that always gives me a chance to get together with, if not all, at least most of the fabulous Brit Babes. That always results in scheming and planning something totally naughty. This year, I had the absolute pleasure of leading a panel discussion on Sex and Spirituality with my dear friend and fabulous writer, Victoria Blisse. The panel was well attended, and the ideas bounced around in the room about that fabulous connection between sex and spirituality were exciting and inspiring. On top of that it was just a wonderful chance to reconnect with old friends and make new.

In April, I made my usual pilgrimage to Oregon to visit my sister. We make it a point to do lots of road trips, lots of movie and popcorn sessions in her TV room, lots of long chats over coffee and lots of walks in the High Desert sunshine. This year for her birthday, we threw caution to the wind and drove the two and a half hours to Crater Lake National Park, even though we knew it would be buried under snow. With 12-foot snow-banks along either side of the road and the car park at the crater rim, we followed the snowy path to views that were totally stunning, lunched in the lodge, and enjoyed the cool early spring around this stunning lake. The trip was meant for a birthday pressie for my sister, but I felt like it was as much a gift for me as it was for her. A definite return-trip will be necessary, and possibly a story???

I got back from Oregon just in time to prepare for Smut by the Sea in Scarborough, which is another one of my favourite naughty events each year. I was very privileged to be asked to teach a workshop on finessing sex in fiction. As usual the workshops, the reading slam, the tombola and just the opportunity to spend time with other writers and readers of erotica was a real treat.

If that wasn’t enough, my fabulous husband and I took a little detour on our way home from Scarborough into Dracula country with a very brief, but very rewarding visit up the rocky coast to Whitby It was little more than a tasty tease of gothic deliciousness, and definitely requires a return visit, but I was inspired nonetheless. On the way home, we drove through the North York Moors, a drive that took us only hour. The last time we crossed these moors, it was on foot, and it took us four days!

One of the highlights of 2014, for me, had to be winning the ETO Best Erotic Author award for 2014! It was a privilege to be nominated along with amazing writers, Brit Babes, and dear friends, Kay Jaybee and Lucy Felthouse but to win was totally unexpected! At first it didn’t register. How could be my name being called? I sort of remember walking to the stage. After kissing my husband. Shell shocked. Hoping I wouldn’t trip over my own feet, wondering if I could remember how to speak. Me, speechless! Can you imagine such a thing? What made the whole evening even better still was that not only were three Brit Babes nominated for the award, but I got to celebrate the win with four Brit Babes, Victoria Blisse, Kay Jaybee & Lexie Bay and Tabitha Rayne. There was much dancing and carousing, and I’m still stunned every time I look at the beautiful shiny award with my name on it.

This year has seen a lot of travel, more than I realised, beginning with my trip to Oregon and thenScarborough, then in July, there was a wonderful walking holiday in the Lake District to research a new series I’m planning to set there, and mostly to get my feet back on the fells and reconnect with one of my very favourite places on the planet. Staying with our fabulous friends, Vron and Brian Spencer, gave me an opportunity to pick their brains for the new series. I was once again reminded why I find the place so incredibly inspiring. In fact, it is also the setting for my m/m novella, Landscapes from the exciting new Brit Boys:On Boys Book Bundle just now released.

Landscapes Blurb:

Alonso Darlington has a disturbing method of keeping landscaper, Reese Chambers, both safe from and oblivious to his dangerous lust for the man. But Reese isn’t easy to keep secrets from, and Alonso wants way more than to admire the man from afar. Can he risk a real relationship without risking Reese’s life?

In September we made our first ever trip to New York City — my lovely husband to train for his 3rd degree black belt in Karate and me to write, play tourist and be inspired. I didn’t expect to fall in love, but I did! I totally adore New York City. I can honestly say it has joined my list of favourite cities, and I can’t wait to go back. Raymond got his 3rd degree, I got to explore, spend some quality time with Maxim Jakubowski and his lovely wife Delores, and I got the inspiration for my first seasonal novella ever, A Valentine For Christmas, which is now available in the Cariad collection, Love Under the Mistletoe

‘A Valentine for Christmas

All work and no play, bah humbugging CEO, Gerard Jasper’s, anonymous Christmas gift is actually a Valentine — Moira ‘R.M.’ Valentine, the mysterious CEO of the Valentine Corporation. Moira’s walk on the wild side has accidentally landed her naked and bound with red ribbon under Gerard’s tree – not good when their companies are negotiating the deal of a lifetime. When two lonely people with enough baggage to fill a 747 come together for Christmas, the fireworks rivals New Years at Times Square, but can they overcome their pasts to give each other the true gift — a merger of hearts?

In October I made another trip to Lyme Regis for my annual writers retreat and spent the time working on Grace Marshall’s latest novel, Interviewing Wade, which has been SO much fun to write. I’ve had requests from readers for Wade’s story ever since the first of The Executive Decisions novels came out, so it was very exciting to finally let Wade whisper his story in my ear. Interviewing Wade will be released in February 2015. Very much looking forward to that release. Here’s a little teaser for Interviewing Wade :

The Executive Decisions Trilogy may be over, but the story continues. Intrepid reporter, Carla Flannery, wants to interview Wade Crittenden, the secretive creative genius behind Pheuma, Inc, But when, against all odds, Wade actually agrees to the interview, Carla suspects ulterior motives…

October was a busy month with the month-long Things That Go Hump in the Night event on my blog — a full month of fantastic guest authors celebrating paranormal erotica with me as I re-launched the Lakeland Witches trilogy with new titles and covers.

It was also an opportunity for Raymond and me to head up to Wales for a fantastic weekend with Brit Babe, fab writer and good friend Lily Harlem and Mr. Harlem, in which the writerly among us schemed and planned and talked writing into the night.

I don’t get a lot of time to write shorter fiction anymore, but this year I wrote two short stories for very special editors, whom I love working with, Maxim Jakubowski and Rose Caraway.

My story, The Trespass: When a sudden summer rain causes an unexpected trespass, a reclusive sculptor, who can’t bear to be touched and a walker suffering from depression forge an intimate connection.

Contains my story, Cherries in Season: A veg and fruit connoisseur has a real taste for cherries in season and the sexy green grocer who sells them.

In November, I headed off to Manchester for Smut Manchester, another opportunity to be with other naughty writers and readers, all thanks to the efforts of Victoria and Kev Blisse. This time I had little to do but one reading from To Rome with Lust and the rest of the time I got to enjoy the wonderful workshops offered, the great readings and just the chance to catch up with old friends and meet new ones. Writers tend to live isolated lives, so it’s especially good when we get the chance to be together and talk craft.

As I mentioned above, I also released the third novel in The mount Series, To Rome with Lust, in early December, which I’m very excited about, and very pleased to see it doing so well and following in Holly’s footsteps, since it was also four years ago in October when The Initiation of Ms Holly , the first book in the Mount Series, was launched.

We ended 2013 in Rome. Liking that tradition of going away on holiday at the end of the year, we ended 2014 with a much-needed holiday, in which Raymond whisked me off for Christmas in Dubrovnik. It was my first trip back to Croatia in a very long time, and it was fantastic to be back. The weather was sunny and warm and the hotel had a lovely view of the Adriatic. I’ve shared masses of photos on FaceBook. While we were there, we were also able to make trips into Montenegro and Bosnia Hercegovina. For more photos of all three places, follow the links.

And that’s the year in a nutshell. Funny how I didn’t realise just how much had happened until I reflected back on it. I’m stunned and amazed at all the good things that have filled my year, that fill my life, and I’m very, very happy that all of you have been a part of my life through the year. Thank you for reading, commenting, and visiting A Hopeful Romantic. You all are amazing!

Happy New Year! I wish you love and happiness and all things good in 2015!

Alice Raine Gives Us an Exclusive Look at the Prologue for SNOWED IN

December 19, 2014Guest Blogger, InspirationAlice Raine, collection, erotic romance, guest blogger, Love Under the Mistletoe, new release, novella, romanceK D Grace

Snowed In is one of four novellas in Cariad Romance’s Love Under the Mistletoe Collection

Firstly, let me start by extending a massive thanks to KD for hosting me today. It was great fun writing the story for the Christmas anthology, but what was even better was getting to know the other awesome Accent Press writers KD Grace, Demelza Hart and Elizabeth Coldwell (although I already knew Elizabeth – she was the editor of my first book, and the person who ‘spotted’ me and got me signed up! Thanks again Liz!)

For this blog post I thought it might be fun to write a little prologue to go with my story from the anthology, which is called ‘Snowed In’. This wasn’t included in the actual book, so it’s an exclusive FREE chapter! Enjoy!

Alice x

Snowed In

Prologue

Something was ringing. And ringing. And ringing. Groaning I rolled over in my cosy duvet den and rammed the heel of my hand down on the alarm clock beside my bed, but it was still ringing. What the heck? Usually a swift whack with my hand did the job, but apparently not today. Blinking my bleary eyes I pushed myself upright and fumbled around in the dark until I found the switch to my lamp. Illuminating my bedroom in the soft glow I picked up the alarm clock and stared at it in puzzlement. It was the school holidays today so it wasn’t even set to go off, but it was still ringing … after a few long, slow blinks my brain became marginally more alert and I finally realised that the alarm in my hand wasn’t the source of the noise. The cheerful trumpeting sounds that was driving me crazy was actually my mobile phone ringtone.

Glancing at the alarm in my hand I frowned, it was 5:34am, who the heck would be calling me at this time? Slamming the alarm down I slithered from the bed, cursed as my feet hit the cold wooden floor, and then looked around for my phone. Conveniently I saw that it was on the dresser by the door right next to where I dumped my slippers the night before. Crossing the room I simultaneously shoved my feet into my warm furry slippers whilst grabbing my phone, clicking ‘answer’ and then lifting it to my ear.

‘…ello?’ My voice was dry and gruff from sleep and barely audible, so I cleared my throat and tried again. ‘Hello?’

There was a symphony of wet, spluttered coughs down the line which caused me to grimace and hold the phone away from my ear before I finally heard someone speaking. ‘Allie?’ Crikey, I recognised the voice as Sarah my best friend, but she sounded even rougher than I had a minute ago.

Shivering I pulled my dressing gown down from the back of the door. ‘Sarah?’ I asked with a frown as I shrugged my arms into the sleeves of the fleece dressing gown.

‘Yeah, hi Allie.’ She croaked.

‘Blimey you sound rougher than a badgers arse.’ I commented as I made my way through the chilly house towards the kitchen. Brushing my hand along the frigid radiator I grimaced – it was so early the heating hadn’t even come on! Sarah better have a seriously good reason for calling this early.

‘I need a huge favour, Allie.’ My best friend whispered in a low gravelly tone which sounded more suited to a porn star than my best friend.

Propping the phone between my shoulder and my ear I clicked the kettle on and lifted down a mug from the cupboard. ‘I kinda guessed that much, you know, seeing as it’s still practically the middle of the night and you’re calling me. Come on then, what’s up?’

‘I’m really sick.’ More coughing resonates down the line, ‘I was wondering if there was any chance you could cover a shift for me today?’ I’m a primary school teacher, Sarah is a house cleaner; they aren’t exactly interchangeable careers are they? As if sensing my hesitation Sarah spoke again, ‘Please Allie, I can’t lose this job. I just can’t.’ she begged with a sneeze. Besides the owner of the house is hotness personified.’ Cough, cough. ‘I can’t remember the last time I saw a guy this good looking. I mean he’s sex on legs. You’ll love it. You’ll love him.’

Closing my eyes I stood for a second, literally able to see my day plan of a Christmas shopping spree disappearing before my very eyes. ‘Please?’ she added beseechingly as I felt my resolve crumbling.

‘I don’t know, Sarah, I’m not exactly a professional, am I?’ I argued weakly, knowing full well that I was going to end up doing this bloody job for her in the end regardless what I said now.

‘It doesn’t matter, it’s just a quick clean round and knock up a casserole. The owner’s away so it doesn’t matter too much.’

My eyebrows shot up and an ironic smile quirked my lip, ‘A second ago you were trying to tempt me with the hot owner, but now you’re saying he won’t even be there!’

There was silence at the end of the line, then a wet sniffle which made me roll my eyes. Sighing heavily I shook my head, ‘Go on then, give me the bloody address.’ I acquiesced reluctantly.

‘Oh my god! Allie! Thank you so much!’ Sniff, sniff, cough. ‘If you … come over I’ll give … you the key.’ Her words were broken up by such loud wheezes and coughs I could almost feel the germs permeating through the phone line and held it away from my ear in disgust.

‘Fine. I’ll be over in an hour.’ I replied with a huff. ‘Hot man or not, you owe me big time for this Sarah.’

*****

To find out if Allie does meet the ‘hot house owner’, read the full story of ‘Snowed In’ which can be found in the Accent press Christmas anthology ‘Under The Mistletoe’ – out now on Amazon!

Amazon UK

Amazon US

Alice Tells Us about Alice:

Where to start? I’m really a lot more boring and normal than my steamy books might suggest. It may disappoint some to know that I’ve never had an illicit affair with a domineering pianist, nor have I ever met or dated a man who frequented sex clubs in London… I have however, always had an overactive imagination, which may in part explain where my stories come from! My books may be fiction, but the setting of London was a deliberate choice, I was born and raised in London and as such it holds a special place in my heart which I hope comes across in my writing. Some of my best times have been spent with friends wandering the markets of Camden or sipping beers in Covent Garden.

I moved to Manchester to study, where I ended up living for over ten years. Originally I qualified as an archaeologist, but I soon realised that jobs in that sector were minimal and decided to put my enthusiasm to use by becoming a teacher. Now I split my time between teaching, and engaging my wildly over active imagination by writing. Currently I’m living abroad spending my days exploring, teaching and writing. Where ever I find myself I live with my ever suffering, but hugely supportive husband, our dog and a crazy half-wild cat who keeps the whole household on its toes.

Music is a huge influence in my writing, I listen to everything from Snow Patrol and Linkin Park to Evanescence and REM, in fact, those of you with a good memory for lyrics might even spot one or two lines popping up in my writing as you read. I enjoys writing a wide range of genres including comical real life stories and youth paranormal fantasy, but my first published novels are the adult themed trilogy series ‘Untwisted.’

Find Alice Here:

– Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Alice-Raine/1433662383579684

– Twitter: @AliceRaine1

– Pintrest: http://www.pinterest.com/alice3083/