C.J. ARCHER

And the winner is...

2012-02-15T01:30:00.000-08:00

The winner of the C.J. Archer section of the Valentines Day Blog Hop run by Book Luvin' Babes is:

LJ Dogsmom

LJ has won a copy of Surrender, Honor Bound, The Adventures of Miss Upton and the Sky Pirate and The Mercenary's Price and is now in the draw to win the grand prize. Good luck LJ!

And a big thank you to everyone for participating! If you didn't win here, I hope you won something from one of the other participating authors.

Surrender is Released

2012-02-11T16:52:00.000-08:00

A big thank you to everyone who has already purchased SURRENDER from Smashwords where it was available for a few days longer than the other bookstores. Because of you, SURRENDER is already the 4th highest selling historical romance there! Yay!

SURRENDER is now finally available at other bookstores, where I'm selling it for 99c but only for a short time. After an introductory period of a couple of weeks, SURRENDER will increase to $3.99 - so get it now at the discounted price. Then please spread the word - yes, I want ALL your friends to pick it up at the discounted price. Honest, I don't mind :)

Here's the links where you can buy it:

Amazon US: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0077IHEKM

Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0077IHEKM

B&N: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/surrender-cj-archer/1108565680?ean=2940033007844&itm=1&usri=cj+archer+surrender

iTunes - check your local iTunes store

Smashwords: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/126442

If you buy SURRENDER and like it, please consider leaving a rating or review at the bookstore where you bought it. Thank you!

Cover Reveal: Surrender

2012-01-22T16:24:00.000-08:00

I have a cover for my next release, Surrender. Check it out:

I think Amanda from Razzle Dazzle Designs has done a fabulous job capturing the tone of this book. Surrender is a departure from my Elizabethans and is set in the Regency period. It's a little darker than my other books but still has that light, witty banter that you've told me you enjoy.

Here's the blurb (which isn't yet finalized):

Gentleman spy, Alexander Redcliff, murdered his colleague. It'san event he can't remember, except in his nightmares. Suppressing them is theonly way to keep his sanity, but forgetting is no longer an option.

Only one woman cansave Alex from himself.

Georgiana Appleby is a most unconventional lady. Prejudice shadowsthe physician and scandal is never far away. Forced to take Alex as her patient,she must not give into the rogue's advances or she will risk losing her careerand her heart.

Will Alex's fierce longing for Georgiana be enough or willhe surrender to the darkness inside.

Release date is still to be determined but I'm aiming for early February, perhaps even the 1st.

Awesome Research Sites

2012-01-11T02:38:00.000-08:00

I often get asked where I find the historical information to put into my stories. A lot of it comes from my trusty research books which I have nearby, but there are some great websites out there too. This is just a few:

http://chinet.com/~laura/html/titles12.html - Absolutely amazing site covering British Titles of Nobility including what to call titled characters. I love this site because every time I start a new book I can never remember how my characters should refer to the widow of an earl who remarried a commoner and whose married son sleeps on his left side (ok, you get the idea).

http://www.tudorplace.com.ar/Peerage1.htm - Another website dedicated to the peerage, this time specific to the Elizabethan era with names of all the peers and links to further info. Notice how there's only 1 Duke. That's because Elizabeth didn't like elevating anyone she didn't have to. And who would want the job anyway? The Duke of Norfolk got his head lopped off by his second cousin, Elizabeth, in 1572.

http://www.elizabethancostume.net/ - This costume site is more about how to make an authentic Elizabethan costume but it's a great resource. I love looking at all the beautiful gowns.

http://www.victorianlondon.org/ - Everything you ever wanted to know about Victorian London. And I mean everything. It's searchable too.

http://www.vleonica.com/shipterm.htm - Learn how to talk like a real pirate. Aaaarrrrrggggghhhh.

There are many, many, many more but these are a few that have I've found invaluable from time to time. You really can find everything on the internet, including how fast a horse can travel. I wouldn't want my hero doing injury to his trusty steed! http://www.ultimatehorsesite.com/info/horsespeedmph.htm

Goodbye 1589, Hello 1590!

2012-01-01T15:32:00.000-08:00

Everyone's doing new year's resolutions blog posts onserious topics. Publishing is dead, publishing is not dead, trends in romance,trends in TV...you get the idea. Iwanted to do something different so here's what the actors from LordHawkesbury's Players think will happen this year.

Will Shakespeare:"I will have one of my plays performed."

Roger Style:"No you won't. What manager would put on a play written by a countryidiot?"

Freddie Putney:"What manager would put on a play written by a woman?"

Roger Style:"Yes, well..."

Edward Style:"I predict Freddie will fall down drunk, lose an eye or his virginity."

Henry Wells:"Nothing important then."

Freddie:"Hey! I'll have you know I lost myvirginity a long time ago."

Edward:"Doing it yourself doesn't count."

Will: "Ipredict Mistress Peabody will become Mistress Blakewell."

Edward:"Anyone could tell you that. Whatabout predicting something more difficult. Like the succession."

Roger: "Shhh,do you want to have us all dragged to Tyburn?"

Henry: "Ithink the queen'll wed some foreign prince this year, bear a healthy child andthe issue will be resolved once and for all."

Will: "Allin one year?"

Freddie:"Wed? At her age? She's almost a hundred isn't she? Who would take a dried up old prune likeher?"

Roger:"Freddie, shut it."

Edward:"She's a rich and powerful old prune."

Will: "Sowho's next in line if she dies this year without heirs?"

Everyone shrugs.

Henry: "Ipredict great times ahead for Lord Hawkesbury's Players."

Roger: "I'lldrink to that!"

Will: "Witha different boy actor."

Freddie:"What?"

Will: "Yourvoice will break soon enough and you might even grow hair on that weak chin."

Edward: "Wegot some time before that happens."

Henry:"Years."

Freddie: "Fuck you all."

Roger: "Shutyour mouth, Putney, or I'll end your apprenticeship."

Will: "Ipredict Roger will actually follow up on his threat to end Freddie'sapprenticeship."

Henry: "Ipredict you'll be wrong."

Edward: "Ipredict Alice Croft will find herself a good match this year and getmarried."

Freddie: "Alice? Who would wed that prickly peach?"

Roger:"Peaches aren't prickly."

Will:"She'll find someone equally prickly I suspect."

Freddie: "Ormad."

Edward:"Whatever happens, it will be an interesting year for us all."

Will: "Aye.Happy new year!"

An Elizabethan Christmas

2011-12-20T02:20:00.000-08:00

As the year draws to a close, I want to offer my heartfelt good wishes to all my readers for a happy and safe Christmas and new year. I want to thank you for supporting me by buying my books, telling friends about them, and coming here to read this blog. It's been an amazing year for me and it's all thanks to every one of you. Don't forget if you want to find out when I release a new book, send me an email at cjarcher.writes@gmail.comand I'll add you to the New Releases list. So: may your dreams come true and may you enjoy the love and laughter of family and friends. I'll see you in 2012.

Now, onto the history post:

Christmas in Elizabethan England

Christmas in Queen Elizabeth I's day was a time of feasting and revelry, much like today. Naturally the rich celebrated the event to excess and the poor made do with what they had. It's not easy to find accounts of what the average person did all those hundreds of years ago, so I'm going to tell you a little bit about how the well-off put the silly into "silly season".

When the queen took over the reins of the country she was like a breath of fresh air. The previous monarch, her half-sister Queen Mary, was dour and bitter, her legacy one of bloodshed and persecution. Elizabeth was young and vibrant by comparison, and she set out to be different to Mary from the start.

Suddenly Christmas became a celebration again. Elizabeth usually partied at Greenwich Palace, one of her favourite palaces, from December 24th through to January 6th (Twelfth Night). Festivities involved feasting on roasted pork, beef, goose and other meats (they loved their meat back then), mince pies and plum porridge.Yum!

They danced, played music, watched special plays, sang carols and gambled. The palace was decorated with ivy, holly and other greenery from the garden. It must have been a wonderful mid-winter event, not too dissimilar to today. I bet Lizzy even had an old uncle or two who fell asleep after the midday feast and annoyed the other guests with his snoring.

A Teaser from the Third Lord Hawkesbury's Players Book

2011-12-14T16:50:00.000-08:00

In case you haven't heard, I've been holed up in my cave writing the third book in the Lord Hawkesbury's Players series. It doesn't have a title yet but here's a teaser from an early conversation between the hero, Rafe, and his friend, Hughe.

"How's your new life?" Hughe asked, voice once more light.

So he wanted to play it like that—find out the lie of the land before stating his business. Rafe could wait. It was all part of the game with Hughe. He was as much a player as any actor on the stage.

Rafe stretched out his legs. "Slightly less dangerous but not without intrigues of its own."

"For example?"

"For example, I forgot I retired and offered to kill someone today."

As you can see, Rafe is a retired assassin and Hughe was his employer and Rafe is trying to turn over a new leaf. Is it any surprise his plans go pear-shaped after this?

The Book Lover's Dilemma

2011-12-03T20:30:00.000-08:00

L've noticed a certain question keeps popping up on ebook forums and blogs lately. A question I know I will one day ask myself, probably sooner rather than later: Should I or shouldn't I throw out my paper books?

Ever since I got my Sony ereader, I've been thinking about those big, bulky bookshelves in my house. You know, the ones that take up entire walls with books I'll never read again. Books I loved in my 20's but don't appeal to me now, non-fiction books that are out of date and books that were given to me but never read.

The smallest of my 3 bookshelves

I am the go-to girl for orphaned tomes in my family. When an elderly relative dies, I invariably end up with boxes of books. I can't face trashing them, and hauling them to the local second-hand bookstore is more hassle than it's worth. Besides, most are sooooo out of date they wouldn't want them either. So I shelve them. But honestly, am I ever going to read those 3 books on Captain James Cook?

Having an ereader means I can keep my bookshelf more organized but I'm still a bibliophile at heart. I just can't bring myself to throw out paper books. I love the way they fill up a room, give it that comfortable yet sophisticated feel. They're my home decorating accessory of choice. Besides, one day I may want to know which islands Cook visited then cross-reference that against the other two books...

Ok, maybe not. For now, my bookshelves aren't in the way but they are getting seriously crowded. Books are jammed into every nook and cranny. Some are wedged in so tight I could probably upend the bookshelf and they won't fall out.

But I'll have to make a decision about what to do with them soon. It'll be tough choosing which ones stay and which ones go but I'm willing to make sacrifices for the sake of de-cluttering my house. Besides, I can always re-purchase the ebook versions later if I find I need them.

I saw a book on Amazon titled Miss Minimalist: Inspiration to Downsize, Declutter, and Simplify which might help me get over my phobia. It's ebook only so doesn't take up space either!

Guest Post by Jen Newby: Romance: Upstairs and Down

2011-11-22T13:09:00.000-08:00

Today it's my delight to have Jen Newby write a guest post. Jen is the author of a new women’s history book, Women's Lives: Researching Women's Social History 1800–1939. In this post, Jen uncovers our ancestors’ love affairs – from the scullery to the ballroom. Over to Jen:

If we’re to believe what we see in costume dramas, then romance in the past was a clean, attractively corseted, and courtly affair. Even the servants in Downton Abbey have shiny hair and not a hint of grime or body odour. And then there’s the endless chivalry and unconsummated passion. But what were our ancestors’ love lives really like? I’ve picked out a few scenes from the memoirs of real women, both servants and upper class ladies to reveal the truth.

Stolen kisses in the kitchen

Domestic servants had little time for romance. Most had just a weekly half-day and one full day off a month, and employers generally tried to discourage ‘followers’. One moaned that each date was ‘like Cinderella’s ball, only you didn’t lose your slipper, you could lose your job’. This went on well into the 20th century, with a young parlourmaid complaining in 1916 that “many mistresses object to men friends…I have refused places because of afternoons out and one lady even went so far as to say that she could not engage me as no followers were allowed”.

Even if they did acquire a ‘follower’, it wasn’t easy to hang on to him. Rosina Harrison, a lady’s maid for the demanding Nancy Astor in the 1920s, discovered that few would ‘put up with the haphazard hours’, although she and her fellow female servants enjoyed flirting with local boys at dances and playing ‘footsy-footsy under the table’ with visiting male servants.

Marriage was seen by many as their only chance of freedom from a life of waiting on other people. Even in the 1930s, a charwoman, who had been dating a hospital porter for five years, ‘with steadily declining enthusiasm on both sides’ told a female journalist: “I sometimes think I might drop ’im…But I don’t know how I’d get another. I never seem to meet nobody and I’m thirty, you see”.

Marrying for money

Middle and upper class women were under far more pressure to marry than their working class peers. Suffragette Margaret Wynne seethed when her mother told her, ‘a bad husband is better than none’, and it was perfectly conventional for men to keep a mistress, as long as they could afford it and did so discreetly. In her teens, forbidden to attend the theatre one evening, the Countess of Cardigan sneaked in anyway. ‘I peeped out from the curtains of the box…directly opposite to me there sat papa and the General, with two very pretty women.’

Footman William Tayler saw upper-class marriage in black-and-white terms: ‘If a gentleman marries a lady, it’s for her money, and in a short time he gets tired of her, and takes up with a kept girl again, and treats his wife like a dog.’ Many were pragmatic and approached marriage as a commercial transaction. Edith Wood is said to have ‘unblushingly’ remarked that she’d ‘marry the Devil himself, if he’d £10,000 a year’.

But some enjoyed more romantic courtship. In 1872, 20-year-old Emily Jowitt from Leeds wrote excitedly to a friend that when she found herself alone with Squire Dearman Birchall on the way back from church, ‘just as we were going down the carriage drive, he proposed…the suddenness of it all took my breath away.’ While engaged, Emily remarked that she and Dearman ‘generally spooned a good deal and said “Oh my darling I do love you so”’.

If you’re finding modern romance uninspiring, then take heart. At least we’re not under pressure to marry for money or to escape a life in service, and won’t expect our partners to keep a mistress. But sometimes, there’s nothing like a man with mutton chops!

Jen Newby is the editor of Family History Monthly magazine. Her new book Women's Lives: Researching Women's Social History 1800–1939 has just been published by Pen and Sword and she also blogs on women’s history at www.writingwomenshistory.co.uk

Amazon's Montlake Romance To Re-publish Lord Hawkesbury's Players

2011-11-18T13:31:00.001-08:00

I'm pleased to announce that Amazon's new publishing imprint, Montlake Romance, will be re-publishing my self-published historical romances A Secret Life and A Secret Desire in early 2012. The deal was struck this week after they contacted me in September.

It's exciting because it means these books will be available in print as well as ebooks (they're ebooks only at the moment) and I'll finally get to hold them in my hands. I love these stories and have had great faith in them all along, even after A Secret Life was rejected by all the major New York publishing houses because it was set outside the Regency era, the most popular historical romance setting. However, I've always thought readers want variety (I know I do!) and are willing to try something different. I hope with Montlake behind these books, even more readers will fall in love not only with the Elizabethan setting, but with Min and Blake, Alice and Leo, Shakespeare and even Freddie Putney.

So what does this mean going forward? It means I'm writing a third Lord Hawkesbury's Players book. Yes, you've been asking and now I can finally say I'm doing it. I'll also continue to self-publish other books and novellas, including the YA ghost trilogy which I temporarily set aside to write book 3 of LHPs. I will return to it, promise, because Victorian London is calling me and the psychic medium heroine has a story that wants to be told.

Thank you to everyone who has ever downloaded A Secret Life, A Secret Desire or any of my books, and a big thank you to those who've left reviews, dropped me an email or tweet or a told a friend. Your support means everything to me. I look forward to bringing you more of the stories you've enjoyed so far.

The Real Life Witch Hunter

2011-11-14T01:57:00.000-08:00

I based the Witch Hunter character in Kiss Of Ash on a real man, Matthew Hopkins, the self-proclaimed Witchfinder General. Hopkins (1620 - 1647) lived a bit later than the period in which my books are set and he was a lot less ambiguous in nature. Whereas I've made the Witch Hunter into a character that could potentially be redeemed, Hopkins was a first-rate prick. He was someone women feared during a time of civil unrest, famine and disease, and rightly so.

Here's an horrific statistic for you: in the two years he and his cronies operated, there were more people hanged for witchcraft than in the previous 100 years.

Apparently Hopkins first got started as a witch finder after overhearing women discussing their meetings with the devil. He was soon "hearing" these conversation over several counties. And guess what: he was paid well to flush them out. Hmmm...

Don't read this bit if you're squeamish

Torture was outlawed in England but that didn't stop him from using various diabolical methods to get a confession. Aside from sleep deprivation, he might cut off the accused's arm to see if she bled. If she didn't, she was a witch. (Not sure how he could convict anyone based on this test though - surely they ALL bled.) No doubt you've seen the drowning test in TV shows, where a woman is tied to a chair and dunked in the water. If she floated, she was a witch of course. If a "devil's mark" was found on the accused's body, then it would be pricked by special witch prickers. If it didn't bleed, she was a witch. Most marks were probably moles. Failing the detection of a mark, an invisible one could be found by pricking the accused with a knife or needle.

It's OK, you can start reading again

In 1647, Hopkin's methods and motives were questioned by the authorities to the point where he decided to retire. He died a short time later but his legacy lived on. The techniques he outlined for finding witches in his book The Discovery of Witches were used in New England as well as the infamous Salem Witch Trials. Perhaps as a form of justice, back in England Hopkins' name became synonymous for someone who was paid by the authorities to fabricate evidence.

Pippa, the heroine in Kiss Of Ash, had good reason to fear the Witch Hunter. But was Sir Guy de St. Cyr's bark worse than his bite? Was his reputation worse than the reality? What was the reality? One day I might write his book and find out for myself.

Did Shakespeare Write His Plays: The Anonymous Movie

2011-11-02T13:59:00.000-07:00

I saw the trailer for the movie Anonymous and desperately want to see it. The settings and costumes alone look divine!

So did Shakespeare write his plays? It's a subject matter that has fascinated me for a few years and I did some research into it but didn't come to any real conclusions. There's good arguments for and against on both sides and I suppose it will forever remain a mystery. But isn't that the best part? Without the mystery there would be no speculation and no movies like this Anonymous.

It's just come out here in Australia. If you've already seen it, what's it like?

Theaters, Mansions & The Heads of Dead Noblemen: How London Inspired Me

2011-10-19T20:40:00.000-07:00

If you haven't worked out by now that I love history then you're probably not a frequent visitor, lol. When I was little, I wanted to live in the past. Any time in the past, I wasn't picky. As an adult, I discovered there was no time like living in the present, especially for a woman and, well, for anyone who cares about their personal health, safety and cleanliness.

So instead of living in the past I have to read about it and write about. This inevitably leads to research. Since many of my books are set in Elizabethan London, I've delved into that city many times and found inspiring images. Here's just some of the ones that inspired me and helped me to understand what it was like living in a growing city in Sixteenth century Europe.

London Bridge looking into the City from the south. Check out the tiny traitors' heads on spikes sticking out of the bridge's entrance gate like pins. Gruesome!

Somerset House on the Thames. I've used this grand residence for some of my wealthy characters like Ash in KISS OF ASH.

These magnificent waterstairs probably once belonged to York House, another mansion located on The Strand with its grand facade on the Thames side. I used these stairs in KISS OF ASH. Doesn't it look stunning in the moonlight!

This is a cut-away of The Rose theater where much of A SECRET DESIRE takes place. The groundlings are packed in around the stage and the galleries look full too. Note that it's set amid trees and looks quite rural. Don't worry, the brothels and taverns weren't far away.

I'll post more about the places that helped me set the scenes for my books another time.

For now, I want to let you all know I'm working hard on writing book 3 of Lord Hawkesbury's Players. This means the YA Victorian ghost trilogy has been set aside, but rest assured I plan to get back to it for a 2012 release. If you didn't already know, I've lowered the price of HONOR BOUND to 99 cents, so if you haven't read that one, now's the time.

Happy reading everyone.

The Virgin Queen's Lovers

2011-09-21T00:08:00.000-07:00

Queen Elizabeth I was a marketing genius. For years she convinced her loyal subjects that she was wed to her country and her God. A pious, chaste woman who was ruled by no man. Not everyone fell for this image, however, and perhaps it's her DISloyal subjects who started the rumours about her lovers that have lasted through the centuries. So who were they?

Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester:

Charming, handsome, married. He had it all except money and influence until he seduced the queen. At times tempestuous and fragile, their relationship was based on passion and deep friendship. It endured up until Leicester's death. The queen was said to miss him terribly. Perhaps it was love.

Sir Christopher Hatton:

He was handsome, an excellent dancer and he rose fast at court so he must have been the queen's lover. Thanks to Elizabeth, he became extremely wealthy but poured most of it into an elaborate house and died with empty pockets. She seemed to remain fond of him throughout his life too. He never married so perhaps there was something there...?

Robert Devereux, The Earl of Essex:

Half her age, boyishly handsome (are you noticing a pattern here?) and he had shapely legs - what more does a lascivious, aging Elizabethan lady need? An older woman in power and a young man desperate to make his way in the world spelled disaster for him and humiliation for her. Liz made a fool of herself but she managed to redeem her damaged reputation by beheading him in 1601 after he attempted an unsuccessful coup. Love gone wrong? Just a bit.

Sir Walter Raleigh:

What a man! Adventurer, writer, spy and (you guessed it) handsome...they just don't make 'em like Raleigh anymore. He rose in favour and she heaped rewards on him, but he fell out of favour when he married in secret. The queen's favourites (ie. lovers?) do NOT wed without her permission and if they do, she sends a clear message of her displeasure by throwing them in the tower. She released him, however, so he could go on more adventures and bring home more riches.

10 Bizarre Things I Learned While Researching History

2011-09-05T16:43:00.000-07:00

Because I've been busy writing the YA ghost trilogy, I haven't had much time to devote to this blog of late, so I've dredged up a guest post I wrote for the Book Vixen back in June. This stuff is all true. Seriously.

One of the best things about being a writer is I get to make stuff up. But as I researched 16th century England for my historical romance books, I discovered there's some things that are so weird readers would have a hard time believing they were true. Here's 10 of them, in no particular order:

Shakespeare's famous Globe theater, a multi-story complex that held over 3,000 people, was built from the timbers of an older theater called (unimaginatively) The Theater. The Theater was dismantled and transported across London and re-erected on the other side of the river in under a month in the middle of one of London's coldest winters. Try getting a builder to do that these days!
Clothing was often arranged with the aid of pins. Elizabeth I's outfits were so elaborate that she went through nearly 100,000 pins in a 6 month period. These weren't the safety pin variety either, so I can't imagine how she didn't have a wardrobe malfunction from time to time.
A gown's sleeves were often detachable and simply pinned onto the bodice at the shoulder. The benefit of this are 2-fold: (a) a daytime outfit can be quickly spruced up by swapping the sleeves, and (b) a spare sleeve can be given as a "favor" at jousting tournaments.
The first flushing toilet was invented in 1596 by John Harrington, but the idea didn't take off in England.
165 days of the year were set aside as "fish days", or more specifically non-"flesh" days when meat couldn't be eaten but fish could. Anyone caught eating flesh was punished. A woman was pilloried for breaking this law and another 4 spent the night in the stocks. Naturally the nobles could purchase temporary or annual flesh-eating licenses to be exempt from this law.
Apothecaries sold various remedies in their shops including unicorn's horn, quicksilver and hemlock. You might see tortoises, alligators, fish and other animal skins hanging in one of their Bucklersbury Street shops. I'd like to know where they got their unicorns from as those horns could cure anything from plague to a bite from a mad dog.
A marriage didn't have to be conducted in a church service. A couple could consider themselves legally wed by agreeing to take the other as their spouse then having sex. This probably caused more than a few couples to wake up after a night of drunkenness and regret their hasty decision. Not much has changed really.
Prisons were run as private enterprises and jailers weren't obligated to provide good conditions let alone feed their prisoners. The rich could pay "rent" for a private chamber where they could entertain guests with hearty meals.
Crimes punishable by death included the usual such as rape, murder and treason, but also included the stranger charges of witchcraft, hawk stealing and "letting out of ponds". The hanging wasn't conducted by an executioner employed specifically for the task, but by the local butcher roped in (pardon the pun) to do the job.
They were a superstitious lot back in Tudor and Elizabethan England. Some of the most famous medics of the era were also mystics. A doctor might treat you for kidney stones and give you an astrological reading in the same visit, which was no doubt handy if you were busy. One doctor, Simon Forman, wore a ring that protected him against witchcraft, devil's possession, thunder, lightening and helped him to "overcome enemies". Now that's one valuable piece of bling.

Bring On Spring

2011-08-31T04:05:00.000-07:00

It's the last day of winter here in the Southern Hemisphere so I took some snaps of my garden to celebrate. We have a LOT of fruit trees, most of which are bare although some are showing new shoots already. I'll have more pics in spring when the blossom. Here's a list:

apricot
nectarine x2
cherry x2
plum
apple
manderine
loquat
persimmon

We recently removed a lemon tree because it was in the way and it produced the wierdest looking lemons I'd ever seen.

The manderine is the only fruit tree with fruit at this time of year. And check it out! It's chock-full of mandies which is great because the shops don't stock them any more. They're tasty too.


The manderine tree.

Close-up of the manderines

Arum lilies -so pretty

Some of the bare fruit trees along the back fence.

Excerpt from The Medium

2011-08-27T17:53:00.000-07:00

Today I'm posting an excerpt of my next release, The Medium. It's a YA paranormal historical romance (phew, don't say that with a mouthful of chocolate) set in London in 1880. It'll be out in October or November. Here's the blurb:

Seventeen year-old spirit medium Emily Chambers has a problem. Indeed, she has several. As if seeing dead people isn't a big enough social disadvantage, she also has to contend with an escaped demon terrorizing the streets of London and a handsome ghost with a secret past. And then there's the question of her parentage. Being born an entire year after her father's death (yes, a year) and without the pale skin of other respectable young English ladies, Emily is as much a mystery as the dead boy assigned to her.

Alex Beaufort's spirit has been unable to crossover since his death several months ago. It might have something to do with the fact he was murdered. Or it might not. All he knows is he has been assigned by the Otherworld's administrators to a girl named Emily. A girl who can see and touch him. A girl who released a shape-shifting demon into the mortal realm. Together they must send the demon back before it wreaks havoc on London. It should be a simple assignment, but they soon learn there's nothing simple when a live girl and a dead boy fall in love.

And now onto the excerpt:

Whoever said dead men don't tell lies had never met Barnaby Wiggam's ghost. The fat, bulbous-nosed spirit fading in and out beside me like a faulty gas lamp clearly thought he was dealing with a fool. I may only be seventeen but I'm not naïve. I know when someone is lying—being dead didn't alter the tell-tale signs. Mr. Wiggam didn't quite meet my eyes, or those of his widow and her guests—none of whom could see him anyway—and he fidgeted with his crisp white silk necktie as if it strangled him. It hadn't—he'd died of an apoplexy.

"Go on, young lady." He thrust his triple chins at me, making them wobble. "Tell her. I have no hidden fortune."

I swallowed and glanced at the little circle of women holding hands around the card table in Mrs. Wiggam's drawing room, their wide gazes locked on the Ouija board in the center as if Barnaby Wiggam stood there and not beside me. I too stood, behind my sister and opposite the Widow Wiggam who looked just as well-fed as her dead husband in her black crepe dress and mourning cap. However, where his face was covered with a network of angry red veins, hers was so white it glowed like a moon in the dimly lit room.

"Are you sure?" I asked him. If he knew I suspected him of lying, he didn't show it. Or perhaps he simply didn't care.

"Sure?" Mrs. Wiggam suddenly let go of her neighbor's hands. My sister, Celia, clicked her tongue and Mrs. Wiggam quickly took up the lady's hand again. It's not as if anyone needed to hold hands at all during our séances but my sister insisted upon it, along with having candles rather than lamps, a tambourine and an Ouija board even though she rarely used either. She liked things to be done in a way that added to the atmosphere and the enjoyment of the customers, as she put it. I'm not convinced anyone actually enjoyed our séances, but they were effective nevertheless and she was right—people expect certain theatrics from spirit mediums, so if we must put on a performance then so be it.

Celia had taken it one step further this time by wearing a large brass star-shaped amulet on a strap around her neck. The recent purchase was as unnecessary as the hand-holding but she thought it gave us authenticity amidst a city filled with fake mediums. I had to admit it looked wonderfully gothic.

"Sure about what?" Mrs. Wiggam asked again, leaning forward. Her large bosom rested on the damask tablecloth and rose and fell with her labored breathing. "What does he want you to say, Miss Chambers?"

I glanced at Mr. Wiggam's ghost. He crossed his arms and raised his fluffy white eyebrows as if daring me to repeat his lie. "He, er, he said..." Oh lord, if I repeated the lie then I would be contributing to his fate. He could not cross over to the Otherworld until he was at peace, and he would not be at peace until he let go of his anger towards his wife. Lying to her wasn't helping.

On the other hand, it was his choice.

"Emily," Celia said with the false sing-song voice she employed for our séances. "Emily, do tell us what Mr. Wiggam is communicating to you. Give his poor dear widow," she paused and smiled beatifically at Mrs. Wiggam, "some solace in her time of mourning."

"Mourning!" Barnaby Wiggam barked out a laugh that caused the edges of his fuzzy self to briefly sharpen into focus. For a moment he appeared almost human again. To me at least. "Tell that...that WOMAN who sits there pretending to be my demure wife that there is no fortune."

"He says there's no fortune," I repeated.

A series of gasps echoed around the small drawing room and more than one of the elegant ladies clicked her tongue. Mrs. Wiggam let go of both her neighbors' hands again. "Nonsense!" Her gaze flitted around the room. "Tell that lying, cheating, scoundrel of a husband that I know he amassed a fortune before his death." She placed her fists on the table and rose slowly to her considerable height, well above my own. She even dwarfed her ghostly husband. "Where is he? I want to tell him to his face." She reminded me of a great brown bear at the circus Mama had taken me to see as a little girl. The creature had expressed its displeasure at being chained to a bollard by taking a swipe at its handler with an enormous paw. I'd felt sorry for it. I wasn't yet sure if I felt the same emotion towards Mrs. Wiggam.

I must have glanced sideways at her husband because she turned on the spirit beside me even though she couldn't see it. He took a step back and fiddled with his necktie again.

"I know there's money somewhere." Her bosom heaved and her lips drew back, revealing crooked teeth. "I deserve that money for putting up with you, you wretched little man. Rest assured Barnaby dearest, I'll find every last penny of it."

A small, strangled sound escaped Mr. Wiggam's throat and his apparition shimmered. Fool. He was dead—she couldn't do anything to him now. Her four friends shrank from her too.

My sister did not. "Mrs. Wiggam, if you'll please return to your seat," Celia said in her conciliatory church-mouse voice. She ruined the effect by shooting a sharp glance at me. Mrs. Wiggam sat. She did not, however, resume hand-holding. Celia turned a gracious smile on her. "Now, Mrs. Wiggam, it's time to conclude today's session." My sister must have an internal clock ticking inside her. She always seemed to know when our half hour was over. "Everyone please close your eyes and repeat after me." They all duly closed their eyes, except Mrs. Wiggam who'd taken to glaring at me. As if it were my fault her husband was a liar!

"Return oh spirit from whence you came," Celia chanted.

"Return oh spirit from whence you came," the four guests repeated.

"Go in peace—."

"No!" Mrs. Wiggam slapped her palms down on the table. Everyone jumped, including me, and the tambourine rattled. "I do not want him to go in peace. I do not want him to go anywhere!" She crossed her arms beneath her bosom and gave me a satisfied sneer.

I'm not your husband! I wanted to shout at her. Why did everyone think I was the embodiment of their loved one? Or in this case, their despised one. I once had a gentleman kiss me when I summoned his deceased fiancée. It had been my first kiss, and hadn't been entirely unpleasant.

"Let him go," Celia said, voice pitching unusually high. She shook her head vigorously, dislodging a brown curl from beneath her hat. "He can't remain here. It's his time to go, to cross over."

"I don't want to cross over," Mr. Wiggam said.

"What?" I blurted out.

"Did he say something?" Celia asked me. I repeated what he'd said. "Good lord," she muttered so quietly I was probably the only one who heard her. Especially since Mrs. Wiggam had started laughing hysterically.

"He wants to stay?" The widow's grin turned smug. "Very well. It'll be just like old times—living with a corpse."

One of the guests snorted a laugh but I couldn't determine which of the ladies had done it. They all covered their mouths with their gloved hands, attempting to hide their snickers. They failed.

"Tell the old crone I'm glad I died," Barnaby Wiggam said, straightening. "Being dead without her is a far better state than being alive with her."

"No, no this won't do," Celia said, thankfully saving me from repeating the spirit's words. She stood up and placed a hand on Mrs. Wiggam's arm. "Your husband must return. We summoned him at your behest to answer your question and now he needs to cross over into the Otherworld."

Actually, he probably wouldn't be crossing over. Not while there was so much lingering anger between himself and his wife. He needed to release the anger before he could go anywhere. Until then he was tied to this world and the Waiting Area. That's why some places remain haunted—their ghosts aren't willing to give up the negative emotion keeping them here. Although Celia knew that as well as I, she couldn't be aware of the extent of Barnaby Wiggam's sour mood. She certainly couldn't have known he deliberately lied to his wife about his fortune.

I sighed. As always, I would have to explain it to her later. After we returned the ghost to the Waiting Area. "You have to go back," I urged him. "You shouldn't be here. Tell your widow you're sorry, or that you forgive her or whatever and you can cross over and be at peace." At least that's what I assumed happened. Since I wasn't able to summon anyone from the Otherworld—only the Waiting Area—I couldn't know for sure what occurred in their final destination. For all I knew the Otherworld was like a political meeting. Endless and dull.

From what the spirits had told me, all ghosts ended up in the Waiting Area until they'd been assigned to a section in the Otherworld. Which section depended on how they'd behaved in life. However, none knew the fate awaiting them in their respective sections. It caused many of the ghosts I'd summoned an anxious wait.

"I'm not sorry." Barnaby Wiggam sat in an old leather armchair by the hearth and rubbed his knee as if it gave him pain although it couldn't possibly hurt now. He seemed so at home there, nestled between the enormous rounded arms and deeply cushioned high back, that I wondered if it had been his favorite chair. "I think I'll stay a little longer. I rather fancy haunting the old witch. It'll be a jolly time."

"Jolly!" I spluttered. I appealed to Celia but she simply shrugged. "But you can't do this!" I said to him. "It's...it's illegal!" Nothing like this had happened to us in a year and a half of conducting séances. All our spirits had duly answered the questions their loved ones posed then returned to the Waiting Area, content and ready to cross over. Then again, we'd never summoned anyone who clearly wasn't a loved one.

What had we done?

Mr. Wiggam picked up a journal from a nearby table and flipped open the pages.

A woman screamed, others gasped, and one fainted into the arms of her friend. Only Celia, Mrs. Wiggam and I remained calm. Celia was used to seeing objects move without being touched, and I of course could see the ghostly form holding the journal. I suspect Mrs. Wiggam was simply made of sterner stuff than her companions.

"The Ladies Pictorial! Utter trash." Mr. Wiggam threw the journal back onto the table where it collected a porcelain cat figurine and sent it clattering to the floor. The two ears and the tip of the tail broke off. He laughed. "I never liked that thing."

Mrs. Wiggam simply stepped around the pieces and flung open the heavy velvet drapes. Hazy light bathed the drawing room in sepia tones. London's days were not bright but I suspected the Wiggams's drawing room would always be dreary even if the sun dared show its face. The dark burgundy walls and squat, heavy furniture made the space feel small and crowded, particularly with all of us crammed into it. I took a deep breath but the air was smoky, close, and stuck in my throat.

"Let's have some refreshments, shall we?" Mrs. Wiggam said as if she didn't have a care in the world. She tugged the bell-pull then bent over the woman who'd fainted, now reclining in one of the chairs at the card table. She slapped her friend's cheeks then saw to it she was made comfortable with an extra cushion at her back.

I turned to Celia. She frowned at me. "Close your mouth, Emily, you are not a fish."

I duly shut my mouth. Then opened it again to speak. "What are we to do?" I whispered.

Celia huffed out a breath and looked thoughtful as she fingered the large amulet dangling from a strip of leather around her neck. She'd purchased it last Thursday from the peddler woman who sells bits and pieces door-to-door. Considering Celia was a stickler for maintaining the same format for our drawing room séances, I was surprised when she'd produced a new artifact. It was rather a magnificent piece though, made of heavy brass in the shape of a star with delicate filigree between the six points. Etched into the brass were swirls and strange, twisting patterns. It looked like an ancient tribal token I'd once seen in a museum. I could see why she'd accepted it although the fact it cost her nothing was probably a factor. Celia was not so careless with our meager income that she would squander it on trinkets.

"I wonder..." she said.

"Wonder what? Celia—?"

Celia's soft chanting interrupted me. With both hands touching the amulet, she repeated some words over and over in a strange, lyrical language I didn't recognize. Considering I only knew English and possessed a basic knowledge of French, that wasn't saying a great deal.

She finished her chant and let the amulet go. As she did so a blast of wind swept through the drawing room, rustling hair and skirts, dousing candles and flapping the journal's pages. A shadow coalesced above the table, a shapeless blob that pulsed and throbbed. It was like the mud that oozed on the river bank at low tide, sucking and slurping, threatening to swallow small creatures and boots. But the shadow—I could think of no other word to describe the dark, floating mass—altered of its own volition.

No longer shapeless, it became a hand reaching out. Two or three of the guests screamed and scuttled to the far side of the drawing room. Beside me, my sister tensed and circled her arm around my shoulders, pulling me back. She said something under her breath but the loud thud of my heart deafened me to her words, but not to her fear. I could feel it all around me as I stared at the shadow which was quickly changing shape again.

It became a foot then the head of a rat then a dog with snapping jaws and hungry eyes. A hound from hell, snarling and slavering and vicious. It stretched its neck toward me and before I could react, Celia jerked me back.

Too late.

The shadow creature's sharp teeth closed around my shoulder. I squeezed my eyes shut and braced myself. Nothing happened. Oh there was screaming coming from everyone else, including Celia, but I heard no tearing of flesh or clothing. I felt no pain, just a cool dampness against my cheek. I opened my eyes. The creature had turned back into a shapeless cloud. For a brief moment it hovered near the door and then with a whoosh it was gone.

A breathless moment passed. Two. Three.

"What was that?" I whispered in the ensuing hush.

Celia looked around at the white faces staring wide-eyed back at us, hoping we could give them answers. We couldn't.

She indicated the armchair. "Is he still here?" Her voice shook and she still gripped my shoulders.

"Still here," both Mr. Wiggam and I said together.

"Did you see that?" he said, staring at the door. He didn't look nearly as frightened as the others but then what did a dead man have to fear? He went to the door and peered out into the hall. "I wonder what it was."

"It's gone now," I said. My words seemed to reassure the ladies who stood huddled in the corner of the room.

"The air in this city," Mrs. Wiggam said with a click of her tongue and a dismissive wave of her hand. "It gets worse and worse every year." She ushered the ladies to seats, plumped cushions and pooh-poohed any suggestions of a menacing spirit ruining her social event. "It was a trick of the light, that's all," she said. "The tense atmosphere in here has got to you all, stirred your imaginations."

"Stupid woman," Mr. Wiggam muttered. "She can't possibly believe that cloud was natural."

I didn't care what Mrs. Wiggam thought, as long as her guests accepted her explanation. Clearly some of them did, or perhaps they simply wanted to believe it and so willingly forgot what they'd seen only moments before. One or two seemed unconvinced and I hoped they would not gossip about it later. If word got out that we'd released something sinister during one of our séances, our business could flounder. Celia and I could ill afford such a disaster becoming public knowledge.

"Well," Celia said, peering down at the amulet hanging from its leather strip. "I thought it a harmless piece."

"Then why use it?" I hissed.

She gathered up the tambourine and Ouija board, packed them into her carpet bag and snapped the clasp shut. "The peddler who gave it to me said I was to say those words three times if I needed to solve something."

A maid entered carrying a large tray with teapot and cups. Two other maids followed her with more trays laden with cakes and sandwiches. Celia's face relaxed at the sight of the refreshments.

"What were the words?" I pressed her.

She waved a hand as she accepted a teacup with the other. Her hands shook so much the cup clattered in the saucer. "Oh, some gibberish. She didn't tell me what they meant, just that I should repeat them if I needed to fix something. Well I did need to fix something." She leaned closer to me and lowered her voice. "The spirit of Mr. Wiggam wouldn't leave."

I wasn't entirely convinced that the ongoing presence of Mr. Wiggam was what the woman had meant. Nor was I convinced that the words were gibberish. I looked at the door then at Mr. Wiggam. He stood with his back to the fireplace as if warming himself against the low flames—although he couldn't feel the cold—and stared at the door, a puzzled expression causing his wild brows to collide.

"The peddler was a mad old thing," Celia muttered around the rim of her teacup. "Completely mad." She sipped.

"At least it's gone, whatever it was, and no one seems affected by it."

No. No one at all.

The Queen's Spy Master

2011-08-24T02:54:00.000-07:00

Most of my Elizabethan-set novels feature spies and spying either directly or indirectly. It's not surprising since the era was a hotbed of intrigue and conspiracy, lending itself to the sort of stories I like to write. Plots of the assassination kind (not book) abounded. The Catholics, both within England and without, wanted to bring down the Protestant queen.

Enter Sir Francis Walsingham, son of a Lawyer. He and the network of spies he employed were the MI5 and MI6 of their time. He had agents in the Vatican, the Spanish Armada, and countless foreign courts. He brought down Mary Queen of Scots, played a vital role in the defeat of the Armada, and flushed out terrorists.

We now know that he most likely employed the playwright Christopher Marlowe as a spy. I portrayed both these men in their spying capacities in the Lord Hawkesbury's Players series.

Walsingham was clever, devious and often cruel by today's standards, but he's the godfather of organized spying. He got the job done. Better than that, he makes a great secondary character!

Write Down Your Life

2011-08-18T16:21:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I attended my grandmother's funeral. Naturally it was emotional for her 3 daughters and us 6 grandchildren, but I was struck by how uplifting it was too, and I think that can be put down to 1 thing. We grandchildren read excerpts of Nan's story.

Nan turned 100 back in May. About fifteen years ago, at the instance of her daughters, she spent a part of each day writing down her life. Despite failing eyesight and memory loss, she was able to write longhand in excercise books. What resulted was pages and pages of a life well lived, a story of innocent days now lost forever, and a legacy for generations to come.

Thanks to Nan's efforts, generations of our family will be able to picture this remarkable woman and understand what life was like after World War I when the swaggies came knocking. They'll know that Nan's father, a coach-builder and repairer, was too kind to charge the poor widows. And they'll know that there were no such things as fridges, washing machines, or supermarkets. They'll know that life was simple but good.

Thank you, Nan. RIP.

Friends, Fun and Strange Head-wear

2011-08-14T17:59:00.000-07:00

I used to love watching Sex And The City when it was on our TV screens but part of me always envied Carrie Bradshaw. Not for the outfits and shoes (although they were to-die-for) or for Mr. Big, but for her solid friendships. The four of them had so much fun. Why couldn't I have that too?

Fast forward to now. I attended the RWAustralia conference over the weekend in my home town of Melbourne. I always learn so much from this conference but this year seemed especially great and I've been reflecting today on why that is. Sure, the sessions were informative, the food was good (mostly because I didn't have to prepare it myself) and the vibe was energetic, but it was more than that.

Almost every session I went to, every keynote address and every chat I had in the foyer with random strangers centred around the life-long friendships we make through our writing.

I'm very fortunate to belong to an incredible critique group with 5 other writers. They're all smart, generous, creative and funny women who've become my closest friends. They offer their shoulders to cry on when I'm feeling down, cheer me on when I achieve something, tell me my writing's good when I need to hear it or needs more work when it sucks.

Without doubt, I would not be the writer I am today without them. In fact, I probably wouldn't be writing at all.

We may not be as glarmorous as the Sex And the City girls, or own as many shoes (although Keri's working on that), but we have just as much fun. In fact, I think we have more.

These picures were taken at the Friday night fancy dress cocktail party at RWAus11, hence the interesting head-wear and props. Unfortunately 1 of us couldn't make it (Freya Croft, we missed you!). In the first, from left to right, is Robyn Enlund, Keri Arthur, Chris Weston, me and M.J. Scott.

Hello and Thank You

2011-08-10T02:49:00.000-07:00

To all my new readers, this post is for you.

A Secret Life recently went free on all the big ebookstores a week ago and been doing phenomenally well as freebies go. On Amazon US alone it's been downloaded over 23,000 times. I don't have access to the figures from other sites yet but I can see from its ranking that it's doing more than OK. This has resulted in a nice upswing in sales for the sequel, A Secret Desire, plus my other books. I've got new followers on Twitter and here on my blog, had emails from readers and reviews that have brought tears to my eyes they've been so nice.

So I want to say a huge, heart-felt THANK YOU to everyone who downloaded ASL and then everyone who went on to read it. I'm a serial downloader of freebies myself and haven't always gone on to read the book. Some of those freebies I know I'll never get around to reading. So I appreciate those of you who've taken the time to read, rate and review ASL and gone on to purchase ASD. I loved writing these books and I'm over the moon that many of you love them too.

You guys are the best. Seriously. I hope I manage to keep you entertained for years to come.

OK, enough of the sappiness, I need to get back to writing.

Homes of the Rich & Famous (Characters)

2011-08-03T03:11:00.000-07:00

The houses inhabited by the characters in my Lord Hawkesbury's Players books were mostly modeled on real places. It makes it easier for me to describe them and I'm all for making things easier.

I based Blakewell house on this one (which isn't in London):

For Blakewell House I used the location of a real London house which no longer exists, called The Herber or Erber. Once a royal residence, it was said to be very grand, grander the one above. It has a rich history having been owned by various famous names including Ralph Neville, Earl of Westmoreland, the "kingmaker" Earl of Warwick, Richard of Gloucester (made infamous by Shakespeare), a Lord Mayor of London, and Sir Francis Drake the old sea-dog himself. I thought it fitting to have my pirate/privateer hero live in the same place as Drake.

Lord Hawkesbury's mansion on The Strand looked like all the other mansions, palaces and castles on this wealthy thoroughfare, namely palatial. I modeled it roughly on Somerset House:

The garden of Somerset House fronting The Thames river

The courtyard of Somerset House

It's sad that most of these places no longer exist except in old drawings, and our imaginations of course.

#samplesunday: A Secret Desire (5th installment)

2011-07-31T15:50:00.000-07:00

It's Monday here in Australia but it must be Sunday somewhere else so hopefully I'm not too late with today's #samplesunday excerpt. It's more from A Secret Desire, my Elizabethan historical romance and book 2 of Lord Hawkesbury's Players. It carries directly on from the last #samplesunday excerpt. Leo, Lord Warhurst, is chatting to his half-brother, Blake. Together they're nutting out a scheme to wed their pregnant sister off to her lover. Previously, Leo has asked the Alice Croft for help and the seamstress is getting under his skin.

A Secret Desire is now available for download. Oh and here's some exciting news - the first book in the series, A Secret Life, which features Blake as the hero is now FREE at Barnes & Noble, Apple and other bookstores including Smashwords. Now onto the excerpt:

Leo waited for Blake to take his leave of Lilly then together they strode to Leo's study in silence. When they reached the sparsely furnished room on the south side of the house, Leo indicated his brother should sit. Blake remained standing.

"I spoke to Alice Croft this morning," Leo said, sitting at his desk. If his brother wanted to stand, so be it.

Blake's face lightened a little at the mention of her name. "How is she? Still giving her father headaches?"

"I wouldn't know." Leo pulled out a sheet of parchment. "But I'm sure she is. A woman like her..." He trailed off, aware his brother was watching him with a sardonic smile.

"Yes?" Blake prompted.

"She is entirely too clever for a woman."

Blake tipped his head back and laughed so hard his shoulders shook. "I'm not sure there is such a thing as a woman being too clever, but that's where you and I differ. I like a woman with wit."

"It's not the only thing we disagree on. Will you bloody sit down! My neck is aching having to look up at you."

Blake sat, still smiling. "Did Alice agree to spy on Hawkesbury for you?"

Leo nodded. "For a price." He told his brother about the arrangement he'd forged with Mistress Croft including Blake's own role to play with London's merchants and his betrothed's wedding dress.

Blake listened and agreed. "She's thought of everything. It'll be a good arrangement for her and I've no doubt she'll make a success of any venture she takes on. But you're a fool, Leo."

"For agreeing to her terms?" He'd been wondering the same thing. What if the seamstress decided it wasn't enough and demanded more from him to keep her silence?

"For spying on Hawkesbury at all. Our sister doesn't want the union."

"So she says," Leo said. "But you know as well as I do that she's lying. Despite everything, she still loves the cold-blooded cur. Would you deny her that love?"

Blake snorted softly. "You speak of love as if you know what it is. But I can assure you that you do not. Not yet." He leaned forward and regarded Leo with sympathy. Sympathy!

Ha! Blake was the poor fool who'd fallen victim to soft-headed tendencies, not the other way round.

"Our sister does love Hawkesbury," Blake went on, "but that is precisely why she cannot marry him. Not unless he wants the union too. Wholeheartedly."

Leo shook his head. His brother was talking nonsense again. Falling in love had a lot to answer for. "She needs to marry him or she will be ruined."

"As will your chances of returning to the fold at court if she does not?" Blake scoffed. "This isn't about you, Leo."

Leo shot to his feet, rounded the desk and grabbed Blake by the front of his doublet. He would have hauled Blake to his feet but his half-brother rose of his own accord, his arms outstretched in surrender. Damn him. Leo could do with a good fight. At least if he fought Blake there'd be no repercussions afterwards. Well, not as many as if he fought a stranger in the street.

"I am well aware of that," Leo said, shoving Blake away. "How can I not be in this family?"

"Leo—."

"Are you going to help me or not?"

"I've already said I will."

Leo returned to the desk and retrieved the quill from the inkstand. He handed it to Blake. "Write a letter of introduction to one of your cloth merchant contacts for Mistress Croft. Then go and tell Minerva that the seamstress will be making her a gown for her wedding feast. Don't mention anything about our arrangement."

Blake took the pen and dipped it in the ink. "I will mention everything to Min whether you like it or not." Leo began to protest so Blake stopped writing. "We have no secrets between us."

"How sweet." Sickeningly so.

"Min can be trusted."

If Blake believed it then it was probably true. He was a good judge of character no matter what other faults he possessed. "Just write the letter."

Blake signed his name and replaced the pen in the inkstand. "Now, as to the rent for Alice's shop."

"What of it?"

"How will you pay for it?"

Leo didn't detect any note of sarcasm in his half-brother's tone but still, the question grated. "I will find a way."

"You have no money."

"I have land in an area known for its coal."

"But you have no mine, and no capital to start one or even investigate the viability of one."

"I'll find the capital," Leo said. "Someone at court will be willing to sink their funds into a partnership if it might make them even richer."

"Do you truly think so?" Blake folded the parchment and reached for a stick of sealing wax. "A partnership with the son of the last Baron Warhurst who infamously fleeced half the court in exactly the same way that you plan on making money?"

It was true. Leo's father had petitioned several noblemen—Hawkesbury's blackmailer, Lord Enderby, among them—for money to invest in a mine on his land. He never dug a single hole, however, and instead spent the money on his mistress. That was over thirty years ago, just before he died. Leo had been only a babe at the time but those who'd lost heavily to his father never let him forget it after he came into his majority.

"I paid back their debts as soon as I could," he said.

"And bankrupted the Warhurst estate in the process." Blake pressed the seal on his signet ring into the wax then returned it to his finger. "Hardly a good business brain you have there, Brother. I'm not sure anyone would be flinging their money into a mine on land which may or many not yield anything let alone coal."

"Do you have a point or do you simply like reminding me of the stain attached to my name?" Not that Leo needed reminding. He was all too aware of the tarnished blood that ran through his veins.

Blake leaned heavily on the desk and lowered his head. "I'm sorry." He straightened and turned. "I shouldn't have said that. I wish I could help you but—."

"Don't say it."

"I have enough—."

"Don't be a fool, Blake! You'll soon have a wife and father-in-law to care for, as well as Mother and Lilly. When her baby and your own babes come into the world, even your copious funds will be strained." Leo held out his hand. "The letter, if you don't mind."

Blake handed it to him but didn't let go so that they performed a kind of childish tug of war. "Let me pay the rent on Alice's shop at least."

"No. I'll sell Father's sword if I have to."

Blake gasped. "But it's a beautiful piece of workmanship! The queen herself gave it to him."

"Too beautiful to be of any use to me. I prefer a blade to be functional, not covered in pearls and fancy engravings."

Blake finally let go of the letter. "Very well. I can't stop you selling the only thing of worth he ever gave you."

For some reason, Leo found that funny. "You don't think the Warhurst estate and title are worthy?"

Blake gave him a crooked grin. "Apart from those." He sobered. "Are you sure I can't give you the money?"

"No. Lilly's burden is ours to share. I'll not let you pay for everything."

"I have enough—."

"Christ, let me do something for her at least."

Blake shrugged. "Very well. But your pride will be your downfall, Leo, if you're not careful."

"Full of pithy wisdom today, aren't we?"

Blake held up his hands and strode towards the door, Leo following close behind. "Let me know how you and Alice get on," Blake said. "And be nice to her. She has a good soul. She deserves to be treated with respect."

Leo opened the door for his half-brother. "I'll give her all the respect she's due."

Blake left, scowling and shaking his head. Leo was relieved to shut the door on his back.

"I don't do jigs."

2011-07-27T16:50:00.000-07:00

One of the oft-touted phrases among writers is: kill your darlings. In other words, sometimes you have to delete a scene you like because it doesn't belong or it doesn't move the story forward. One of the darlings I had to kill for A Secret Life was a short exchange between the pirate hero, Blake, and the snooty theater manager, Roger Style. Style is trying to get Blake to fill in on stage when they're short an actor. This is after Blake has declared he wrote the play (which we know was really written by the heroine, Min). Remember this takes place in Elizabethan London. It's mostly dialog because I never got around to fleshing it out, but I thought it was fun nevertheless.

"I don't do jigs," Blake said.
Style arched an eyebrow. "Then you can sing a-."

"I don’t sing."

"What about-."

"“No."

"You don’t even know what I was going to say."

"It doesn’t matter."

"I’ve never met a poet with so little...poetry in his soul."

Blake bent down so that he was eye to eye with the little toad. "You haven't seen me wield a sword yet."

Elizabethan player doing a jig (not Blake)

#samplesunday: A Secret Desire (4th installment)

2011-07-23T22:59:00.000-07:00

It's #samplesunday time again. Today I've got another scene from A Secret Desire. It almost continues straight on from the last excerpt which you can read here, but I've skipped a short scene in which Leo, Lord Warhurst, has a sword fight with Christopher Marlowe outside a tavern. Yes, THE Christopher Marlowe - playwright and spy and a real person. He has a small but an important role to play in A Secret Desire.

Don't forget that the ebook can be bought from Amazon, Amazon UK and Smashwords. It hasn't appeared at B&N yet and I haven't checked other stores but you can buy all formats from Smashwords.

Now please read on:

Leo resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the melodramatic tone. "I doubt it. Good day to you." He waited until Marlowe and his friend had re-entered the tavern, then turned to go. The eerily silent crowd parted to let him through, and he went on his way. The scene that had just played out was nothing compared to what he was about to face at home.

As if she'd read his mind, Lady Warhurst was waiting for him when he arrived at his family's Dowgate Street house. He'd hardly shut the door when Greeves the steward met him with the words, "My lady requires your presence in her chambers."

Leo sighed. She must have another candidate.

"You summoned me, Mother?" he said on entering her private withdrawing room.

"Ah, there you are," she said without looking up from her writing desk. Autumn sunshine speared through the window, brightening the room which didn't need any more brightening. The emeralds set into his mother's rings clashed with the red and gold of the cushions scattered across every surface from chairs to daybed. The effect was dazzling.

She signed her name on a document, blotted the ink and folded the parchment. He waited, not very patiently, while she dripped red wax onto the letter and sealed it with her stamp. He knew from experience that his mother couldn't be hurried.

When she finished, she stood and handed him the document. It smelled faintly of the lavender water she liked to sprinkle on all her correspondence. "Take this to Lady Norwich at your earliest convenience."

He arched an eyebrow. "You want me to run an errand for you?" He huffed out a breath. Clearly his mother was in one of her strange moods, the sort that her children had long put down to eccentricity. "Why not send one of the servants?"

"Do stop scowling, Leo. You frown so much of late. Your face will set permanently if you're not careful and no girl wants to wed a cantankerous old man."

Perhaps he should have taken that Marlowe fellow up on his challenge. It would have been fun compared to this. "Thirty-four is hardly old."

"It is to a fifteen year-old." She waggled the letter at him—the letter to Lady Norwich, mother to a young girl who could very well be about fifteen.

Forget Marlowe, perhaps he should stab himself with his own blade now. "No," he said, stepping away from her and the letter as if it was poisonous. "Mother, she's a child."

"Have you seen any fifteen year-olds lately, Leo? I can assure you, Elizabeth is hardly a girl anymore. She's a woman in all the...obvious areas."

An image of another woman's obvious areas came to mind. He tried to shove aside the picture of Alice Croft spilling over the top of her ill-fitting gown but couldn't. There was certainly nothing of the girl in her. She was very much a woman.

"Nevertheless, she is unsuitable," he said. "Lady Norwich's daughter, I mean."

It was his mother's turn to frown. "Were we speaking of anyone else?"

He cleared his throat and took the letter. "I'll have someone send this to your friend." She began to protest and he held up his hand. Surprisingly, she stopped talking and simply sighed. "As to the Norwich girl..."

"Elizabeth."

"Yes, Elizabeth. As to her, she is too young, Mother. I require a wife nearer my own age. Someone with good sense, a sweet nature and a clear conscience." He paused, thinking of Alice Croft and the easy way in which her thoughts followed his. A mind like hers would be an asset in a marriage. He shook his head and almost managed to dislodge the image of her from his mind. "A quick wit would be welcome too."

"You're only allowed one wife," Lady Warhurst muttered.

He rolled his eyes ceiling-ward and huffed out a breath. Having a sensible conversation with his mother was like raking fingernails across skin lately. A little painful and very irritating. "Shall we add obedient to the list too?" he said, more to annoy her than anything else.

She gave him a tight smile. "I hear Whitby's bitch has just had a litter of pups," she said. "Perhaps one of those would suit."

He ignored the jibe. "And my wife must be strong enough to survive my family."

She linked her hands in front of her and rubbed a thumb across the largest of her emerald rings. It had been a wedding gift from his father, the second Baron Warhurst, before he'd squandered all the family fortune. She'd continued to wear the ring even after he died and she remarried. Her second husband, Leo's step-father, had bought her the other rings to match it.

"You forgot the most important characteristic," she said.

"That she must come from impeccable stock? No Mother, I had not forgotten. It goes without saying."

"At least we agree on that. But Son..." She came out from behind her desk and took his arm, squeezing it in an uncharacteristically maternal gesture. "Do you think you could lower your expectations a little? I've already exhausted all the eligible young women of my acquaintance and you've not liked a single one. Why, pray, are you being so particular?"

It was a question he'd often asked himself. His mother had presented several suitable candidates, but after meeting each of them in turn, he'd not been able to go through with the contracts. None had measured up to his idea of a wife. They'd all been too silly or too dull or too shrewish. "Am I being particular?" he said. "Do you honestly think I would be happy with any of the women you've tried to marry me to?"

She sighed again and her entire body seemed to deflate. Suddenly the tall, proud woman appeared smaller, older, weaker. Three words he'd never thought he'd associate with his mother. "I'm sorry your father did not leave the Warhurst title and estate in good standing for you, Leo. But what is done is done and it is now up to you to fix it."

"By marrying well." He took his mother's hand and brought it to his lips. She rarely spoke of his father but when she did, a transformation always came over her. Usually she bristled with anger or frustration but this weariness was new. He didn't like it. Didn't know how to deal with it. "Don't worry, Mother. I know what I must do and that is exactly why I must choose my wife carefully. I too want to see the title returned to good favor. I want my children to inherit one of England's jewels, not a decaying country residence clinging to poor land and a title with nothing but scandal attached to it. I want them to be proud to bear the Warhurst name."

As he'd never been.

She patted his cheek. "Take the letter to Lady Norwich and see the girl for yourself. She may surprise you."

He doubted it. But if it would appease his mother then his life would be marginally easier, at least in the short term. "If you wish." He left her.

It wasn't until he reached Lilly's apartments that he began to wonder if he'd just been manipulated by the grand dame of manipulation.

With a rueful smile he knocked on his sister's door. She bade him enter. She reclined on her daybed at the far side of her withdrawing room, her feet tucked beneath the folds of her skirts. He was shocked by how colorless and small she looked amidst the mountain of pillows. She'd always been so bright herself, like a vibrant gem, the glory of the family with her glossy black hair and her dancing green eyes. Now her hair was dull and her eyes flat. There was no dancing in their depths.

"Ah, Leo." She held out her hands and he took them. They were cold and as fragile as icicles. "Where have you been?"

"Greeting friends I've not seen since I was last in London."

"Reacquainting yourself with your old haunts, no doubt," she said with a hint of her famous smile.

"I have no haunts in London unless you count the archery butts in Finsbury Fields. And the palace of course." The palace, always the bloody palace. It was where he should be now, finding out what had changed since his last visit to the City. Who was the new favorite? Who should he avoid? Who had control over which duties? Whose back should he scratch until his fingers bled?

God he hated court.

"I find that very hard to believe," she said. "I seem to recall you cut quite a swathe through the City's better inns for a time."

And some of the worst ones too but he saw no point in reminding his half-sister of the fact. The days where he would drink to excess were over. Youthful anger coupled with cheap wine had resulted in too many aches in the head. When he grew older and wiser he'd realized an aching head wasn't going to get back what his father had lost.

He suddenly smiled. "I'd much rather be here talking to you, Lilly."

She eyed him suspiciously. "Why are you smiling at me like that?"

He shrugged. "I'm happy."

She made a sort of grunting sound, albeit a delicate one. "Where have you been this morning?"

He picked up a candied fig from a trencher that she'd not touched. "Looking for Lord Hawkesbury." He opened his mouth to pop the fig in but she snatched if off him before he had the chance.

"Those are for me." She took a bite and glared at him defiantly.

"I see I've hit a raw nerve." He'd not meant to wound her. Indeed, how was he to know she cared enough for the cur that the mere mention of his name would turn her into an angrier version of their mother. To his half-brother's credit, Blake had warned him that Lilly loved the earl.

Foolish, blind girl. And she used to be so sensible too.

"Those are also mine," she said, dragging the trencher of sweetmeats onto her lap.

Until she said it, he hadn't been aware he'd been staring at them. His stomach growled. Lilly's smile was all childish petulance.

"Good," he said. "You should eat them. You're fading away." He pulled a chair closer to her and sat down. "I don't like seeing you this way."

"You mean carrying a bastard child?"

He winced. "I mean ill. Like a shadow. You sit here in your rooms day after day." He indicated the books piled up beside her needlepoint. "All you do is read or embroider. You never go anywhere anymore."

"That's because I don't wish to vomit in front of our friends."

He rubbed a hand across his face. It seemed she wanted to make the conversation difficult. Very well. He would bite. "I hate what Hawkesbury's done to you."

"You and Robert are obviously cut from the same cloth," she muttered. "I seem to recall him also forgetting that I had something to do with my condition."

He sighed. "Lilly—."

"No! No, Leo!" She returned the trencher to the table, stood and went to the oriel window. She stared down at the central courtyard below, crossing her arms over her waist as if holding onto her unborn babe. "Leave Lord Hawkesbury alone." She sounded as faint as her complexion. "He will not marry me, no matter how hard you try to force his hand. He's going to be wed to Patience Enderby who is also carrying his child. He made his choice."

"Blake says Hawkesbury assured him the girl's babe is not his. You don't believe him?"

She lifted one shoulder. "I don't know. But what I do know is that it is better for everyone that you accept Hawkesbury's decision. It's better for all of us if you get on with your own business."

"My own business!" Hot, sharp rage spiked through him. He picked up the chair he'd been sitting on but had enough composure to put it down again without throwing it into the fireplace. "My business is to create the best future for my family. A secure, happy future where they are admired and respected. Your...state is an impediment." He regretted it as soon as he said it, but he couldn't take the words back. That would only lessen their impact. Lilly needed to understand that her actions had a far-reaching impact.

"You speak of a family you don't yet have, Leo." He had to step closer to hear her, but then he was sorry he did. The sorrow in her words stripped him to the bone. "But what of your current family? What of your brother and sister? Do we not matter in this future of yours?"

He stood utterly still and stared at her back. Sunlight picked out the deep green hues of her gown, the luster of the pearls in her earrings, the pureness of the white ruff at her throat. It warmed his skin and melted his anger. "Of course you matter." He touched her arm, tentatively, and felt her shudder beneath his fingers. She didn't pull away. "Forgive me?"

She hesitated then turned into him and buried her face in his chest. If she cried, she didn't make a sound. He held her and considered ramming Hawkesbury through with his blade, or letting her have her way. Since neither was a viable option, he tried to steer her away from her woes by mentioning their brother's luck.

"It seems Blake will be the only one of us to find happiness this year."

"He doesn't have to be." She looked up at him with her huge green eyes. "Why can't you be more like Robert?"

"You wish me to become a pirate?" He knew it wasn't what she was suggesting but he wanted to return to their familiar, and safe, bantering.

"I mean find a sweet girl and fall madly in love with her."

"Ha! You wish me to take leave of my duty and my senses?" Blake should have sorted out the whole bloody mess between Lilly and Hawkesbury in the days after his return to London but instead he'd fallen in love and dumped the burden onto Leo. If that's what love did to a man, then he wanted none of it.

"I am aware that Min is not the sort of girl you can marry, Leo. Her family is hardly reputable but that was not important in Robert's case. What I am referring to is their happiness, their suitability and their deep affection. Min has transformed him."

"And you want a woman to transform me?"

She sighed. "I simply want you to be happy. We all do. You're such a tyrant lately."

"And you think falling in love will make me less of a tyrant? Make me happy?" He scoffed. "I am hardly a poetry-reading, soft-headed youth."

"Neither is Robert and yet Min makes him happy." She smiled wanly and wiped his doublet where her face had been moments ago. "Spend more time with him and you'll see."

"Now that we are both in the one place together, spending more time with him will be inevitable. But if he spouts poetry at me I shall be forced to shut his mouth with my fist."

"I'd like to see you try," said a familiar voice behind him.

"Robert!" Lilly let go of Leo and ran to her other, full-blooded, brother.

Blake caught her face between his hands and frowned. "You've been crying." He turned on Leo. "What have you said to her?"

"Nothing you shouldn't have already said before my arrival in London."

Blake's eyes narrowed. He looked like he wanted to knock Leo's head off his shoulders.

Lilly placed a hand on her brother's arm. "Robert," she warned. "Not here. My maid's just changed the rushes."

Blake seemed to relax, just a little, and Leo almost smiled at his sister's technique for diffusing potentially explosive situations.

"My study," he said to Blake. "Now. We have business to discuss."

Lilly rolled her eyes. "Very well, go and talk about me behind my back. Everyone else will be soon enough," she added, patting her still flat belly.

"Oh, Lil," Blake said, kissing the top of her head.

"No they won't," Leo said, brushing past them both. "They'll be praising you on your fortunate marriage. Come, Blake."

"Yes, my lord," he mocked, "as you wish."

Mr. Darcy and A Secret Desire

2011-07-21T16:27:00.000-07:00

Before I started A Secret Desire I had a clear image of the hero. Tall, dark, aloof and kind of grumpy. As soon as I saw the BBC's TV series Lost In Austen, I knew I had the right image of Leo, Lord Warhurst. I don't always need actual actors or models as inspiration for my characters. In fact, I find it impedes my own creativity instead of helping it because I start to think of my character as being like the character they portrayed in a movie, or perhaps how I perceive the actor to be in real life based on trashy magazine articles. Not that I read trashy magazines. (Cough).

I knew nothing about the actor who played Darcy in Lost In Austen and I didn't want to. The way he portrayed Darcy in the show was exactly how I wanted him to be in A Secret Desire. From time to time I referred back to the images I downloaded of him to help keep me on track, or help with a certain description. It worked.

So you want to know who I'm talking about? Here's some images, including THAT lake scene.

But my heroine in A Secret Desire is nothing like the Lost In Austen heroine. Straight away I knew mine was a Cate Blanchett double. Willowy, clever, no-nonsense and able to change her appearance so she can either be plain or beautiful.

If you've read A Secret Desire, I'd love to know if you agree with my choice of inspiration. If you've watched Lost In Austen, I'd love to know your thoughts on the show and the choice of actor.

Guest Blog Post: Robyn Bradley on Creating the Perfect Writers' Group

2011-07-18T02:48:00.000-07:00

Today I'd like to welcome Robyn Bradley to my blog. Robyn is the author of women's fiction novel Forgotten April which is currently screaming up the charts. In this post, Robyn's chatting about writer's groups, and being a part of an awesome writer's group myself, I wholeheartedly agree with what she has to say. Over to Robyn:

5 Ways a Writers’ Group Can Keep Your WIP on Track

(& Tips for Creating the Perfect Group)

I've been with my writers' group, the Nobscot Niblets, for 6.5 years. Last month, we devoted a whole meeting to workshopping the draft of my second novel. Their insight was invaluable. Members were also instrumental in helping me get my first book "done." For me, there's no doubt about it: the right writers' group can help you keep your WIP on track. Here's how:

1. Accountability. In my writers' group, two members have completed novels thanks to the fact they were on the docket every meeting or every other meeting. Sure, it takes time, but there's nothing like having a deadline with real readers to motivate you.

2. Check-in emails and calls. So what happens in between meetings? Don't be surprised if a member (or two or three) check in with you to make sure you're still writing. The beauty of a writers' group is that many of its members will end up caring about your baby almost as much as you do.

3. Butt kicking when you need it. Do you get bogged down in the middle of your drafts? Are you a research-aholic? Did you just get a rejection letter from a literary journal, causing you to swear off writing forever? Your writer buds will be the people who understand your pain, frustration, and avoidance the best -- and the ones who can give you a good swift kick in the ass to get you back on track.

4. Props when you need 'em. Hey, we all need encouragement and someone to tell us when we've done something right. The people in your writers' group will probably appreciate turns of phrases, beautiful metaphors, and perfect prose better than the average reader.

5. Camaraderie. Who better to understand what you're going through than a fellow writer? Who better to talk craft with than your fellow scribes? Who better to understand the need for a drink or chocolate or to scream from the top of your lungs when something goes bad than your writing peers? No one. The camaraderie that can develop in a writing group is something that can sustain you through the good times and bad, kind of like a marriage.

All that said, it's important to put together the right writing group. This is no easy task, of course. As I mentioned, I've been with the Niblets for over six years. I co-founded the group, so my fellow co-founder and I were able to put together a group that fit our vision. Here are some of the things we thought about when we assembled our group.

Think about who, what, where, when, and how.

· Who? What types of writers do you want? Novelists, memoirists, poets? Published? Unpublished? Legal-pad scribbler? Typewriter only? Open to anyone? There are pros and cons to welcoming everyone no matter what they write or how they write it. Setting the ground rules on who you want just makes it easier to vet prospective members. And your rules can evolve (ours did).

· What? What kind of writing (think genre)? YA, Sci-Fi, romance, literary? How long will submissions be? How often should members be required to submit? Should they be required to submit?

· Where? Ah, location, location, location. It’s important in real estate, and it’s important in terms of your critique group. Think about noise, ambiance, cost (if any), and how easy it is to access. Think libraries, church basements, members’ homes (rotate), coffee shops, B&N/Borders, indie bookstores. By the way, don't underestimate the power of Skype. One of our members ended up moving to LA, and we Skype her in for every meeting.

· When? How often will you meet? Once a month? Twice? Twice a month seems to work well for my group overall, but we’ve been known to meet once a month (during crazy times, like December), and I think the group is pretty much okay with taking July and August off.

· Why? This might seem like a question with an obvious answer, but I urge you and your prospective members to think about it. What’s the goal? Do your members write more for fun or as a hobby, or are your members serious about publication? Are you okay with a combination? Ninety percent of the Nibs are serious about publication and many of us have published over the last six years. The way you answer this question will influence group dynamics (and whom you ultimately attract as members).

· How? Do it on your own, or find a partner in crime. Secure a location and then advertise the heck out of it by using things like Craig's List, flyers, MeetUp.com, message boards, etc.

Remember, there’s no right or wrong way to start a writing group…you will figure a lot of it out as you go along, and your group will develop its own culture.

Do any of you belong to a writers' group? What's your experience been like? And do you have any other tips for starting the perfect group? The comments are open -- share!

And thanks so much, CJ, for having me stop by your blog to chat. I appreciate it!

About Robyn Bradley:

Robyn Bradley is a Short Story Seductress and Novelist Ninja with an MFA in Creative Writing from Lesley University. Her work has appeared in FictionWeekly.com, Metal Scratches, The Breakwater Review, Writer's Digest, and The MetroWest Daily News, among other places. In 2007, she won a short story award for “A Touch of Charlotte.” Forgotten April is her first novel and is available on Kindle, Nook, iPad, and in paperback. When she's not writing or sleeping, Robyn enjoys watching Law & Order marathons, drinking margaritas, and determining how many degrees really separate her from George Clooney. Learn more at www.robynbradley.com.

Forgotten April is available from these places:

Paperback - http://www.amazon.com/Forgotten-April-Robyn-Bradley/dp/146114972X/

Kindle - http://www.amazon.com/Forgotten-April-ebook/dp/B004W9BXYM/

Nook - http://search.barnesandnoble.com/Forgotten-April/Robyn-Bradley/e/2940012651730/

Ipad, Iphone, Ipod Touch - http://itunes.apple.com/us/book/forgotten-april/id431887718?mt=11

Robyn's Blog: http://www.robynbradley.com/robyn-bradleys-blog/

#samplesunday: A Secret Desire (3rd installment)

2011-07-16T17:40:00.001-07:00

Today's #samplesunday post follows on from last week's. To catch up, read part 1 and part 2 first. A Secret Desire is now available for download from Amazon, Amazon UK, and Smashwords. B&N and other bookstores will stock it soon.

The story so far - Alice is the seamstress for Lord Hawkesbury's Players and Leo, Lord Warhurst, needs her help to spy on the man who got his sister pregnant. He's just met her in the tiring house of the theater-inn where she works. They're alone and she's wearing a lady's gown that needs adjusting for the actor who will wear it. He thought she was a lady at first but now he realizes she's anything but.

I hope everyone has a nice, relaxing Sunday. Now onto the excerpt:

"Why do you want to help me?" he said.

She turned and shrugged. The ill-fitting sleeve slipped off her shoulder. She adjusted it but not before she saw Warhurst's lips purse. In disapproval? Irritation? Or suppressed desire?

"I liked your sister," she said. "And your brother."

His eyebrow forked again. "That may be the case but I doubt it is your sole reason. There must be more for you to risk your livelihood. I'm sure you are aware that Lord Hawkesbury could have you removed from his company if he discovers your involvement in this scheme."

She nodded. "That's why I want something from you in return."

"Money?"

"Not quite." She chewed the inside of her lip, thinking fast. Should she ask him? Would he agree? If she didn't ask, she would never know his answer. And such an opportunity would never arise again, of that she was certain. She had to ask.

She lifted her chin and stepped towards him, the better to gauge his reaction. But his only reaction was a lowering of his gaze to her breasts bursting over the top of the bodice. She cleared her throat but refused to cover herself. Let him look. She wasn't ashamed.

"I cannot take you on as my mistress." He looked up, face flushed, eyes hooded.

"Pardon?"

His flush deepened. "I, er, isn't that what you were asking of me?"

"No! Good Lord, what sort of woman do you think I am?"

"I...I'm not entirely sure. To be honest, I've never encountered a woman such as yourself before."

"That is quite obvious."

He bowed. "My humble apologies, Mistress Croft." He blinked rapidly and looked away, pretending to study a Roman shield leaning against the wall.

An awkward silence ensued until she could stand it no longer. "What I do want from you is your patronage, or sorts."

That got his attention. "So you do want money?" He said it without a hint of disapproval, as if he expected it, almost welcomed it.

But what she wanted wasn't quite as simple as an exchange of coins. "I want you to establish me as a seamstress with a shop of my own in a respectable part of the City."

"You want what?"

"In essence, you will be my patron but only until such time that my earnings cover the rent. I have some money set aside to purchase the tools I need. You could also use your influence with certain merchants so that I can buy cloth and other materials at a good price. It would be to your benefit," she said quickly when his mouth dropped open. "The more money that remains in my coffers the faster I will be able to support myself and you can wash your hands of me. Oh, and there is one other thing."

"I don't doubt it," he muttered.

"If you could send some elegant ladies of your acquaintance to my shop, I would be most grateful. You would benefit—."

"Yes, yes, so I see." But he shook his head and she thought she heard a low chuckle but he didn't smile so she couldn't be sure. "First of all, Mistress Croft, you over-estimate my influence in elegant circles. As you can see," he stretched out his arms, "I am no gallant."

"True, but your clothes are well made and suited to your...demeanor."

He frowned. "Meaning?"

"They are serious." She thought it wise not to mention she'd seen puritans wear less bleak clothing. There wasn't a hint of embellishment in his doublet, even the buttons were covered in the same black material. No slashing, no embroidery, no pinking, and yet the doublet was silk and from what she could see, the tailoring superb. It fit him to perfection, without needing any padding across shoulders or chest. What lay beneath the clothing must also be perfection. The thought made her heart skip.

"I have seen your mother and sister," she forged on, "and they are both women with exceptional fashion sense. If I provide them with some gowns, free of charge of course, to prove my skill then perhaps they could send their friends to me. You could give them the gowns as a gift."

He nodded thoughtfully. "A reasonable plan. And my brother's new bride would require something to wear for her wedding feast. Could you do it?"

"How soon?"

"In a month or two I would imagine."

If she started as soon as possible she should be able to make Min an outfit to rival the queen's. "I should like to make her something special anyway. We have become friends of sorts."

He nodded. "But I'm afraid you mistake my position in this City. I am rarely here and I do not know any merchants. As to renting a shop..." He drew in a breath. "I shall see what I can do."

"I'm sure your brother knows many merchants from his privateering jaunts. Perhaps you could ask him since Mistress Blakewell is his sister too."

He acknowledged this with a curt nod. "You have a solid understanding of business, I see."

"Then we have an agreement?"

"We do, on one condition. That you do not mention this to anyone. We shall rent the shop in your name and in no way will any transactions between us be known. I cannot afford for our connection to be discovered."

"Because you don't wish Lord Hawkesbury to know?"

He hesitated before saying, "Quite."

She chewed her lip again. He wasn't telling her the entire truth. Not that it mattered. The anonymity of her new patron suited her needs too. Her father knew she had some money set aside, she would simply inflate the amount when he asked how she could afford to set out on her own.

"Only my half-brother will know," he said, "but if pressed, he'll say he does not."

She was about to ask why when she realized she already knew the answer. "He wishes to keep Min happy and to do that he needs to ensure her plays are performed. Upsetting the patron of the company performing them would be a poor move. At least until she is able to sell them to another company."

The green eyes briefly flared and she thought she saw a flicker of surprise in them. Surprise that she could think for herself?

The man grew more pompous by the minute.

"Furthermore," he went on as if she had not spoken, "I think it best that you do not give up your position here with Lord Hawkesbury's Players until our task is complete."

"Agreed. Shall we shake on it?" She held out her hand.

He didn't take it, didn't even acknowledge it with so much as a glance. "You do not wish to know how I want you to gather the relevant information before agreeing?"

"My lord, unless you are asking me to whore for you then I will do whatever is required."

"What makes you think I am not asking you to whore for me?"

She shrugged and lowered her hand. "You seem far too prudish to ask that of any woman. Even a seamstress."

He tilted his head back as if struck. Then, unexpectedly, he smiled. Just a slight lifting of the corners of his mouth at first, then a few twitches until finally a wide grin broke out, as if it had escaped despite his attempts to smother it.

"I can assure you, Mistress Croft," he said, capturing the grin once more and hiding it away, "that I am no prude." He picked up a fine lawn partlet from the top of a pile of clothes stacked on a closed chest. "Nor am I immune to your...charms." His gaze dipped once more to her breasts and this time it was her turn to blush as heat prickled her throat, her face. He closed the space between them until he was so near she could smell him, a pleasing mix of fresh air and man. "So I would appreciate it if you kept those charms covered when next we meet." He tucked the edge of the partlet down the front of her bodice. His long finger grazed her skin, just above the nipple.

She let out a breath and dared not draw in another as it would cause her chest to rise, bringing his finger closer. Closer. Even though that was exactly what she suddenly, desperately wanted. For this man to touch her. Everywhere. The need throbbed within her like an ache.

But some very deep part of her kept her from drawing the breath that could start something. Or stop it.

Then his finger was gone, leaving the partlet covering the rapid rise and fall of her chest as she sucked in breath upon breath. Their gazes locked and heat flooded her, sliding through her like warm sunshine.

She thought she understood this man from the moment he'd walked in with his conservative clothing and crisp aloofness. Now she knew she did not.

"You said you knew where Lord Hawkesbury would be tonight," he said, voice low and rough.

"I..." She nodded and stepped away, out of reach of his powerful presence. "He's commissioned a performance from the troupe to entertain his betrothed and her family at Hawkesbury Hall."

His brows rose. "The Enderbys?"

She nodded. "I don't usually attend private performances but I can devise a reason for my presence tonight. I might be able to learn something, if you tell me what it is I need to look for."

He blinked slowly. Then he straightened and put his hands behind his back. "Our task is to find out why Lord Hawkesbury is marrying Patience Enderby when neither he nor the girl wants the marriage."

"He doesn't love her?"

"He says not."

"Nobles marry for reasons other than love all the time."

He gave her a tight smile. "I am well aware of that."

Alice knew Lord Warhurst wasn't married, but was he betrothed to some influential heiress he didn't love? Would he care if his potential wife didn't love him? What about his own heart's desire? Did he even have one? A desire, not a heart—although she couldn't be sure he possessed either.

"From what my half-brother tells me," Lord Warhurst said, "Hawkesbury is being forced into the union by the girl's father, Lord Enderby." He put a sneer into the name that was so slight she almost missed it. "From the little I know of Hawkesbury, it would take a shifting of the earth for him to agree to something he didn't want to do. He lacks neither money nor power so it must be something else."

"A secret. A very grave one."

"Precisely." He gave a nod, as if impressed that she had grasped the situation. "It is my understanding that the secret Lord Enderby possesses could harm Hawke's loved ones if discovered."

"Who are his loved ones?"

"He has a sister and mother still living."

Alice huffed out a breath. "You have a difficult task."

"Learning the secret will not be easy, I grant you. But with your assistance, I believe we will prevail."

She shook her head. He hadn't quite understood her. "Discovering the secret is only one hurdle."

When she paused he said, "Go on."

"The more difficult problem will be ensuring the secret is no longer a threat to Lord Hawkesbury. You must somehow silence Enderby without letting the secret out." From the grim set of Lord Warhurst's mouth, she knew he was aware of that fact, as he was no doubt aware that Hawkesbury would have already tried purchasing Lord Enderby's silence with something other than a betrothal to his daughter.

"We'll cross that bridge when we discover what Enderby knows," he said.

Alice wasn't so sure ignoring it before they even began was a good idea but she didn't say so. She was being paid to help discover the secret, not concern herself with events beyond that.

Lord Warhurst raised his hand to silence her. The clip clop of hooves on the cobblestones echoed around the inn-yard. The rider called for an ostler and their brief exchange was followed by the sound of the horse being led away. The door to the taproom opened and a lively tune strummed on a lute drifted out to the tiring house along with the trickle of laughter and voices.

"I must go," Lord Warhurst said. "We should not be seen together. Not here. There's a small inn called the Golden Lion near St. Mary le Bow. It's out of the way and not likely to be frequented by either Hawkesbury, Enderby or your players. Do you know it?"

"No but I'll find it."

"Good. Dine with me at midday there tomorrow." It was an order and Warhurst seemed used to giving them, and having them obeyed.

She nodded because it wasn't in her interests to refuse him. "Until midday then, my lord."

He turned but paused at the curtain. "Thank you, Mistress Croft," he said without fully facing her. His profile was strong with the hard lines of his jaw and straight nose. Alice felt the odd little flutter in the pit of her stomach again and tried very hard not to stare. "I appreciate your assistance," he said. "I will ensure that your safety will not be jeopardized by anything I request of you."

"Your words are noble, Lord Warhurst, but I assure you I am capable of taking care of myself." She wasn't sure why she said it. Perhaps it was a need to assert herself with a man who thought her so far beneath him he was almost too embarrassed to speak to her.

He turned to her fully and his direct, unblinking gaze held hers. She swallowed. "Nevertheless you are now working for me and I take my responsibility to those in my employ very seriously."

"I am not one of your servants," she tossed back.

His nostrils flared but he said nothing. He opened the curtain and walked away.

She let out a long breath and slowly began to remove the gorgeous costume, beginning with the lawn partlet he'd so deliberately and deliciously tucked into her bodice.

Cover & Blurb of A Secret Desire

2011-07-13T03:41:00.000-07:00

It's here! Amanda from Razzle Dazzle Design has finalized the cover of A Secret Desire so now I can share it with all of you. First up, here's the blurb:

Falling in love just became the greatest scandal in Shakespearean London.

Cold, ruthless Lord Warhurst needs to distance himself from scandal if he's to marry an heiress and save his decaying estate. But with his unwed sister pregnant and his father's past indiscretions still haunting Leo, scandal threatens to erupt in an explosive way. Especially when he begins to desire strong-willed and low-born Alice Croft, the seamstress to Lord Hawkesbury's Players and the woman helping him spy on his sister's lover. If anyone finds out, Leo's chance of marrying well will be ruined.

However the scandal will be nothing compared to what happens when Alice cracks through the hard shell around his heart. Because how can Leo afford to love a woman who only wants him for the fortune she thinks he possesses?

And now for the cover reveal:

I'm preparing A Secret Desire for release in the next few days. I'll let you all know when it's ready. And if you've read this far, here's a little secret I haven't announced yet - book 1 of Lord Hawkesbury's Players, A Secret Life, is now only 99 cents.

#samplesunday: A Secret Desire (2nd installment)

2011-07-09T22:27:00.000-07:00

More #samplesunday fun today. This excerpt follows immediately on from the last one I posted a couple of weeks ago. You can read it here. In a nutshell, Alice is the seamstress for Lord Hawkesbury's Players and Leo, Lord Warhurst, needs her help to spy on the man who got his sister pregnant. He's just met her in the tiring house of the theater-inn where she works. They're alone and she's wearing a lady's gown that needs adjusting for the actor who will wear it. He thought she was a lady at first but now he realizes she's anything but.

A Secret Desire will be out this month. Now, read on...

The bad feeling slammed into his gut with the force of a hammer blow. "You're Alice Croft," he said heavily. "The seamstress for Lord Hawkesbury's Men."

She nodded. "And you're Lord Warhurst, brother to Robert Blakewell."

"Half-brother," he said without thinking.

"What can I do for you, Lord Warhurst? I assume you're looking for me since you know my name. Did Blake send you?"

She didn't seem in the least surprised or in any way alarmed by his presence or by the prospect of being sought. Women of her station usually lowered their eyes and spoke only when he asked a direct question of them. Unless they were whores or drunk. This woman certainly wasn't a whore—readjusting the gown to cover her bare shoulder was proof of that—and she didn't seem drunk.

Then why was she so different to all the others?

The fact that he was wondering disturbed him.

"Blake did send me," he said in an attempt to keep his thoughts on the task at hand. "He said I should seek you out and that I'd find you here."

"As indeed you have."

He cleared his throat. "I'll have you know this goes against my better judgment."

Her eyes narrowed. "You haven't told me what 'this' is yet."

"If there was anyone else, I'd ask them first. I'd rather not involve someone else in our family dilemma but Blake assures me you'll be discreet."

"Discreet?" She shook her head. A frown furrowed her pretty brow. "My lord, is this about making a gown for your mistress? Because if it is—."

"No!" He shouldn't have come. Whatever was Blake thinking to send him to such a woman? How did he even know she could be trusted? He was wasting his time. Leo pulled back the curtain leading out to the stage.

"My lord, wait!" The seamstress placed a hand on his arm. There was no pressure, no attempt to halt his progress, yet he stopped anyway. There was something compelling in her touch, something far more forceful than mere strength. "If Blake sent you then it must have something to do with Lord Hawkesbury. And," she cleared her throat, "and your sister."

He half-turned to see her and was struck once more by those eyes. Of the palest blue, they were almost colorless, and yet they seemed to see right into him. He recoiled. The bad feeling returned like a vengeful warrior.

"You're right," he heard himself say. "I've come to ask you for help."

"Help?"

He focused on the tiny crease between her brows because he had the disturbing sensation that if he looked into her eyes any more she might see too much. "Yes. Help with the business between Lord Hawkesbury and my sister, as you said."

"But how can I possibly be of service?"

"I have need of someone who is capable of finding out information. Blake suggested you because you are associated with Lord Hawkesbury's Players, and they have a tendency to hear and see a great many things when in their patron's presence. Well? What say you?"

Alice had been told many times in her twenty-six years that her curiosity would be her downfall. As a child she would sneak around the house listening to the adult conversations, or explore the narrow lanes near her home—the ones she was strictly told not to venture down. Not even a whipping from her father and a near-escape from a brothel-keeper seeking fresh girls could keep her curiosity and thirst for knowledge in check. Although she kept away from the worst of the lanes after that instance.

Childish curiosity was one thing. Spying on Lord Hawkesbury, a peer of the realm, was entirely another.

"Why not ask one of the players?" she said.

Lord Warhurst gave her a rueful smile, one that sparked a gleam in his green eyes. She'd never seen eyes quite like them, bright one moment and fathomless the next but never revealing too much of what the man was thinking. They reminded her of the emeralds she'd once seen in a grand lady's rings. With a start, she recalled they'd been worn on the hand of his mother.

"The players were not recommended by my brother," Lord Warhurst said. "You were."

It had been only days since she'd last seen his brother the pirate, Robert Blakewell, and Blake's bride-to-be, Minerva Peabody. They'd informed her that much had changed prior to their betrothal, including Blake ceasing his pursuit of Lord Hawkesbury over the relationship the earl had had with Lilly Blakewell.

It seemed Lord Warhurst was taking up the reins dropped by his brother to save their sister's honor.

Yet it didn't quite make sense. Why all this brotherly fuss over a simple affection? Why the forbidding presence of the brooding Baron Warhurst darkening her tiring house? And why did he need the help of a seamstress?

"My half-brother and I don't get along," Lord Warhurst said, crossing his arms over a broad chest. "But I trust his judgment. If he thinks you would make a fair and discreet information gatherer, then I believe him. I also think you have the look about you of someone who would go unnoticed, something which will be of benefit in this endeavor."

The old, familiar pang stabbed her in the ribs. She'd once thought it was jealousy of prettier girls, the sort who turned heads just by walking down the street. But she'd learned, eventually, that that wasn't the case. Jealousy it might be, but it was the jealousy of a girl who simply wanted to be someone else, someone who would be noticed, not for her beauty but for...what?

If she knew the answer she could perhaps make steps towards changing herself, but all she really knew for certain was that she didn't want to be seamstress for Lord Hawkesbury's Men day after day until her death.

She may be aware of the pang and all it implied but it still hurt to have her plainness in looks and occupation pointed out so baldly.

"That is hardly a convincing argument," she said, perhaps a little too caustically.

He arched one eyebrow in question.

"Telling me I'm too ordinary to be noticed."

"I didn't say ordinary, nor is that what I meant." He huffed out a breath and rolled his eyes Heaven-ward. "I simply was stating the fact that people do not always see those whose presence they take for granted." His words were measured, careful.

"Like servants," she said flatly.

"Like seamstresses." He shrugged, as if what he'd said was obvious and not open to questioning. That it was nothing of importance.

That she was nothing of importance.

It was a wonder he had even deigned to speak to someone like her at all let alone ask for help. Her throat burned as she swallowed back a tide of emotions, ones she thought she'd conquered.

"You must hate it," she said with a lightness she certainly didn't feel.

"What?"

"Asking me for help. A seamstress."

He opened his mouth but shut it again. His stare faltered and he looked away. It was all the answer she needed.

"Which means the task you require me to perform must be important," she went on. A little voice within her warned her not to test this man, not to push him into a corner because he would fight. He was a baron and an imposing figure, standing well above her and she was no sprite. Yet she couldn't help herself. She wanted to find out as much as she could before she said yes. About the task, and the gentleman.

That she would say yes was a certainty. She needed an intrigue to break up the endless tedium of her days.

"Why do you want Lord Hawkesbury to marry your sister? Does she really love him so much that she would have her brother force him into marriage against his wishes? Or is there another reason? One more...scandalous?"

He lifted his gaze to hers without lifting his head and glared at her beneath long black lashes. The effect was devilish.

So much for backing him into a corner. She hadn't even budged him in the slightest. What she'd done was potentially far worse—awakened a beast with more anger boiling inside him than she could ever know.

"I think," he finally said through a clenched jaw, "that my brother was mistaken. You are of no use to me. Good day." He spun round and shoved the curtain all the way to the side.

"Wait! I can help you."

But he was already half-way across the stage and he didn't look like stopping to hear her. Not the reaction she'd expected. Hot outrage at her impertinence would have been better than this cool dismissal. But at least she now knew her assumption was correct—Lilly Blakewell was carrying Lord Hawkesbury's unborn child.

"I know where Lord Hawkesbury will be tonight," she called after him.

She might as well have flung her words at a wall. He either didn't hear them or didn't care. He simply jumped off the stage and strode towards the arch leading out to Gracechurch Street.

Well. Good riddance. The man was rude. It was a miracle he'd even lowered himself to speak to her.

Nevertheless she watched him go with a sinking heart. He and his family's troubles had been a bump on her otherwise flat week. No, make that year. Now even that distraction was gone.

She sighed and returned to the tiring house, letting the curtain fall back into place. There was no point dwelling on what might have happened if she hadn't opened her mouth. There was still much to be done to prepare for the troupe's transfer to The Rose. Henslowe, The Rose theater's owner, had given them permission to perform there on the days Lord Strange's Men weren't using it. The bigger crowds at the dedicated theater would ensure more money for Lord Hawkesbury's Players and for Alice's father, their tiring house manager. But as his assistant and daughter, she would see none of it. Moving to The Rose would simply be more of the same. Mending costumes, cleaning the tiring house, listening to the actors' complaints and gossip.

She looked down at the clothing bought from Lady Dalrymple. The ensemble of bodice, skirt and over-gown was several years out of fashion but it was the most exquisite thing Alice had ever worn. The softness of the velvet, the vibrancy of the colors and the workmanship that had gone into the embroidery were nothing like she'd seen before. She simply had to try it on. Just for a few minutes she wanted to pretend she was someone else, someone important. A duchess or an heiress or even a wealthy merchant in her own right. Anything would be better than this...nothingness. The clothes had beckoned to her like a lover and she couldn't resist. Besides, no one had seen.

No one except Lord Warhurst and she was not likely to see him again. She doubted he cared enough to tell her father or Roger Style, the company's manager. If Style had caught her wearing the costume that had cost him a week's profit, he'd have dismissed her without hearing her excuses and perhaps dismissed her father too. It had been a risk but a risk she'd been prepared to take.

With another sigh, she removed the hat. She was about to step behind the door used as a screen for privacy when she heard the swish of the curtain opening behind her. She knew without turning around that Lord Warhurst had returned. She couldn't say how she knew it, she just did. Perhaps it was his brooding presence, so powerful that it surged ahead of him like a flood.

"Why do you want to help me?" he said.

Coffee Time Reviewer's Recommend Award

2011-07-01T16:04:00.000-07:00

An awesome email dropped into my inbox this morning. It was from Laurie, a reviewer over at Coffee Time Romance & More who reviewed Honor Bound some time ago. The email said she was recommending HB for the Coffee Time Reviewer's Recommend Award which "recognizes outstanding writing styles in all book types and genres." She goes on to say that Honor Bound "received this award because I feel it is above and beyond a 5 Cup Rating."

How lovely is that! I even get this lovely graphic:

There's a blog about it on the CTR&M site here: http://coffeetimeromance.com/CoffeeThoughts/ and the actual review can be read here: http://www.coffeetimeromance.com/BookReviews/honorboundbook1bycjarcher.html
My fave lines from the review are "This story was quick to grab my interest, and I remained enraptured as it unfolded page after page. I thought it was uncommonly well conceived and beautifully constructed."

And guess what! Honor Bound is still only 99 cents, but not for much longer. Grab it while you can from Amazon, Amazon UK, B&N, Smashwords and other ebookstores.

#samplesunday: A Secret Desire (1st intallment)

2011-06-25T23:48:00.000-07:00

More #samplesunday fun today. #samplesunday is the twitter hashtag used by authors announcing the posting of an excerpt to their blog. Today I've got the first chapter of my next historical romance, A Secret Desire, the second and last book in the Lord Hawkesbury's Players series set in Shakespearean London. This book follows on from A Secret Life and features the romance between Leo, Lord Hawkesbury, and Alice Croft. Leo is Blake's hard-edged half-brother and Alice is seamstress to Lord Hawkesbury's Players. You couldn't get a more unlikely pair than these two. A Secret Desire will be out August 1st. Not long to wait now!

As an added bonus, A Secret Life is featured on Spalding's Racket today. Hope on over and take a look.

Now onto the excerpt. Enjoy and please leave a comment to let me know what you think.

CHAPTER 1

London: Autumn 1589

The White Swan Inn was the last place Leo Warhurst, third Baron Warhurst, wanted to be on a Friday morning. The worst part about it wasn't that he could have been attending court, greasing the palms of some of London's most influential men. No, the worst part was that he couldn't even stop for a drink in the taproom. Thanks to the mess created by his siblings, he had gone to the Gracechurch Street inn to speak to a seamstress. A bloody seamstress!

He made his way through the archway to the inn's yard where the ostlers and travelers shared the square cobbled area with a theater stage. The raised wooden platform stood towards the back of the large yard. Steps led up to it from the ground and a curtain separated the stage from the tiring house beyond. According to his half-brother, that's where he'd find the woman who might be able to help him with his family's problem.

A problem that had landed firmly on Leo's shoulders like a canker. He needed to remove it before it was too late and any chance of restoring the tenuous respectability of the Warhurst title was lost forever. Since the perpetrator of the problem was not at home that morning, or last night, or the day before, Leo had come here.

To speak to a seamstress.

It would have been laughable if the situation wasn't so dire. He'd only ever dealt directly with one seamstress. A slack-faced woman reeking of cheap wine had accosted him in the street years ago demanding Leo pay for the gown his late father had commissioned her to make for his mistress. The seamstress had threatened to tell Lady Warhurst about the other woman if Leo didn't pay the debt. He'd told her she was welcome to speak to his mother since she already knew, as did the better half of London. The seamstress had curled her top lip, baring broken teeth, and scampered like a rat back to the gutter out of which she'd crawled.

Hopefully the seamstress his brother had sent him to possessed more sense and less drink-fueled audacity.

He paused on the bottom step leading up to the stage and squeezed the bridge of his nose. God, he was tired. He'd traveled like the devil for a week to reach London and not been able to sleep since. This woman had better know something other than how to thread a needle. Leo was in no mood for a fool's errand.

He lifted the curtain aside and peered into the room beyond. Several chests, some opened, occupied most of the space. A row of stools dotted one wall and a central bench almost disappeared beneath piles of neatly folded costumes. A massive pair of wings made of feathers hung between two hooks and what looked like a cauldron was slotted beneath the bench. The room was crowded but not chaotic. Someone kept it orderly.

Whoever it was, they weren't there. Another bloody wasted effort. He was about to close the curtain when he heard the swish of lush fabric, velvet perhaps, coming from behind what appeared to be an unhinged door propped up in the middle of the tiring house.

"Damnation!" The voice, a woman's, came from behind the door screen. With language like that, she must be the woman he sought.

"Hail!" he called out. "Is someone here?"

A pale, heart-shaped face topped with a tall hat popped out from behind the door. "Oh! I didn't know I had company."

"I'm sorry to startle you," he said.

"You didn't. I'm simply surprised."

He failed to see the difference and was about to say as much when she stepped out from behind the door and his words were sucked away along with his breath. He'd been wrong. She couldn't be the seamstress. This lady wouldn't have been out of place at court with her tall, slender frame, striking cheekbones and a firm, almost imperial set to her shoulders. She was a lady used to speaking her mind if her direct gaze was any indication. He had no doubt she usually got what she wanted too. A lifetime of experience with such women had taught him to identify the species. Unfortunately it had not taught him how to deal with them.

"Madam, I am Lord Warhurst." He bowed.

She stepped forward and the swish of her crimson gown was soon drowned out by the drumming of his heartbeat in his ears. Her simple movement had caused the exposed flesh above her too-tight bodice to wobble most...ah, delightfully.

"Perhaps you could step a little closer," he said when she hesitated. "I would like to have a better look at your...face."

She did, with hands firmly on her hips, and stopped directly in front of him. "My face is above my neck, my lord."

He glanced up and got an icy blast from a pair of pale blue eyes. He bowed again, partly to hide the color rising to his cheeks and partly because it afforded him another view of her bounteous flesh. If God gave her a pair of luscious breasts like that, surely He meant for man to gaze upon them. Otherwise why create such low-cut gowns?

But on second glance, the gown seemed a little too low-cut for this lady's, er, jewels. Although exquisitely made from what he could see, and certainly beautifully—and expensively—embroidered in gold thread, it was a poor fit.

"If you are looking for the players then I'm afraid they're not here," she said.

He looked up again. Although her glare was still cool, her mouth seemed to be smiling—and yet not. How did she do that? It was quite intriguing. And certainly alluring.

"You are all alone here, my lady?" He could have bitten off his tongue after the words tumbled out. He sounded like a villain assessing the likelihood of having his wicked way with a defenseless woman.

"Lady?" She blinked at him. Then looked down at her sleeves, the crimson velvet slashed to reveal the gold of the lining beneath. "Oh."

He frowned. She had not seemed to grasp the crude yet unintentional meaning of his question. Thankfully. But...why was such a woman as this alone in the tiring house? What gentleman would allow his wife, sister or daughter to fend for herself at, of all places, an inn and a theater at that? Guilt twisted his stomach at the similarity to his own situation but he cast it off. It was too late for guilt. Besides, his sister's pregnancy was not his fault.

"Madam, I am—."

"Mistaken." Her laughter seemed to rise up from the depths of her being and burst forth like a sudden gust of air.

He tried not to notice how the laugh made the flesh above her bodice jiggle. "Mistaken?"

"Quite, quite mistaken. I am not a gentlewoman. It must be this dress..." She caressed the velvet of her gown as if it were her lover's skin. "It used to belong to Lady Dalrymple. She and I are of a height which will suit Freddie, but the similarity does not extend to the chest area." She smiled that smile again, the one that wasn't quite a smile. This time it was accompanied by a wicked gleam in those clear eyes. "As you noticed."

He felt like he was walking on a different path to her. Whatever was she talking about? "Freddie?"

"Freddie Putney the company's boy actor. He plays the lead female roles."

At least her path was within sight now. "And that gown once belonged to Lady Dalrymple?"

"As I said." She looked at him as if he were a half-wit.

His limbs tensed. He had a bad feeling about this. "And you are wearing the gown because..."

"Because I'm adjusting it of course." She shrugged and the gown slipped off one shoulder. He stared at the smooth, white skin and wondered if it felt like silk because it certainly looked silken.

She fixed the gown and he was once more running along the path in an attempt to catch up to her.

What had she been saying? Adjusting it... Adjusting...the gown!

The bad feeling slammed into his gut with the force of a hammer blow. "You're Alice Croft," he said heavily. "The seamstress for Lord Hawkesbury's Men."

eBook Giveaway: A Secret Life

2011-06-19T16:55:00.000-07:00

Today I'm helping Brianna celebrate her birthday over at her blog, The Book Vixen. I'm blogging about 10 bizarre things I've learned while researching my historical romances. Come read about things like removable sleeves, flushing toilets and how one night of drunken sex can mean you're married. While you're there, enter to win a copy of A SECRET LIFE.

May Sales Report

2011-06-14T18:11:00.000-07:00

Amazon have released my May sales report so I can finally tell you all how the month went. As this blog is intended to follow my journey through indie publishing, the good and the bad, I want to share as much information as I can. So here goes.

These figures are for Amazon only as Smashwords reporting is behind and I don't sell many copies through there or the sites it distributes to - B&N, Sony, ibooks etc.

So. I sold:

2,119 copies at Amazon US for $2,128.66 (USD).
17 copies at Amazon UK for 9.96 (UK pounds)
2 copies at Amazon DE for 1.75 (Euros)

Not bad huh? This is 300 or so copies more than April, and almost $1,000 more earned.

Most of the sales were for the 99 cent novella The Mercenary's Price, almost 1,000 of them. But most of the money was for the 2 Witchblade Chronicles books - Honor Bound and Kiss Of Ash thanks to the higher royalty rate Amazon pays at the $2.99 price point.

So why did I lower the price of Honor Bound recently back to 99 cents after reaping the benefits mentioned above? Simple. Its sales were getting lower and lower each day. This alone wasn't enough for me to drop the price as I was earning about the same amount of money on it, but sales of the other books began to suffer, particularly of Kiss Of Ash, the sequel priced at $2.99. The first half of May was fantastic but the second half and early June saw a downturn and I needed to halt this before it was too late.

So now I'm looking at Honor Bound as a "loss leader". So far so good. It's rising up in the ranks. Hopefully Kiss Of Ash and my other books will follow it too. BUT I don't think I'll earn the same amount this month as I did last month. Partly because of this lowering price, but mostly because sales are slower.

Fortunately I'm not the only one experiencing a downturn or I'd begin to take it personally :) Many indie authors have reported lower sales so far in June. We've attributed it to Amazon's huge summer sale where they put over 600 books on sale. The bestseller categories are now littered with these ebooks. Oh well, you have to roll with it and expect ups and downs. I'll control what I can - price and quality - and cross my fingers the sales rise again.

Facts on Friday (sort of)

2011-06-09T16:29:00.000-07:00

I love doing my Facts on Friday posts where I write about a particular historical topic. But today is going to be an excerpt of a post I wrote for Brianna over at the Book Vixen. The post should appear on the 19th of this month and is titlted 10 Bizarre Things I Learned While Researching History. It's a list of weird things I found as I researched my Elizabethan historical novels. Here's the teaser:

165 days of the year were set aside as "fish days", or more specifically non-"flesh" days when meat couldn't be eaten but fish could. Anyone caught eating flesh was punished. A woman was pilloried for breaking this law and another 4 spent the night in the stocks. Naturally the nobles could purchase temporary or annual flesh-eating licenses to be exempt from this law.

So what else have I been doing? Writing the 3rd book in the Lord Hawkesbury's Players trilogy, titled A Secret Scandal (which has the dubious acronym of A.S.S.). I've done about 35 pages which have been tough to write but I'm happy with them so far. Goodness knows what happens next though! I'll have to keep writing to find out.

I've also been messing with the price of Honor Bound. I lowered it back to 99 cents where I think I'll keep it. Yesterday it was featured at Daily Cheap Reads which gave it a lovely boost. So much so that it reached #1,244 in the Kindle store and #64 in Books>Romance>Historical category which is a tough category to crack so I'm super pleased. Let's hope the ride continues a little while longer.

I should have a post up in the next few days about my May sales figures. I love analyzing numbers. In that post it should become clear why I lowered the price of Honor Bound again (even though overall sales went up). Stay tuned...

I've succumbed to temptation

2011-06-06T16:46:00.000-07:00

Yes, I've done it. I've lowered the price of Honor Bound to 99 cents. I did this back in April and had huge success. The book regularly made it into the Top 100 category for Historical Romance at Amazon, a fact I'm very proud of. But when I raised the price at the beginning of May, sales slowly began to slide.

Maybe I shouldn't be posting this here. After all, it's tough to admit the price rise was a bit of a failure, but I want this blog to help other indie writers on their journey too. So in the interests of transparency, I'm disclosing my full reasons here, as painful as they are to admit.

Now it wouldn't matter so much if it was only Honor Bound's sales that tanked. Actually, they didn't tank completely. I had to sell one sixth of the numbers at $2.99 to receive the same dollar amount and while the sales hadn't been THAT bad for this book during May, the lack of sales for Honor Bound affected ALL my books, particularly the sequel, A Kiss Of Ash. Sales for Kiss halved. Combined with the drop for Honor, the last week or two have been ordinary even though May overall was fantastic compared to April.

Watch this space for a full report on May's sales which I'll post as soon as I get the monthly report from Amazon. Going on the week by week report, however, it looks like I sold over $2,000 worth of books for the month which makes me one very pleased writer.

Let's see if June can beat that.

New Cover for A Secret Life

2011-06-04T15:51:00.000-07:00

A SECRET LIFE has a new cover and it's gorgeous! I can say that with all humility because I didn't do this one myself. The very talented Amanda from Razzle Dazzle Design did it for me. So here goes:

See what I mean about gorgeous?

I've updated the Smashwords and Amazon pages and believe it or not the changes have gone through straight away on both sites! On the other hand, who knows when the Smashwords one will filter through to B&N etc.

What has CJ been up to?

2011-06-01T20:57:00.000-07:00

Things seem to be hotting up around here. Not literally. (It's winter here in Melbourne so it's freeeeeezing.) I mean I just feel busy. I really, really want to get back to writing the next book but other things always crop up. I did manage 2 brand new pages on the brand new book in the Lord Hawkesbury's Players series. It's tentatively titled A Secret Scandal, following on from A Secret Life and A Secret Desire. Yeah, I know, lots of secrets.

So what am I up to? Well, I've been dabbling over at Coffee Time Romance & More for starters. I have an author section here and they've asked me to contribute to their steampunk month which you can check out here.

Velvet from vvb32 reads asked me to contribute a flash fiction piece using the characters from my steampunk romance The Adventures of Miss Upton and the Sky Pirate. It was lots of fun. See what I came up with here. Velvet is also giving away a copy of Sky Pirate among other goodies so go check it out: http://vvb32reads.blogspot.com/

On June 5th (6th for us on the other side of the world) I'll also be doing a giveaway of A Secret Life at The Romance Reviews. You should really check out their month of giveaways, there's some seriously great prizes to be won.

I'm on Facebook! I'm not sure how I'll go updating this blog, FB and Twitter but we'll see how we go. Please drop by and show me some FB love :) http://www.facebook.com/cjarcher.writes

I'll be doing further giveaways throughout the month. Oh, and I almost have a new cover for A Secret Life. Can't wait to share. It's absolutely gorgeous!

Interview with NYT Bestselling author Ruth Harris

2011-05-31T17:08:00.000-07:00

Today it's my great pleasure to interview New York Times bestselling author Ruth Harris. Ruth has sold many millions of copies around the world in hardcover and paperback editions and is now putting this backlist out in ebook format. Her fiction has been translated into 19 languages, published in 25 countries and selected by the Literary Guild and Book-of-the-Month Club. She lives in New York City with her husband, writer Michael Harris, author of Always On Sunday and The Atomic Times.

Welcome Ruth. Can you tell us about your books.

I write about women for women. I began writing seriously as the women’s movement of the Seventies transformed women’s personal and professional lives. That transformation with its promises and pitfalls continues today and affects every area of women’s experiences. How can a writer not be excited by such a vast revolution? Because, of course, what changes women’s lives and expectations also impacts the lives of men, presenting the writer with a ready-made palette of conflict, confusion and choice.

You're a traditionally published author who's gone indie. What led you down this path?

I started out in publishing during the post-pulp resurgence of mass market paperbacks. It was an exciting time with lots of interesting new work being published—some of it successful, some not. The e-publishing movement so many years later is another publishing revolution. So in a way it seems familiar.

What advice have you got for authors thinking of going the indie route?

1. Be prepared for much more work than you thought! Between writing, editing, formatting, creating your cover and blurb and promoting, you will be plenty busy!

2. Don’t be afraid to change: if your cover or your blurb or your title sucks, change it.

3. You will feel overwhelmed at times. You should be prepared and have a plan for dealing with those frantic OMG!-What-do-I-do-next? moments.

4. Most important: be absolutely positive that your book represents your best possible work. Hire an editor if you need one.

What's next on the desk of Ruth Harris?

I am continuing to release my backlist in e-reader formats. When I’m finished—by the end of the year if all goes according to plan—I will publish new work in digital versions.

Thank you, Ruth. To purchase any of Ruth's book, click on the links below to be taken to the Amazon page.

Interview with contemporary romance author Lisa Scott

2011-05-27T20:58:00.000-07:00

Lisa Scott is a writer of sweet, fun romances as well as stories for middle grade children. I recently read Lisa's novella, Spouse Hunting, and smiled the whole way through it. It was a delightful, quick and thoroughly engaging story and I highly recommend it to anyone who loves contemporary romances that leave you with that warm fuzzy feeling at the end.

Hi Lisa and thanks for agreeing to be interviewed. Can you tell us about your book.

Like many writers, I get story ideas from the things happening around me. When I was in the process of house hunting, I realized what an intimate process it can be. You’re sharing your hopes and dreams and private details of your life with a stranger, sometimes alone in a house together. And I thought hmm…there’s a story there.

In Spouse Hunting, Elizabeth Marshall is giving up on her happily ever after. But it just might find her anyway. While helping her younger sister plan her over the top wedding (think confetti cannons and doves) Elizabeth decides she wants something in her lonely life. And she thinks that’s a house—until she meets her realtor, Henry Watson. But she won’t admit what’s she’s searching for isn’t made of bricks and mortar. Henry’s usually all business, but he’s using some unorthodox tactics to romance her into buying a home. Can they both see there’s more than a deal at stake before the whole thing goes bust?

Who are your favorite writers?

I love Jennifer Crusie, Jodi Picoult, Karen Templeton. Anyone who can make me laugh and cry.

Who are you favorite literary characters?

Jamie and Claire from Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander series are real people in my mind. When I’m in the middle of one of her mammoth novels and I don’t have the book cracked opened, I find myself thinking, “I wonder what those two are doing right now.” What a gift to create living, breathing characters like that.

Tell us about your path to becoming an indie author.

The waiting game was the clincher for me. I’d gone the agent route with some other works and come close. Then I wrote my first romance and submitted directly to the publisher. I didn’t hear back for months and months and was sure they didn’t want it. I entered a few pitch contests with no success. I was getting so frustrated with the publishing game I decided I wasn’t going to write anymore. But it felt like I’d broken up with a guy I really, truly loved. I was miserable wanting to write, but not wanting to play the game. Then I started reading about indie publishing and it sounded like a perfect fit. I’m a freelance voice artist, so I’m used to working independently and relished the idea of being in control. So I got that romance novel all set to release on Amazon.

And while it was in the queue to go live? I got a request for the full from the publisher. Such is the irony of my life. It took some debating before I decided to take it down and send it off to the publisher. So while waiting on the fate of that novel, I released my novella, Spouse Hunting. And strangely enough while writing up this interview, I got an offer of representation for my middle grade work. I think it would be great to have a foot in both the traditional and indie publishing worlds, and I think middle grade is a tough sell right now for an indie. Not too many kids have ereaders yet. The agent I’m signing with is fine with my indie romance pursuits. I think it’s going to be a good match.

Fantastic! I love the idea of indie and traditional publishing co-existing. It's the best of both worlds. So what has been your experience as an indie author so far? The good and the bad.

There’s a very big learning curve at the beginning, which can be intimidating. And the marketing part can be overwhelming. But I’m waiting until I build up my list with a few more titles before launching a really big marketing push. You have to figure out the path and techniques that are right for your particular situation. There is no one right plan for every author out there.

The good news? While it might seem like a solo venture you’re undertaking, the community of indie authors is amazing and ready to help new authors. You don’t always see that kind of support and idea sharing. I’m shocked at how kind and generous folks have been on sites like the kindle boards, such as the lovely CJ Archer!

Awe shucks, thanks. What advice have you got for authors thinking of going the indie route?

Be prepared for a slow start. Do not get discouraged, especially when you hear about the people selling thousands of books in a month and you’re doing the happy dance over one sale per day. Also, have your social networks in place before launching (she says, while revamping her website, blog and facebook page.)

What's next on the desk of Lisa Scott?

I’m finishing up a series of funny, sweet romantic short stories called Heart Breaks. Each volume will contain five short stories ranging in length from 8,000-12,000 words each. It’s a substantial story, but short enough to squeeze into a busy schedule. It’s like the candy bar of romances: a sweet little treat that makes you go, “Mmm, that was good. Give me another.” (There’s a sample of the first story, “The Hot Girl’s Friend” at the end of Spouse Hunting.)

Thank you, Lisa, and good luck with ALL your writing ventures in the future.

Putting all your eggs in 1 basket can be messy if the basket breaks

2011-05-26T03:07:00.000-07:00

Like most indie authors I make most of my sales from Amazon, the US site not their UK or German sites. Some sales trickle in through B&N, Apple, Sony and others but nowhere near the Amazon numbers. Some indies do better than me at B&N or other bookstores but the majority of us get our money from Amazon.

And this worries me. It's worried me for some time. Now Amazon isn't about to go bust, but that doesn't mean it can't change the way it sells books. The thing Amazon does better than anyone is getting books in front of the right readers. So my historical romance might be displayd on the same page of a Ms. Bestselling-Author's historical romance under the "Customers who Bought This Item Also Bought" bar. Ms. Reader comes along to buy Ms. Bestselling-Authors book but she has a few more minutes and a few more dollars to spend and she likes the cover of mine. She clicks on it, reads the blurb, tries the sample and thinks its worth risking $2.99 on a new author. So she buys my book. Voila, a sale is made. It's a fantastic marketing tool, for Amazon and for authors. I believe that's why Amazon are at the top of their game, and why most indie authors sell more there than anywhere else - we're given exposure.

BUT. What happens if the Also Bought bar fails - you know, simply has a computer glitch and doesn't show up? What happens if the servers go down? Even more scary - what happens if Amazon decide they want to downplay certain types of books, or books by certain authors or certain publishing houses? They can do it.

Yesterday something happened at Amazon that highlighted (with fluorescent pink and underlined in bold) the precarious situation I and other indies are in. For an entire afternoon and evening (Melbourne time) I had no sales for any of my books. I have around 60 sales a day, sometimes down to 50 or up to 80. By the end of yesterday I had 23 and those were all before lunch.

And I wasn't the only one. Over on Kindleboards we chat about these things, sometimes excessively, but always openly. Everyone with good sales recorded the same issue. Not a single sale for several hours. People were getting less than half their usual numbers. It was clear (to us at least) that something over at Amazon was either not working (maybe their reporting function) or they'd changed the algorithms.

The wierdest part was that rankings stayed around the same. That either means the sales were made but haven't been reported yet OR that everyone was in the same boat and hardly any books sold at all during that time.

Either way, it's wierd and its scary. I don't want to be beholden to one company.

So if you want to buy my books, maybe you could try buying them from Apple or B&N instead. Just sayin'.

Author Interview: Miriam Minger

2011-05-24T16:37:00.000-07:00

Today I have the great pleasure in interviewing historical romance author, Miriam Minger. Miriam is a fellow indie author whose books are doing exceptionally well. In this interview she shares a little bit about herself and her path to indie success.

Tell us about your books:

My ten award-winning historical romances were first published in New York, but are now enjoying an amazing second life as ebooks. I regained the rights some years ago and re-published my backlist under my own company, Walker Publishing, in late 2010. To say I am grateful for this turn of events and the phenomenal popularity of ebooks and ereaders is an understatement! I’ve also published my first inspirational thriller--Blood Son under the pseudonym M.C. Walker--exclusively as an ebook.

Who are your favorite authors?

I’ve always loved Johanna Lindsey’s books and she probably influenced me the most in my own writing. Other favorites are Ciji Ware, Kathleen Woodiwiss, Teresa Medeiros, Tami Hoag, Iris Johansen, and Deanne Gist.

Tell us about your path to becoming an indie writer:

It took a bit to understand the process of becoming an indie writer and, of course, things looked more complicated than they turned out to be. It just took some time to pull everything together. I hired some folks to help me with formatting my books, and my talented cover designer Kim Killion created the wonderful branded look of my ebook covers. Then it was just a matter of uploading everything to Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Smashwords—and I was good to go! Those were happy days for me to finally have my books available again to be read and enjoyed.

What has been your experience as an indie author so far?

My experience as an indie author has been very positive and a lot of fun. The promotion aspect does take time, but it’s all worth it when you see your sales numbers rising every month. Three of my historical romances--Secrets of Midnight, Wild Angel, and The Pagan’s Prize—have made it onto Amazon’s Top 100 lists for historical romance! You also meet lots of great indie authors on forums such as Kindleboards.com and through Facebook and Twitter, so that’s a bonus.

What advice have you got for authors thinking of going the indie route?

Persistence and patience do pay off. Just hang in there, be positive, and be proud of yourself for simply publishing your novel. That in of itself is an amazing achievement.

What's next on the desk of Miriam Minger?

I’m working on several historical romance novella ideas and a full-length contemporary thriller. I’m also exploring the possibility of publishing my children’s books written under the name Miriam Aronson—the popular Little Mike and Maddie series about a lovable pair of dogs and their motorcycle adventures—as animated ebooks. Becoming an indie author is a grand adventure and I’m so thrilled to be a part of the changing face of publishing.

Thank you, Miriam! The children's book sounds gorgeous and I really like the animation idea. I think enhanced ebooks are the way of the future, and children in particular will love them. I wish you more success in your future writing adventures.

You can find out more about Miriam here:

Miriam's website
Miriam's Amazon Kindle page
B&N Nook
Smashwords

#samplesunday: A Secret Life (4th installment)

2011-05-21T17:45:00.000-07:00

I've been having so much fun with these #samplesunday posts that I've decided to keep going with A Secret Life. You can read the other installments here, here and here. I haven't posted the rest of the scene from the last installment but jumped a few pages ahead. The reason? This is one of my favorite parts in the book. I hope you like it to.

Don't forget you can buy A Secret Life for $2.99 from Amazon, Amazon UK and Smashwords.

Robert Blakewell watched her approach along busy Gracechurch Street. Her black woolen cloak flapped in the wind, exposing the light blue of her gown beneath. She was too far away to determine if she wore the same patched-up cloak as yesterday or if the gown was long out of fashion. The tall black silk hat certainly was. His mother had worn that style several years ago.

She pulled the edges of the cloak together and tugged the brim of her hat down, obscuring her face. It was her though. He knew it by the way she walked. Erect, purposeful, prim. A gentlewoman's walk. One fallen on hard times it would seem. She wore no gloves today and he found himself staring at her long, fine fingers.

Min, she said her name was. Unusual. Like her. He'd never met such a pretty and plainspoken woman outside his own family circle. As with his mother and sister, Min had a quick mind to go with the pouting mouth and big eyes. A combination that had got his sister into trouble.

It had almost got Min into trouble too if his reaction to her was anything to go by. He'd got a handful of soft curves when he caught her. And those lips—full and only a twitch away from a smile. When he'd touched them, he'd almost kissed her. The urge had been powerful and immediate.

He'd not succumbed yesterday. Today...well, he would see. A lot depended on what Style said. More than Blake liked to admit. The irony was, he had no alternative plan. If Min hadn't chosen him, he could still be trying to find a way into the company of players that called themselves Lord Hawkesbury's Men. He knew what had to be done once he was inside, it was the introduction that had eluded him.

Until yesterday when Min had chosen him. Out of all the men lingering in the vicinity, she'd fixed on Blake for some reason of her own. The hardest part was over. Now all he had to do was find out which of the troupe's swine turds deserved to have their balls removed for what they'd done to Lilly.

Min continued towards him, her head down, not watching where she was going. Again. He shook his head. Hadn't she learned from the last time? Just as she was about to pass him, he stepped in front of her.

She bumped into him and he caught her shoulders, stopping her falling on her arse.

"What—?" She shook herself free then, several moments too late, finally looked up at him. "Oh. Blake." Recognition dissolved the irritation in her gray eyes.

"Hoping to avoid me?" he said.

Her gaze didn't quite meet his. He had his answer.

"It's too late to back out now," he said. "I'm here. And I think I'd like to be a playwright."

She scanned the faces of passersby, perhaps searching for the elaborately feathered hat Style seemed to favor. Or perhaps she was simply avoiding looking at Blake. "Part of me was hoping you wouldn't be here," she admitted.

"Sorry to disappoint you."

"No you're not." She chewed her lower lip and he lifted a hand to stop her destroying the succulent morsel, but dropped it before she noticed. Touching her had shocked his senses awake. He couldn't risk touching her again.

"You see, it's just that...I really don't..."

"Want me to ruin this opportunity for you?"

"That's it!" She smiled at him, leaving her harried lip alone. "Thank you for understanding. So you'll leave?"

"No."

Her face fell. More lip chewing. Reading her emotions was like reading a book, and not a very difficult one. "Perhaps you could hide then," she said. "Just over there." She nodded in the direction of a tavern where several barrels were being unloaded from a cart. A group of men, some swaying, one singing loudly and out of tune, hovered around the barrels like flees on a dog. He grunted. If he was going to hide, he wouldn't choose a place where he'd stand out like a mermaid on a rock.

"No," he said again. "I'm staying here. I want to meet Style."

She stared at him for a long moment. He accepted the challenge and stared back. It gave him a chance to study her. A splash of freckles decorated both cheeks, and one had slipped down to the corner of her mouth, giving the impression she was constantly smiling. Her nose was slightly crooked and a tiny pock scar marked her chin. Her hair was tucked tightly beneath her hat so that not a strand escaped but he could see that it was fair with only a hint of red, not quite as dark as the queen's. It reminded him of sunrise over a Saracen desert.

Ha! Poetry. Any half-wit could do it.

Min clicked her tongue. "Very well, you may stay," she said as if it had been up to her. "But," she pointed a finger at him, "do not speak to Style unless he directly asks you a question. I'll do all the talking. And do not, under any circumstances, say anything about the play. I've told him you're shy, so...act shy. You can do that can't you?"

"I can try." He glanced towards the White Swan but Style was still nowhere to be seen. The company's performance for the day had ended a while ago and yet he'd not appeared amongst the audience leaving the inn.

The crowd was thinner today. Word must have spread through the City that it was more interesting watching two ants crawling up a wall than the dung Lord Hawkesbury's Men called a play. He wondered if Min's play was any better. It couldn't be much worse. But what if it wasn't good enough?

Blake would need to find another way, that's what. He could just barge in, fists and accusations flying, but Lilly wouldn't speak to him if she ever found out. No, he needed to be more subtle. Damn. He wasn't very good at subtle.

Thank god for Min.

"However," Blake went on, "perhaps you should tell me about your play so I can answer any questions he may ask me directly." Better to be armed and ready than caught unprepared.

"He won't."

"He might."

"Very well," she said and he was surprised that she acquiesced so easily. She'd seemed ready for a battle. He even looked forward to one. "It's set in Ancient Rome and is about a young couple who fall in love but through a series of unfortunate events directed by the Gods, they're kept apart. It's too complicated to go into more detail."

"It's a tragedy?"

"No, a comedy."

"A romance?"

"Yes."

He watched her, trying to determine if she was being serious or making fun of him. By the set of her jaw, she didn't look like she was about to laugh. Bollocks.

Facts On Friday: William Shakespeare's Lost Years

2011-05-19T21:29:00.000-07:00

Before we get onto the Bard, I just want to point to a fantastic review I received from review blog Once Upon A Chapter. I don't usually do this, but I've been told I need to blow my own trumpet more so this time I'm going to make an exception. The review is for Honor Bound and the reviewer gave it an A, the highest rating. You can read it here: http://www.onceuponachapter.com/2011/05/review-honor-bound-by-cj-archer.html

Now onto the Bard. What a man. Seriously, Shakespeare is a phenomenon. Derided by his contemporaries for not being university-educated, for being too "country" and for writing low-brow plays in order to appeal to a mass audience, he's now an icon. To all you genre writers out there - does any of this sound familiar??

Today we consider him a master. His plays are still performed and many of phrases have entered into our everyday lexicon. I'll never forget seeing Taming Of The Shrew performed while in high school. It was amazing and brought the dry text we were forced to read to life. That's the way he should be experienced.

But what do we really know about his life? Well, we know he was born in Stratford-Upon-Avon and was raised there. He married Anne Hathaway at the age of 18 and had 3 children. We know his plays were performed in London from around 1592 until his death in 1616.

So what happened before 1592?

Scholars think he was in London, acting in smaller companies and writing on the side. He might have been traveling the countryside with a troupe, or he could have been having "dalliances" while his wife was stuck with the kids back in Stratford. It's likely that some of his plays were performed during this time because in 1593 he is famously derided by a university-educated rival, Robert Greene, for being an "upstart crow".

The Globe theater, London

Whatever Shakespeare was really up to in this time, it's entirely feasible he was working as an actor in my fictional theater troup, Lord Hawkesbury's Men, in 1589 when I set A Secret Life. At least I like to think so but then again what would I know - I'm just a low-brow genre writer.

The Story Behind The Story

2011-05-17T16:42:00.000-07:00

Fiction writers get asked where their ideas come from all the time. For me, sometimes I'll get the seed of an idea from watching a TV show or reading another book, but by the time I've thought the idea through to the end, the story is completely different to the original source of inspiration. At other times I consciously know what elements I want to put into a book, and that's what happened with A Secret Life, my latest historical romance.

A Secret Life is set in Elizabethan England, like many of my other books. I love this time period and I've researched it extensively over the years. Back when I had an agent and she couldn't sell my paranormal Elizabethans, she suggested I write something more commercial without paranormal. I wanted to stick with the Elizabethan period because I'd already done the research and I just flat-out loved the era.

So how to make the next book more commercial than the others? When we think of this time period we think of Shakespeare and theaters and maybe the Virgin Queen herself. At least I do. Right, so put a tick next to The Bard.

I also love strong heroines, something that's not always easy to have in an historical when women had few rights, but what if my heroine was different to other women of the time? And how could I incorporate that into a theater setting? The movie Shakespeare in Love did the wannabe-girl-actor-dressed-as-boy thing so I needed something different. I chose a theme close to my heart - writing stories. In Minerva Peabody's case, writing plays. Women playwrights were unheard of back then, in which case she would need to have a man pretend to be the playwright while she was the one who did the real work. Kind of like Remington Steele (showing my age now).

Unfortunately Minerva didn't think of that idea until the last moment and the first man to catch her eye was the one she chose to play the part. Lucky for her, he was more than willing. Unlucky for her, he has an ulterior motive, one that will destroy her dream if he is to succeed.

I set A Secret Life in what is now known as "Shakespeare's lost years" so I could have a bit of fun with him as a secondary character without stomping all over historical accuracy. Scholars know he came to London in the late 1580's but there is no further record of him until about 1593. It's presumed he was acting during this time and writing on the side. Kind of like most writers today who need day jobs to pay the bills while pursuing their hobby of writing a book.

So a little bit of Shakespeare and Remington Steele, and a lot of research into Elizabethan theaters and several months later I had a novel I was proud of. I wrote it about three or four years ago and it didn't sell although it went up the editorial chain at one of the big NY publishing houses.

I can't wait to see how it'll go out there in the big wide world where the readers, and only the readers, get to decide what's worth reading.

#samplesunday: A Secret Life (3rd installment)

2011-05-14T17:09:00.000-07:00

Apparently someone decided it's short story month. Since I love short stories and I love these random month dedications, I've made my 23,000 word historical romance novella The Mercenary Price free until the end of May on Smashwords. Just go to the Smashwords page https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/40925 and use the coupon code RX58H.

Now, onto #samplesunday. Today I'm continuing my historical romance, A Secret Life, which is set in the theater world of Shakespeare's Elizabethan London. It's just been released (yay!) on Amazon, Amazon UK and Smashwords which both have longer excerpts to sample if this isn't enough. In the mean time, you can read the first #samplesunday installment here and the second here. Today's excerpt leads directly on from these.

CHAPTER 2

Min found her father in his study exactly how she'd left him two hours before—bent over a book, his nose grazing the pages. Granted his nose was considerable in length but it looked as if he was trying to inhale the words rather than read them.

"Father, why don't you move closer to the window where the light's better. You'll hurt your eyes reading like that." She didn't suggest he light a candle—they couldn't afford the expense of wax ones and he refused to have any stinking tallow in the house unless absolutely necessary.

He didn't answer her, didn't even acknowledge her entry. She placed a hand over the book.

Sir George looked up, a frown on his forehead and a chastisement on his lips. Then he saw her and smiled. "Oh, it's you, Minerva."

"Who did you think it was?"

"Jane, telling me dinner is ready. That's how she usually attracts my attention."

"I've just seen Jane in the kitchen. Your dinner is there for you, where it has been for hours. She already told you it was ready, as did I before I went out."

"You've been out?" He removed his spectacles and scrunched up his eyes. "Where did you go?"

She removed a glove, careful not to spray droplets of rain over his papers. "I had a few errands to run."

"I trust you took Jane."

"She has enough work to do here. And anyway, I wasn't at the market so there was nothing for her to carry."

"Minerva. We've spoken about this." He rose and came round his desk to face her. Concern edged his tired eyes. "If you wish to go out, you must take a servant."

"Father, we only have one servant left and she's overworked as it is."

"Her work will be here when she returns." He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "What's got into you lately? You never used to go out alone."

True. She didn't. But so much had changed in the last year and the greatest of those changes had been to Min herself. "I'm older now and I wish to go out without a chaperone on occasion. Besides, we simply cannot spare Jane." Not since they had to let four other servants go. And certainly not since Min started going to the theatre as often as possible.

Her father's income from his one remaining benefactor simply couldn't stretch to five servants plus the large Blackfriars house. Retaining only one maid and moving to a smaller residence near Gracechurch Street had eased the burden, but for how long? What more could be done? Min made economies wherever she could and helped Jane with her duties. The maid was in her mid-forties, advancing years for a domestic servant, and yet she was doing more than ever. It broke Min's heart to see Jane rub her back only to stop and smile at Min whenever she caught her watching.

They needed more money, but with only one patron, her father would never be able to fund the entire household. And Sir George wasn't likely to find any more noblemen willing to endorse him after he lost his own fortune plus the fortunes of several investors when the Lucinda May foundered on a reef on its maiden voyage with her father's latest invention on board. An invention that was supposed to determine a ship's position with absolute certainty and thus avoid such reefs. Of course, Sir George claimed his invention was accurate but the location of the reef on the maps was not. His investors weren't quite so eager to disparage the queen's map makers and so all funding came to an abrupt halt. Almost all. Min thanked Heaven for Lord Pilkington every day, even though he was unwilling to give more.

Once favored by the queen and touted by Drake as the man who would save thousands of lives and fortunes from sinking into foreign seas, Min's father was now considered a "high risk". As such, funds for his research dried up. In a world where the New Sciences were the latest fashion, her father was the hat that everyone wanted to wear last year but was now gathering dust in the bottom of a chest beneath newer, fancier hats. If it wasn't for Lord Pilkington, a somewhat stuffy and pompous viscount and her father's only remaining friend from their old life, they would be destitute.

"Have you been to the theatre again?" Sir George pointed his spectacles at her. "I've told you, it's a dangerous place for a lady."

"Many ladies attend the theatre, Father." Some of them are even respectable.

He tipped his head to the side. "Alone?"

She sighed. He was right. Why was it that the only thing to draw him away from his calculations and paperwork was something she'd wanted him not to notice? Fate was being particularly cruel—first Blake and now her father. What next?

"I do not entirely discourage you from attending the theatre, Minerva. I am an enlightened man and despite what some of the City's aldermen think, I believe the theatre is an innocent enough pastime for people of all ranks and sexes. But need I remind you, you are the daughter of a knight, and as such you should be accompanied to places like that?"

She should have known there would be a "but". There usually was when they spoke about the theatre or her writing of plays.

"So if you hadn't been knighted," she said, "I could have gone to the theatre alone?" She crossed her arms. "That is hardly fair."

"That is not what I'm saying. Do not twist my words." He sighed and shook his head. "Child, the theatre is full of vagabonds and disreputable men looking to stir up trouble."

"It is also full of nobles and knights and their daughters."

He put his spectacles back on and regarded her down the length of his nose with a stern eye that showed no signs of its former tiredness. Oh dear. She'd overstepped the boundary, the invisible line that once crossed, reminded her father that he was the master of their little family unit, even if an absent-minded one at times.

"I do think your time could be better spent here writing up my notes," he said, "but if you must go to the theatre on the odd occasion do not go alone anymore. I forbid it." He suddenly brightened. "Why not go with Ned?"

"Ned?" she spluttered. "But I'm not wed and he's neither my relative nor a servant. How is that appropriate?"

"I trust him."

He obviously hadn't seen the way Ned looked at her. Not surprising since her father was usually buried in his study when Ned came to pay his respects.

She shook her head. That wasn't entirely fair. Ned might have a tendency to speak to her breasts and not her face, but Sir George was right in that Ned was harmless enough. Perhaps that was his problem. He simply wasn't...interesting.

Now Blake was Interesting with a capital I. Interest throbbed from every inch of his flesh. She would be seeing him again tomorrow, with Roger Style. A little tingle whispered across her skin but she couldn't be sure if it was in anticipation of seeing Blake again or hearing what Style had to say about her play.

"Anyway," she added, "Ned doesn't approve of the theatre."

"That's why I find him a suitable companion for you. He'll be a steady influence."

Meaning she was prone to fancy? She was about to argue the point but, once again, he was right. She could sometimes be a very practical person like her father, but she had a strong poetic streak embedded deep within her. She could happily spend hours dreaming up stories. When once she used to sit by the window, now she helped Jane with the dishes or laying fresh rushes, any repetitive task that didn't require her mind to be present. Instead, it could wander to foreign lands and save kingdoms or meet princes. It certainly made the chores go faster.

All except the chore of writing up her father's notes, the one task she had to think about and the one task he noticed when it wasn't done. The dust could be as thick as her forefinger on the furniture and he'd say nothing, but if she failed to write up his notes from the previous day, he would subject her to a lecture about the duties of an educated daughter.

In the absence of a son, he had seen fit to have his only child tutored in the works of Ovid and Cicero amongst others. She'd been able to read Latin and Greek as well as any boy and had a solid understanding of mathematics by the age of thirteen. By eighteen she knew the works of astronomers Copernicus and Werner backwards. Sir George often reminded her that with an education and brain exceeding that of most men her duty was to use it to assist him in his research. God, and Sir George, would be offended by the waste otherwise.

Sir George returned to his chair, a sign he was finished with the conversation and wished to return to work. He picked up his book, scrunched up his eyes and peered at the pages. With a click of his tongue, he shifted his chair closer to the window but the light had faded considerably since Min's entrance and he tossed the book back onto the desk in disgust.

"Jane!" he bellowed. "Fetch candles. Wax not tallow. Min," he said, softer, "have you finished the paper I asked you to copy?"

The paper! Oh no. Min swallowed. "Not quite, Father."

"But you've had it for days." He sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Very well, fetch what you've done and we can go through it together. I'm not entirely happy with it. Perhaps your fresh mind can see problems in the theory where mine can't."

"Ah... Yes. I mean, no, perhaps it'll be best if we go through it all when it's done. I'll have the complete picture then and it'll be easier to—."

Sir George's hand slammed on the desk. Min jumped. A scroll rolled onto the floor and ink sloshed over the side of an inkwell. "You haven't done it, have you?"

Update Time

2011-05-10T21:39:00.000-07:00

Several things have been happening in my writing world lately. Firstly, I just finished writing the first draft of A Secret Desire which is the second book in my Lord Hawkesbury's Players historical romance trilogy. A Secret Life is the first. I've already released A Secret Life on Smashwords purely because it takes time to filter to other bookstores, but I plan on releasing it in the next few days on Amazon.

I haven't yet decided what price to release it at there.

Speaking of prices, Amazon have finally put the price of Honor Bound up to $2.99 which is what I set it at back at the beginning of this month. They've been discounting it which they sometimes do if the book is cheaper elsewhere. This happens because Smashwords distributes slowly to its affiliates, and any price changes can take several days to kick in at B&N, Kobo etc.

But guess what! Sales for Honor Bound haven't stopped. They've slowed, yes, and it's dropping in ranking but they haven't died altogether. I think this is a good thing but ask me again in a week or two. As long as I don't sell one sixth of what I was selling when it was 99 cents then I'm better off financially. For now, I'm happy with the price and I think it needs to sit at this point for a good month before I make a decision about whether it was right or wrong to change it.

There's been a lot of talk in author circles about whether indie publishing is a good thing lately, and what the future of publishing is. No one really knows. The landscape is rocky and hazy. All I know for certain is that in MY case, indie publishing is the right thing for ME to do right now. Tomorrow, it may not be. You can read what the grand dames of romance, Barbara Samuel and Jenny Crusie, have to say about it over at Crusie's blog here and here.

Stay tuned for more details of A Secret Life's release onto Amazon. And if you can't wait, please check it out at Smashwords. Here's the cover again:

#samplesunday: A Secret Life (2nd installment)

2011-05-08T03:33:00.000-07:00

This excerpt of A Secret Life (my next release) is taken from the end of the first chapter. It comes almost immediately after the last #samplesunday excerpt which you can read here. To recap, Min is a struggling playwright in Elizabethan England who wants to have her play performed on stage but she's been rejected by every theater company manager in London. She's trying one last time but has been told by Roger Style, the manager for Lord Hawkesbury's Men, that women can't write plays. So she picked a man out of the crowd and pretended he was the real writer. She's chatting to him now, after Style has left and agreed to read the play. It's a short excerpt and a rather fun one so I hope you'll stick with it.

"Style wouldn't read a play written by a woman. So I told him a man wrote it." She took a precautious step away from him but it didn't weaken his effect on her. It would require the distance of oceans to achieve that—no, not even then. "In short, I told him you wrote it."

"Me?"

"Yes. You."

"Why me?"

Because you have amazing eyes and broad shoulders. She shrugged. "You were standing about, not doing anything in particular and...because you were watching me."

"I thought we cleared that up. I wasn't watching you." Amusement flared in those blue depths again. Min found it irritating, despite her attraction. "However if it pleases your playwright's fancy to think that I was, then go ahead and indulge in that fantasy."

Heat flared from her throat to her hairline. "Your eyes were pointed at me, Sir. And since my eyes are in perfect working order, I do not think I was mistaken."

He sighed and looked heaven-ward as if seeking a sign. He muttered something she couldn't hear then returned his gaze to her. "I wasn't watching you, I was watching your companion."

The sound of her vanity bursting momentarily filled her ears. Her heart dipped. It really was her own silly fault to have assumed he had been watching her. She was hardly the sort of woman to inspire a man like him to spend his afternoon staring at a stranger.

She tucked a stray lock of hair back into her hood. "Style? But why?"

He hesitated, just a little, then said, "I want to join his company."

"Lord Hawkesbury's Men? As what?"

He shrugged. "In any capacity. And it seems, madam, that you have helped my plight."

She didn't believe him. He didn't even know Style was the manager of Lord Hawkesbury's Men until she'd told him and now he wanted to work for Style's company? She wasn't a fool.

But why lie? What did this man have to hide?

And what had she got herself into by using him?

Whatever it was, it seemed only fair that he now use her. That would teach her not to think her schemes through properly before opening her mouth.

The stranger rubbed his stubbly chin, lost in thought. "Are you going to see Style again about your play?"

"Yes."

"When and where?"

"Why?" A sense of foreboding congealed in her stomach.

"Just answer the question."

"What if I don't want to?"

"Then I will follow you and tell your father or husband or whoever is head of your household that you have been consorting with theatrical types."

Her jaw hurt. She forced it to move so she could say: "Consorting?"

"They can put their own interpretation on the word." He blinked lazily.

Min wanted to scratch those too-blue eyes out, wanted to punch him on the chin like an insulted man would. But she wasn't a man and he wasn't like any man she'd encountered. He was much too magnificent a beast to respond to such pettiness. "Is your name Lucifer by any chance?"

His cheek twitched. "No."

She spun round and strode off, hating God, the devil and whatever witchcraft had sent this man to her. Walk away. Walk far away from him now. "I'm meeting Style back here tomorrow at this time," she shot back over her shoulder. By then she would be fully recovered from this girlish folly.

Her dramatic exit was ruined when he fell into step alongside her. "To make our ruse seem authentic," he said, "we'd best exchange names. I'm Blake."

A fat drop of rain exploded on her nose and she swiped it with her sleeve. "Is that a first name or last?" she said, flipping up the hood of her cloak.

"It's what you can call me. And you?"

More drops fell. She picked up her pace and headed for shelter. The overhanging upper stories of the houses and shops lining the narrow street provided perfect cover for London's fickle weather. The paved surface quickly became slippery and little rivulets began to trickle between the stones, bringing with it mud, horse dung and refuse from nearby Leadenhall Market. Min kept her gaze down and dodged the worst in her haste to reach dryness.

Suddenly a solid arm circled her waist and jerked her back into an equally solid body. "Watch it," Blake murmured in her ear. A barrel-sized man stumbled past, too intent on his wineskin to notice anyone or anything in his path.

Min looked once again into the eyes of her savior. No, not her savior. She really must stop thinking of him as that.

But he had just saved her from being knocked over and landing on her rear in the muck. And he was staring at her again, this time with an odd expression that she couldn't decipher.

She smiled tentatively and placed a hand on the arm that still held her snugly against his body. Beneath the leather doublet, she could feel thick muscle. Or was it padding? It was hard to tell so she squeezed. Definitely not padding.

He suddenly let her go with a grunt and glanced around as if looking for any more hazards. Raindrops splashed off his shoulders and plastered his hair to his face. "You should watch where you're going," he said.

She huddled into her coat but it was too thin and had too many holes to be effective against the damp. "Min."

His gaze shifted to her. Water dripped from the ends of his hair and lashes but he didn't seem to care. "Pardon?"

"You can call me Min."

"Min." She thought he would ask her about her name but he didn't. He bowed slightly. "I'll see you here tomorrow, Min." He turned back the way they'd come, his stride leisurely compared to the few remaining people who scurried like ants to get out of the rain.

Min raced off in the opposite direction, resisting the urge to look back at him. She wouldn't give into temptation. She still had enough self-control to resist the blue-eyed Lucifer.

Her resistance lasted all the way to the corner where she weakened and snuck a peak.

Blake was gone.

April Sales At Amazon Kindle

2011-05-02T16:34:00.000-07:00

The figures are in for April and WOW, what a month it's been for me. Remember I started this adventure at the end of January with 1 book. I now have 4. Here's the story (and numbers) so far:

January - 1 sale
February - 90
March - 367
April - 1711

This is for Amazon US and UK combined but I could count the number of sales for each book using my fingers, so the vast majority are from the US store. I'm not counting Smashwords sales which are minimal or other stores Smashwords distributes to since those figures haven't come in and won't for some time.

Now these numbers might be far below what the big boys are selling but I think it's pretty good for an unknown author with no backing from a major publishing house, no money for advertising and no idea what she's doing really. I've only been self-publishing for 3 full months and everything I've heard tells me it takes 6 to 12 months to get some traction.

Here's a pretty little graph because I love visuals:

Now for the analysis (because I'm a statistics nerd at heart).

As you can see from the graph, I've consistently put out new books. At the start of April, several things happened that I believe led to my amazing sales month.

I released Kiss Of Ash, book 2 in the Witchblade Chronicles
I lowered the price of book 1, Honor Bound, to 99 cents. I think this low price got it noticed. In fact 1 of the Amazon reviewers for it stated she bought the book simply because of the low price.
Honor Bound got featured on The Frugal eReader which gave it an immediate boost. The sales never dropped after that. In fact, they kept rising steadily. I just found out that Honor Bound was the number 6 bestseller for that site for April, behind Water For Elephants!
Thanks to the above 3 points, Honor Bound made it onto a few Amazon bestseller lists which further increased its exposure. It's currently hovering in the low 1,000's for the overall "Paid in Kindle Store" ebooks. It's around #30 in the Romance > Fantasy, Futuristic & Ghost category, and #65 for Romance > Historical, both of which are huge categories with thousands of ebooks in them.

What I find interesting is that The Adventures of Miss Upton and the Sky Pirate is my lowest selling book despite being in a supposedly "hot" genre. Could it be that steampunk romance isn't as hot as it's been made out to be? Has the airship already sailed? Or is my book just not good enough compared to my other books?

All in all, I can't wait to see what May brings. I hope the sales goes up, but if it doesn't that's OK. There's always June when I release A SECRET LIFE.

#samplesunday: A Secret Life

2011-04-30T20:54:00.000-07:00

I'm participating in #samplesunday again. This is where indie writers post a sample of their writing on their blog and tweet about it.

Here's the first chapter of next book, A SECRET LIFE. It's historical romance and you can read the blurb in this post. Enjoy!

London: Autumn 1589

Min had become accustomed to rejection. She even expected it. After all, she'd been rejected by every theatre company manager in London, sometimes more than once. Every time her play was rejected it felt like a little piece of her heart was stripped off and cast to the City's rats.

Now she stood face to face with the man capable of cutting it out completely. It was enough to make her stomach heave.

"Not you again." Roger Style stopped mid-stride and thrust both hands on hips exaggerated by his fashionably short trunkhose. He glanced up and down the street and must have realized he had nowhere else to go except past Min. Disgruntled theatre-goers, leaving the White Swan Inn after suffering through his latest play, surged down the narrow thoroughfare, buffeting him like an island in the middle of a rapidly flowing stream. The irony was, they wouldn't have been aware that he was the man responsible for the farce they'd paid good money to see.

However, the crowd wasn't so large that the buffeting would last long. Min had to take her chance—her one final grasp at her dream—while Style could not escape.

Drawing in a solid dose of courage along with a deep breath, she planted her booted feet on the muddy ground and held up her manuscript. The pages flapped in the chilly afternoon breeze. "Mr. Style, I'm simply asking that you read it. Just one little, quick read—."

"No." Style took a step closer. He was short, only a little taller than Min herself, but he had presence borne from years of acting in leading roles. It was an advantage he knew how to use.

Min refused to be intimidated. Again. She'd backed down from Style once already. She'd been very close to throwing her manuscript in the fireplace afterwards but sense had thankfully returned in time to save it from oblivion. She'd decided to have one last attempt with Style, the only manager desperate enough to look at a play written by a woman. Or so she hoped. She felt sure if he just read it, he would fall in love with it. Folly? Perhaps. Vanity? Certainly. Blind faith? Most definitely.

But she wouldn't give up. Not until she was sure he was rejecting it for the right reasons. It didn't look promising.

"Women don't write plays," Style said. He linked his hands behind his back, squared his shoulders and thrust out his chin. Or he would have if he had one. "In fact, due to the smallness of their brains, they cannot write plays. Alas, it is not of my doing, but God's." He indeed seemed quite apologetic on the Lord's behalf. "It is His will that the gentler sex be given the gifts of beauty and..." He waved his gloved hands as if conjuring a word out of the air. He looked like the wise old wizard he'd played on stage the month before in a rather forgettable play. "...other things. I would be doing you an injustice, my dear, to read the play you thrust beneath my nose. It would simply encourage you to write more. In that endeavor, your poor brain would not be able to cope with so much activity and, in short, it might expire. Nay! It would expire. I cannot have that on my conscience." He smiled down at her the way a master smiles down at his favorite puppy after it has pissed on the rushes—with strained patience as he knows it's not the puppy's fault.

Min almost bit her tongue off to refrain from saying something that would completely destroy her last chance. She might be desperate but she liked to think she wasn't a complete fool.

"Now, if you'll be so good as to step aside." He lifted thick, woolly brows, expectant.

Min gave him her best smile. The one she used on her father after telling him she'd failed to finish copying his notes because she'd been writing her play instead. The one that always worked. Almost always.

"Please, Mr. Style, I shall be indebted to you. I'm not asking for money." She put her right arm behind her back to hide the threadbare patch on the cloak sleeve. "Not much anyway. I simply want—."

"No." He sighed and rolled his eyes. "Would you like me to explain it to you again?" He tossed his head and nearly poked the eye out of a passerby with the long white plume decorating his hat. "Women cannot possibly write the sort of plays my company performs. The nuances, the rhythms, are simply too intricate for the poor female mind to comprehend."

"Many women attend your plays, Sir, and enjoy them." Used to enjoy them, she might have added. After the most recent outbreak of the plague, Lord Hawkesbury's Men—Style's company—could no longer be relied upon to entertain. With their chief playwright succumbing to the vile disease that had emptied the City and ravaged those who'd remained behind, the new plays had been awful. Not a single one had lasted more than two performances. Most not even that many.

As a consequence, audiences had dwindled. The one that turned out for this afternoon's performance had already turned into a trickle leaving the inn. That alone gave Min hope. A theatre company with a diminishing audience equated to a desperate manager. And desperate people took risks.

Style lifted a hand and caressed the air. "Watching them is one thing," he said, "writing them entirely another."

What remained of Min's heart sank into her stomach. It was hopeless. He wouldn't look at her play if his life depended upon it, or his livelihood as it were. She wasn't surprised. He wasn't the only manager who'd turned her down. He was simply the last. The very last.

The crowd had dispersed entirely, the gray clouds encouraging them to find shelter before the rain broke and made the roads slippery and their ruffs droop. Style moved to step around her.

That's when Min saw Him. Her Savior.

He leaned against the wall of a haberdasher's shop, arms and ankles crossed lazily. He was tall with dark hair and skin that spoke of warmer climes or an intriguing parentage. Unlike the gentlemanly fops she was familiar with, he wore simple black with no outrageously large buttons or elaborate embroidery and not a hint of jewelry, not even an earring. Even his ruff was small. She couldn't determine the material of his doublet and hose, but they fit him well. Not a sag in sight. A talented tailor had made them precisely for this man's body.

And what a body. Wide shoulders and a fine leg. Even from where she stood on the other side of Gracechurch Street she could see his calf was muscled and shapely.

All of these things made him stand out from the people around him, but it was his eyes that sent a shimmer of heat up her spine. Even at a distance she could see they were bright blue, the color of a summer sky. Amidst all that darkness, they were an oasis—vivid and glorious.

And they were staring straight at her.

"Wait!" She caught Style's arm, jerking him to a halt.

"My girl," he said with exaggerated effort, "I am very busy." He glanced back at the inn. Looking for assistance from his players? It was unlikely they would come to his aid—they were probably still downing their professional sorrows in the taproom. "Please remove yourself from my presence or I shall have to—."

"There's been a misunderstanding. I didn't write this play."

"Very well." He pried one of her fingers off his arm, using only his thumb and forefinger as if he might catch something from her.

"No, listen." As soon as he let go of her finger, she clamped it down on his arm again. "What I mean to say is, a woman didn't write this play, a man did."

Style frowned. "Then why didn't you tell me so before?"

She shrugged. She didn't have an answer for that. Not yet.

"Well, if you didn't," he said, "who did?"

"Him." The man's eyes had bewitched her. It was the only explanation as to why she was doing something so impulsive and foolish. That and an over-active imagination, as her father called it.

"Him?" Style's eyes narrowed as he studied the man.

The figure in question shifted, a barely noticeable stiffening of his back and shoulders. Min noticed it, however. She felt strangely in tune with him—like the fiddler off stage and dancer on it, they were separate and yet together. That must be how it is when one met one's Savior.

"Then why didn't he approach me himself instead of sending you?" Style cocked his head to the side without taking his gaze off the stranger.

"He's, er, shy." Min cringed. She might have an over-active imagination but it wasn't a particularly quick one.

"He doesn't look shy. He looks...interesting."

He most certainly did. Min had never seen a man quite like him. He exuded a self-contained power, and despite his lazy stance, she could see he was alert to his surroundings—a cat lazing in the sun but with a hungry eye on the mouse.

Or in this case, Min.

"Well, he is shy," she said. "Very."

"Let's meet him, shall we?"

"No!" She leaped in front of Style.

He peered over her head and frowned. "Oh. He's gone."

Thank you Lord. Min breathed out and managed a smile. "As I said. Shy."

"He shouldn't be. Men who look like that don't need to be shy. I wonder if he's ever thought of acting. He'd make quite a striking figure on stage."

"I'll ask him next time I see him." She held out her manuscript. "Will you read his play?"

Style took it and Min felt her heart rebuild itself in that instant. She didn't squeal in delight, but it was an effort not to.

"I'll read it tonight," he said.

"Wonderful. I'll meet you back here tomorrow, same time. You won't be disappointed, Sir."

Style cast his eye over the front page. "Bring the playwright."

"The...er, yes, of course. He'll be here." Her face heated at the lie.

"Good day, Mistress... What was your name?"

"Peabody. Minerva Peabody."

Style nodded and left, glancing left and right as he hurried the short distance to Gracechurch Street.

Min watched him go with a growing sense of exhilaration. He was going to read it! The battle was half won. She might finally, finally see her dream come to fruition. Her heart was whole again and tears welled in her eyes. It was almost too much. Two years of writing in moments snatched out of her day only to have her hopes ground under both feet of every theatre manager in London, and now she'd won this victory. It was minor really—he still had to read it and like it—but the victory felt like a giant leap forward. And it was all hers to savor and cherish.

She felt like she would burst if she didn't tell someone. But who? Her father would be angry that she'd wasted so much time on her play instead of helping him, and her friends didn't quite understand how much it meant to her. Those that knew she harbored the dream of being a playwright thought her mad, and they were few. Not even Ned would appreciate this moment. Especially Ned. He might be courting her but he understood her most precious dream least of all.

Min sighed. Her earlier enthusiasm faded like the setting sun. If only her mother was alive...

She turned to go. And bumped into a brick of a man. A big man, with strong hands that gripped her shoulders to steady her.

"I'm sorry," she said, peering up at him. "I—. Oh! It's you."

"Why were you watching me?" No preamble, no 'Are you all right?' or 'Hello, my name is Percy Percival, what's yours?'

Min swallowed and blinked up at the stranger with the too-blue eyes. He was quite overwhelming up close. From afar he'd been like an exotic delicacy—a delicious morsel that was, alas, out of her reach—but now she received the full force of his presence. Power rippled through his touch into her body, making the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stand to attention. His blue glare bored into her as if he were trying to extract the answer directly from her head. There was a jaded languor about those eyes, as if they'd seen too much but no longer cared.

She swallowed again. She really hoped his name wasn't Percy. That would be such a disappointment to her writer's sensibilities. Lucifer would be far more appropriate.

"I wasn't watching you," she said, her voice small. She cleared her throat. "Anyway, it was you who was watching me."

His gaze slid to her shoulders. As if he'd just realized he was still holding her, he let them go. "You are mistaken."

"I am not. You were looking directly at me for quite some time."

"No."

"No?"

"As I said, you're mistaken. I was merely looking in your general direction."

"At what precisely?"

A pulse throbbed in his cheek. "You ask a lot of questions."

"I'm merely curious. As a playwright, it helps to be curious about people. Besides, one question does not 'a lot' make. So, what or whom were you looking at if not at me?" She wasn't sure why she persisted. Perhaps it was to learn more about him. He might prove useful as the basis for one of her characters.

But, more truthfully, it was because she'd never met someone so formidable and yet so utterly compelling after such a brief encounter. She was a moth and he was much too bright a flame for her own good. It was futile to even resist. She had to know everything about him.

"That," he said in a tone that could have frozen the Thames, "is none of your business."

She sighed. Flame or no, he was harder to talk to than her father in the midst of his research.

"Are you going to tell me why you were looking at me or will I have to force it out of you?" he persisted.

She gasped. "Force? What kind of force?" She glanced around and wondered if any of the lingering youths or hawkers would come to her aid if she screamed. The street had become oddly quiet now that the performance was long over and the sky had turned sinister. Everyone must have gone home or into one of the nearby shops in anticipation of a downpour.

"You could always not answer the question to find out," he said. "If you're curious enough, that is."

He was toying with her. She was almost certain of it. He wasn't smiling and his eyes didn't sparkle, and yet there was a hint of mischief in his tone.

She crossed her arms. She didn't like to be teased. "My reason is not important."

"I'll be the judge of that." He crossed his arms too and suddenly he seemed even taller and far more intimidating than before. How did he do that with only a few small movements of muscle? "Who was that man with you?"

She saw no reason not to tell him. "Roger Style, manager and lead actor for Lord Hawkesbury's Men."

"The players?"

"Yes."

She thought she saw him smile but she must have been mistaken. He didn't look like a man who knew how to smile.

He glanced back at the White Swan Inn. "And that parcel you gave him was your play?"

"Yes."

"Ah. I see." He bent down to her level and pinned her to the spot with an unwavering glare. She tried to appear unfazed when all the while she was shivering on the inside. "So what, madam, does Roger Style and your play have to do with me?" She opened her mouth to utter whatever excuse came out first but he stopped her by pressing a finger to her lips. "No," he said. "I want a direct answer this time."

Facts On Friday: Weddings In Renaissance England

2011-04-28T23:47:00.000-07:00

Ahhhh love is in the air. Everyone's talking about the marriage between Wills and Kate over in soggy old England, so what more prompting do I need to write a post on weddings in Elizabethan England? There may not have been a royal wedding in the era, something which the people would have dearly loved to see while their Virgin Queen was young, but there were plenty of the rich and titled spending Daddy's money on their big day. Nothing much has changed really.

Why Get Married?

Marriage then, as now, was a legal matter. It meant a woman went from the status of her father to the status of her new husband. Any money she had in her own right became his, any debts also became his. The bride's family paid a dowry to encourage men to take her off their hands. A bit harsh when you think of it as having to give someone money for something they're acquiring. "Here, I'll give you some land if you'll only take my troublesome daughter, pleeeeeeeease."

The Official Bit

To get married in a church, the banns had to be read before the church's congregation every week for a few weeks before the big day. This was a way for anyone to state if there was a reason this couple couldn't get married, like a previous promise to marry someone else. A promise, back then, was quite binding. This banns were also read on the day of the wedding ceremony. If no one objected, the bride and groom would say "I do" and they were married. The parson issued a certificate which he gave to the couple to recognize the fact.

However, you didn't always have to go to church to get married. To avoid those pesky banns and any objections, you could bypass that route by paying for a special license from the church. It was hugely expensive at 10s and most couldn't afford it.

A couple could also be legally bound to one another in a similar way as today's de facto couples. Have sex, live together, promise to marry each other and you're done. No need for a parson or a church service at all. But this would require witnesses (to the promise part, not the rest) so that a woman had some evidence to back up her claim.

The Wedding Feast

Drunken guests are always a bother, not much has changed there. Even more so when they're off their heads BEFORE the ceremony even begins. After the ceremony, all guests adjourned somewhere for a party with more drinking, songs, dancing and merriment. Lavish affairs lasted days with the addition of masques and plays.

Wedding Feast

The Party's Over

Since marriage meant a woman passed from being her father's responsibility to her husband's, he now had all control over her. He could beat her, chastise her and pretty much do anything as long as it didn't kill her. There was nothing she could do about it if her menfolk didn't care enough to intervene.

Divorce

Contrary to popular belief, Henry VIII did not divorce Katherine of Aragon. He wanted the Pope to nullify their marriage based on the fact she was married to his brother, which is technically incest, which would allow him to set her aside. Divorce was not an option for anyone in the Renaissance. Annulment was, if it could be proved neither party gave their willing consent. A legal separation was also possible, but only by the husband if he found his wife committed adultery.

So yep, nothing much has changed over the years. I wonder if they'll have a problem with drunken guests too.

Blurb for A Secret Life

2011-04-28T05:05:00.000-07:00

It's another month away from release but I wanted to post this teaser blurb anyway. Seriously, it's so hard to wait another month when it's ready to go, but I've told reviewers it'll be released then so I better stick to that date. Come back on Sunday for an excerpt.

Minerva Peabody needs a man. Unfortunately she picked the wrong one. The impoverished playwright has a dream to see her plays performed on stage but in Elizabethan England, not only are women considered the inferior sex, they simply do NOT write plays. Faced with rejection after rejection, she decides to take one more chance with the most desperate theatre manager in London, only this time she’ll use the cover of a man. Sucked in by a pair of bright blue eyes and impressive shoulders, she chooses Blake out of the crowd, never thinking he’ll actually play an active role in her ruse. But when he does, he gets under her skin in the most alarming way.

Privateer (don't call him a pirate to his face) Robert Blakewell has his own secret reason for accepting Min’s proposal—to find out which cur among Lord Hawkesbury's Players got his sister with child. But when his mission threatens to destroy Min's fledgling career, he must make a choice: protect his family or the woman he has grown to love. Either choice will see him lose something precious.

A SECRET LIFE is a romp through Elizabethan England and features cameo appearances from William Shakespeare.

Picking Up The Threads

2011-04-25T18:52:00.000-07:00

It feels like ages since I wrote something new. I suppose it has been ages, last year some time. Not that I've been idle since then. I've re-read 4 older manuscripts, made covers and formatted them for Kindle et al, plus done some promo, got this blog going...you get the picture.

But now I'm FINALLY getting back to writing again. Real words on the page, not just editing old ones. It feels good but it's a bit weird. The words aren't for a new project but to finish off one I started about 2 years ago but stopped. I got three quarters of the way through A Secret Desire but didn't finish it as it's the 2nd book in a trilogy and the first one didn't sell. My agent at the time tried hard, and A Secret Life got very very close, but in the end it "wasn't right for us".

So there was no point finishing book 2. I set it aside, wrote something else, blah blah blah. Fast forward and here I am wishing I'd completed what I'd begun back then, lol. It's really hard to remember what I was trying to achieve with this book, and the series as a whole, and to get back into the right headspace. Fortunately I wrote copious notes and I know I can do it, but I have to concentrate until the rhythm comes naturally once more.

It'll probably take longer to write the next few pages than it will be to write the last few but that's ok, I expect that. The good thing is I've loved re-reading the first 3 quarters. It makes you realize it was all worthwhile.

New Cover: A Secret Life

2011-04-20T03:50:00.000-07:00

As you may or may not remember, I've been working on releasing my next book, A Secret Life. This is the first in a historical romance trilogy set in Elizabethan England. The story centers around a woman who's dream is to become a playwright. This in a society that doesn't accept that females are intelligent let alone can write good plays. Heck, they didn't think Shakespeare was any good at first because he wasn't Oxford or Cambridge educated unlike his contemporaries.

I'll post a blurb and excerpts in the coming weeks. Even though it's finished, A Secret Life won't be released until June 1st. This is to give me time to finish the second book in the series, A Secret Desire. Hopefully by the time book 1 comes out, book 2 will be finished or nearly so. It's about three-quarters done so far.

Anyway, without further ado here's the cover I made for A Secret Life.

It has more of a historical romance feel to it than my other books but that's because it's slightly more romance-y than those. It has no paranormal in it all, which my other works all do.

Very exciting times ahead! I think A Secret Life is the best thing I've written so far.