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I’m Celebrating The New Year with a New Book–Breakfast in Bed is Out!
After a long wait, the third book in my Domestic Gods Series hit the shelves the reviews are rolling in. Here are a few of the reviews and quotes that have come my way:
“A fun and spicy story. Robin Kaye is a fresh new voice in romance fiction.”
~Susan Donovan, New York Times bestselling author of Ain’t Too Proud to Beg
“With snappy dialogue, complex characters, and an intricate web of relationships, Kaye has created an extended family that’s both honest and enjoyable.”
~Whitney Kate Sullivan, Romantic Times Magazine – 4-Star Review
“Robin Kaye’s books are vacations for the soul. Indulge yourself.”
~Maureen Child, USA Today bestselling author of Conquering King’s Heart
 “Breakfast in Bed is a fun and sexy romp from beginning to end. The characters are ones you would love to call friend. Author Robin Kaye has a knack for reaching right into the reader’s heart and giving them a story to match their deepest desires. Becca and Rich are perfect for each other. The chemistry leaps off the page whenever they are together. I laughed, I cried, and I cheered them on as they frolicked their way to a happily ever after. Bravo, Ms Kaye!”
~Lettetia Elsasser, Affair de Coeur 4 ½ Stars
“If you’re in the mood for a light breezy read with a happy ending, but enough twists and turns to make it interesting, don’t miss this book.”
~Bellas Novella
“Breakfast in Bed is another fascinating look at the Ronaldi family and their friends that provided me with hours of enjoyment. I can’t wait to see who the next god Ms. Kaye decides to grace with their own book.
~Hibiscus, Long and Short Reviews 4 ½ Books
Here’s an excerpt of Breakfast in Bed:
Rich followed her to the kitchen and leaned against the breakfast bar, staring at her as if he could see beneath her clothes. It was unnerving, and she reminded herself of all the reasons she didn’t like him.
“I know you don’t like me much.”
Becca took a cup from the cabinet. Ah, and he was a mind reader too.
“I don’t know why, but it doesn’t matter.”
“It doesn’t?” Wow, he was good. Not in that way, she reminded herself. And no, she wasn’t even that curious. She poured herself coffee.
He shook his head. “It might be a good thing.”
She looked up from the cup she was filling. “How can my not liking you be a good thing?”
“I need help, and I know it might come as a shock, but most women find me attractive. That would just complicate matters.”
“Color me surprised. Since you know I don’t like you, I suppose I can give up pretending that I do.”
He nodded and smiled a sinfully sexy smile that made her hormones do the cha-cha. She stepped out of the kitchen and picked up the sheets, blanket, and pillow she’d left for him in the living room, and returned them to the closet. Anything to get away from him. The man was a threat to her equilibrium. Unfortunately, he followed. “Okay, so since I don’t have to be nice, and you’re weirdly happy about that, why don’t you just leave?”
“I have a proposition for you.”
“No.”
“No?”
“That’s the answer to your proposition.”
“Don’t you even want to know what it is?”
“Not especially, but I will listen if you promise it will get you out my door sooner.”
He smiled again, and she rolled her eyes. She just wanted to be alone already. When it came down to it, she wasn’t much of a social person. She spent most of her time alone in her studio, and she was happy to do it. She didn’t need a man or company to keep her happy.
“Gina dumped me. She said I wasn’t relationship material because I don’t cook, clean, and do my own laundry. How hard can it be? I just need a trainer.”
“A trainer?”
“Yeah, like a domestic coach. Someone to show me the ropes. So I learn whatever I have to learn to make Gina think I’m not such a bad bet.” He might as well have asked her to streak through Times Square during rush hour.
Rich picks up the gauntlet and mayhem ensues. He soon discovers that he enjoys pissing Becca off, it becomes a hobby. Before long, he’s having so much fun hanging out with Becca, he’s almost forgotten why he started this whole thing in the first place–to get his girlfriend back in time to go to a charity benefit with his boss. When Rich meets with Gina to tell her he’d changed, he realizes that he doesn’t want her in the first place, the only one he wants Becca, who still doesn’t like him. It was a good thing he had a talent for wearing her down.
If you want a sneak peek at the first chapter of Breakfast in Bed, Romeo, Romeo, or Too Hot to Handle, they’re on my website at www.RobinKayeWrites.com along with the Domestic Gods Top Ten List, reviews, and a calendar of my blog tour. I’ll be giving away a copy of Breakfast in Bed to a lucky commenter with this and every blog through the month of January, so stop by and say hi for your chance to win.
Note: Today’s the last day to enter our Super Secret Santa Give-Away! Click here to learn how. The draw will be made late this afternoon, and Gail Fuller will announce the winner tomorrow.
Good luck to all who entered, and Merry Christmas!
And now for my post!
Anyone else decorate for Christmas with pets in mind? You know, no tinsel this year, because the kitten might eat it. Tie that tree to the rafters so the Saint Bernard’s tail doesn’t whack it to the ground!
Our pets are usually pretty good around Christmas. Our current cat, Keisha, a spirited tortoiseshell, uses the tree watering system as her personal water bowl just like her Siamese predecessor did, but so far she hasn’t knocked down the tree. The Christmas I was five, though, I remember waking up to a crash in the middle of the night a few days before Christmas (I can pinpoint my age because we only lived in the house in question for one Christmas). The tree my mother had so carefully decorated had come whipping down…courtesy of the cat. As an adult I’ve lived in fear of this happening again, but so far it hasn’t. That doesn’t stop me from imagining the possibilities, though.
And so, in memory of my old Siamese cat, Seiki, and with apologies to the descendants of Clement Clarke Moore, I offer my version of ‘Twas The Night Before Christmas:
…EXCEPT FOR THE CAT
by Cindy Procter-King
Was midnight before Christmas, when all through our shack
Not a creature was stirring…except for the cat.
The stockings were strung twenty feet in the air,
In vain hopes that The Fanged One wouldn’t discover them there.
The kidlets were snoozing all tucked in their beds,
While plans for stealing catnip danced in the fuzzy beast’s head.
And DH in his sweatpants, and I with the dog in my lap,
Had just flopped into bed after imbibing enough eggnog to induce a 12-hour nap.
When from the living room below there arose such a crash,
I flew out of bed and down the stairs like The Flash.
Tore around the corner and tripped over the Yule log,
Righted myself, but nearly threw up my eggnog.
For the tree I had so lovingly sprayed with canned snow
Now lay on the ground, broken ornaments strewn to and fro.
When, what to my widening eyes should appear,
But a miniature tiger, and eight alley cats to fear!
Our cat was their leader, so clever and quick,
I realized then he was up to his old tricks.
More rapid than mice, his feline minions they came,
While I screamed up the stairs to DH with no shame,
“The cat door! It you forgot to close!
Now every cat in the neighborhood is upon us!
They’re scratching the furniture! They’re climbing the walls!
How will we ever get rid of them all?”
DH made no sound; he was still up in bed,
Having drunk enough eggnog that he lay as if dead.
So, left alone with the wily beasts, I knew,
I had to save the Christmas tree—and all the toys, too.
And then, ears a-breaking, I heard the cats howl
As they pummeled the lights and the gifts while they scowled.
I swung my hands wildly and screeched just as loud,
“Get out of my house! Get away, get away, get away NOW!”
My cat arched his spine, from his head to his tail,
His fur was all matted with tinsel and hail.
His gift of catnip he had flung from the tree,
And he looked like a wild animal, eyes glittering with glee.
His nose—how it twitched! His cat cheeks, how hairy!
His jaw—how it gaped, his mouth red like a berry!
His sharp teeth were flashing like Wolverine’s claws,
The sight of which would give anyone pause.
A branch of the tree he now gripped in his teeth,
And of course he’d destroyed my new Christmas wreath!
He had a fat face and a full-of-food belly,
That swung as he yowled at me like I was his lackey!
He was high-strung and arrogant, a right nasty Siamese.
But I laughed as I gazed at him, to keep him well-pleased.
As he strutted toward me, his meows rang through my head,
Which quickly gave me to know that I had much to dread.
He hissed to his underlings, “Out of the house now!
My human will clean this mess, and no one will know!”
Then, sticking his tail straight up to space,
And giving a wail, to the warm bed he raced!
I know I’m his slave, so I sprang into action,
While away tore his minions before I could catch them.
As I heard him purring upstairs while DH snored with delight,
I thought, “Happy Christmas to all—no thanks to the cat, because I’ll be up all night!”
I’ve always been fascinated by the idea of time travel. The Time Traveler’s Wife is one of my favorite books from the last decade, and a lot of my teenaged fantasies involved me introducing a boy from the 50’s to the ways of the modern world. I blame that on Happy Days. But I never thought I’d attempt to write in that genre until I got the chance to contribute a short story for THE MAMMOTH BOOK OF TIME TRAVEL ROMANCE.
I love a good “modern girl falls for a Regency era Duke or Highland Warrior story” as much as the next gal, but I wanted to try something different. Something a little darker.
Around the time I got the chance to submit this story, I’d been watching Life on Mars on TV, and loved the idea of someone being trapped in the wrong time but no one believing them. And of course I loved the heartbreakingly romantic notion from The Time Traveler’s Wife of meeting someone you love when they’re not at the right age, and/or don’t remember you’ve already met. I also concede that my story, in hindsight, has similarities to Groundhog Day, although I didn’t notice them until a beta reader pointed it out. (And other than the repeating date thing… well, not much similarity.)
But from somewhere in all that confluence of influences sprang the idea for “Lost and Found”, the story of Jake who, angry and upset at his father’s death and the whole world, takes a tab of acid in Central Park on April 17, 1967 and then proceeds to wake up every day in the same place, on the same date, in the same clothes, just in a different year, leaping forward and backward in time every day he wakes. By the time he meets the heroine Kara, for the second time in 2009, he has given up on the hope of ever ending his torturous leaps through time. But, of course, the story’s a romance, so it all turns out well in the end. 
Today is the official release date for this anthology, which in addition to my story, includes 19 great authors’ stories, including Gwyn Cready who won the RITA® for best paranormal romance last year. I’m thrilled to have been included, even though they spelled my name “many more” on the cover. At least they got my initials correct.  Actually, on this image of the cover, I’m not even there as “many more”, but it is on the actual book. I promise.
To celebrate my first ever release, I’m giving away a copy of THE MAMMOTH BOOK OF TIME TRAVEL ROMANCE to one random commenter! I’ll announce the winner this Saturday — to give everyone a few days to enter.
If you could travel through time, when would you most want to go?
My debut novel, According to Jane (Kensington, October 2009), has been out for just over a month, and I’m sure this will come as no surprise when I say I’ve found the whole process to be quite a learning experience.
There are the obvious things a newly published author encounters for the first time, such as ads/promotions, book signings, being asked to give “meet the author” presentations or writing workshops, and the wild-n-wacky world of book reviews and Amazon.com ratings. But it’s the more subtle, unexpected delights that have sparked the greatest intrigued for me this past month and kept me up way past my bedtime, Googling my name and book title… It’s been a kind of writer’s dessert tray: This opportunity to eavesdrop online (and, occasionally, in person) on discussions about The Author’s Intentions in Writing the Story.
Does anyone remember that scene from the film “Back to School” when Rodney Dangerfield’s character (a businessman/dad who’s trying out the college scene with his teenage son) has to write a paper for a college English class — specifically, on the novels of Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.? Being a man with more extensive financial resources than your typical undergrad, Dangerfield soon hires a string of professionals to help him with his schoolwork, and he gets Vonnegut himself (in a hilarious cameo appearance) to do that assignment. But when Dangerfield turns in the essay, his English professor is unimpressed. She fails him on it, knowing he didn’t write the paper, and adds, “I’ll tell you something else, whoever did write it doesn’t know the first thing about Kurt Vonnegut!”
I laughed at that scene, but I found myself wondering how often I’d gotten it wrong with authors I’ve read — attributing intentions to them that they never had. I’ve frequently wished for a chance to have a conversation with my favorite author, Jane Austen, so I could ask her about particular passages from her novels and hear the real reasons behind some of her narrative choices. On some of my online loops, there’s been much speculation as to what Jane meant by one sentence or another. Devoted readers have attempted to interpret sections of her novels, and they argue their viewpoints with vigor. But, while we may be amongst Jane’s biggest fans, none of us were privy to her creative process. There remains a delightful veil of mystery surrounding some of her authorial objectives, so scholars will always have much to debate about her work.
But, here’s the really funny thing I learned in the last several weeks: Even if Jane were around today and could tell us in great detail why she used a specific allusion or a certain storytelling motif, there would be some people who wouldn’t believe her!
Since my book has been released, I’ve had the rare thrill of coming upon online book reviews written with passionate responses to elements in my novel. It’s been fascinating to get to read varying points of view on my main character’s motivations, discover what readers think works or doesn’t in my plot structure, see comparisons of my secondary characters to persons real or fictional, and get predicitons about what happens after the novel ends, etc.
Only, sometimes, I find myself credited with having writerly intentions that I, uh…didn’t actually intend. At all. Never was this more apparent than in this recent phone call from Someone:
“You have a very interesting lead character,” Someone told me, “considering she’s insane.”
“What?!” I said, laughing because I was certain Someone was joking.
“Well, Ellie, your heroine — she hears voices, right?”
“Y-Yes…but that’s the twist in the premise. The hook of the story. My book is not a study on insanity. It’s a novel about a woman who has the ghost of Jane Austen in her head giving her dating advice.”
“Exactly,” Someone shot back — and not jokingly. “She’s hearing voices and making life decisions based on the answers. She’s clearly crazy. And I think it’s very brave of you to examine that.”
“Wha– No! I wasn’t being brave, I was being whimsical. This is a playful element in the book, not a literal one. A what-if kind of thing. Readers just need to suspend disbelief on this single point.”
“It’s okay, Marilyn. Relax. I really like the story just the way it is. I’ve already read it twice.”
“I — um, thanks, but listen — you should know my main character does NOT need psychiatric treatment. She’s just a normal young woman with this one little paranormal problem…”
“So, you’re saying she isn’t schizophrenic?”
“Right!”
“Only she is. One of the common symptoms of paranoid schizophrenia is when a patient suffers from hallucinatory voices that threaten or give commands.”
“Okay, but I’m telling you that’s not what I was intending for her when I wrote this…”
While I’ll admit to having been a little freaked out by this conversation (all one-and-a-half hours of it — yes, really), it did drive home the point that what authors write and deliver to the world of literature is not always what’s received. Once a book is “out there,” it no longer belongs just to the writer to interpret. Knowing this, I’m already anticipating the next such conversation with Someone (or Someone’s spouse), which may well focus on the Jane Austen side of the ghost-human relationship:
“So, your book starts out in the fall, just after Halloween, huh?”
“Yeah,” I’d say.
“And there’s a ghost in it. That one dead English author — Austen. Cool how you put those two things together.”
“Austen’s role as a ghost in the story doesn’t have anything to do with Halloween or its aftermath.”
“Sure it does! Look, you wrote on the very first page that it was ‘midweek, early November’ when Jane made her first comment. So, she had to have escaped from the Spirit World on All Hallow’s Eve, or on All Saints Day at the very latest. That’s obvious.”
Rubbing my forehead. “Trust me, there’s no connection.”
“No, Marilyn. I think you’re wrong…”
**If you could sit down over dinner/drinks/dessert and have a conversation with an author or two (living or dead) about their work, who would you ask to join you??**
I freely confess: I’m addicted to secondary characters! And I love to read them as much as I love to write them.
I adore Jane Austen for many reasons, but it’s true that I love her secondaries as much as I do her fabulous main characters. Yes, of course I do swoon over Mr. Darcy, along with most other women on the planet, but I adore Mr. Collins, his pre-planned compliments and his single-minded reverence for Lady Catherine just as much. Do you remember the scene in the Ang Lee/Emma Thompson film version of Sense and Sensibility, where Mrs. Jennings runs through the streets of London, dodging people and leaping refuse just so she can get home to impart the latest gossip? I laugh with joy every time.
Now that I think about it, this obsession began with my childhood reading, when I couldn’t wait to laugh along with Gurgi and his “crunchings and munchings” in Lloyd Alexander’s Prydain series or when I longed for every glimpse of Piemur in Anne McCaffrey’s Dragon Riders Of Pern books.
And the obsession continues today, in my love of historical romance. I think secondary characters can add so much to a book, especially when they are recurring characters throughout a series or over several books. Some of my favorites are Loretta Chase’s bumbling Bertie Trent and my own cp Liz Carlyle’s Kemble.
One of my favorite conventions is when an author uses a real life figure from history as a secondary character. I love to see Beau Brummel, Wellington, even Prinny show up on the page to help a romance along. I’ve done this a couple of times. In An Improper Aristocrat I made my Historical Figure Man Crush, Giovanni Batistta Belzoni, a secondary. In my new release, Her Cinderella Season–out now!–I couldn’t resist a tiny appearance by William Wilberforce, the Evangelical and the force behind so many years of battle to end slavery in England.
You see, my heroine Lily was born into English society but spent the last seven years in an Evangelical household. While she’s enjoyed the charitable and political works she’s contributed to, she’s in no way willing to accept her mother’s choice for her husband. Neither is she quite ready to give up on the idea of a life filled with music, joy and love. She faces the difficulty of blending her two worlds, of helping the scholarly Mr. Jack Alden chase down a villainous slaver, and of course, the greatest challenge of all–winning the elusive Mr. Alden’s heart!
You can find out more about Her Cinderella Season, read an article on the Evangelicals and enter to win a Hardcover version of HCS at my website, www.DebMarlowe.com
But first, tell me–do you like historical figures in novels? Do you love secondary characters as much as I do? Who are some of your favorites?
Why I Like Romantic Adventure
Ever since ROMANCING THE STONE, I’ve loved romantic adventure. To me, the genre is slightly different than romantic suspense because the focus isn’t on finding the bad guy. Many times romantic adventures are a quest, and if there’s a bad guy, he’s the competition, the time table the hero and heroine have to beat. Here are my top reasons for loving romantic adventure:
- Forced proximity. I love when the hero and heroine HAVE to be together. He’s her bodyguard, he’s responsible for her, she’s stuck there because of a storm. They learn more about each other when they deal with each other every part of the day.
- The quest. More often than not, I’ll buy a book BECAUSE of what the characters are looking for, a map, a treasure, an item of historical importance. If it’s a real object, I’ll enjoy the bits of history. If it’s fictional, I’ll marvel at the author’s imagination.
- Remote locations. Because, let’s face it, treasures are hardly ever in the middle of the city. I love jungle-set stories in particular. Must be because of all those years of watching Tarzan movies on Saturday afternoons.
- Fast pace. One problem after another keeps me turning pages.
- Quick wit. I love when the characters get in seemingly insurmountable trouble and have to get out of it.
Some of my favorite adventure movies include romance, though some end badly. Still, I find these movies inspiring.
- Indiana Jones (1 and 3 in particular.)
- Romancing the Stone. Duh.
- The Librarian movies on TNT, with Noah Wyle from ER.
- Tomb Raider: Cradle of Life
- National Treasure
Do you enjoy romantic adventure? What are some of your favorites?
My new romantic adventure, Beneath the Surface, is out today from Samhain Publishing.
In retrospect, perhaps archaeologist Mallory Reeves shouldn’t have delivered the divorce papers to her estranged husband mere weeks before her marriage to another man. She knew seeing Adrian again would stir up memories, but she didn’t expect so many of them to be good, not after the mess they both made three years ago. She also didn’t expect to want to stay at the dig site on the Yucatan Peninsula. But the lure of the ancient ship and, yes, her sexy ex provide more of a draw than the white picket fence she thought she wanted. Marine archaeologist Adrian Reeves has good reason to trust no one. His former partner—and former best friend—made off with his last archaeological find. And his wife left him, frustrated by his obsession for professional revenge. Now both Mallory and his nemesis have returned, and it can’t be an accident that they’ve turned up in the middle of the most important excavation of his career. Seeing her again unearths old pain—and rekindles never-forgotten desire. Now he has to decide if he can trust Mallory again. More importantly, if he can trust himself with her.
 Calling all bakers!! Help!
I love cherries!! And most of all I love cherry pie. I even write about pies in my books. Where the Wind Blows, which released on Tuesday of this week, and is my Lonesome Dove meets Little House on the Prairie story, has a page or two devoted to Jessie at work baking an apple pie for a bent-out-of-shape, Chase. And, Cassie, heroine of my wip, Sourdough Creek, also has her very own pie-baking scene where the hero saves the day-and the pie!!! Love that guy! So, you see, these delectable pastries have captivated not only my pallet, but also my muse. Coincidentally, I’m very lucky because I have one of the best producing cherry trees this side of the Mississippi.
 Just look at the abundance. It took me several days to clear its branches – or actually, until I quit from exhaustion. The birds, nuisances that they are, were totally happy I got tired and finally gave up leaving them many juicy morsels that were too high for me to reach.
After the hot sticky job of picking, I washed and then pitted. I measured my bounty into four-cup portions and put them in freezer bags to keep for later. It’s wonderful now that all the hard work is done. All I have to do when the urge strikes is mix my flour, sugar, vanilla, and cornstarch together and pull out a sack of already measured, washed and pitted cherries. It’s fast and easy.
So, why the call for help you ask? My problem is I don’t have a recipe that is consistent. Sometimes my pies come out fabulous, a delight to any taste bud and at other times they are runny like water-and a huge disappointment. Confused, I keep switching back and forth between recipes that use cornstarch, tapioca or flour for thickening. I’ve heard several women swear by the tapioca, but I can’t seem to make that work. I’m sure there must be a good number of bakers out there with a fabulous, fail-safe family recipe that you wouldn’t mind sharing. I’d love to hear your ideas……
BTW: I always seem to have a pit or two hiding in every pie I bake no matter how diligent I work at extracting them all. I have to warn everyone before they try a slice. What is the best way of pitting? Advice anyone?
 In celebration of my debut novel I’m giving away a copy of, Where The Wind Blows, to a person who leaves me a comment. Also, if you want to enter my Under The Western Sky Contest that’s running August 1st to December 1st., all you need to do is watch my Book Preview on my website, and write your version of the last line of the story. Anything goes so don’t be shy. We’re looking to have fun. Grand prize is a night stay in an ol’ western bunkhouse under the stars. Check the details at www.carolinefyffe.com
I am, admittedly, a tad on the fanatical side when it comes to music. It plays a big part in my writing largely because it plays an even bigger part in my life. I was in my mid-twenties before I discovered not everyone in the world had a musical soundtrack that accompanied them through their day — from their hastily inhaled morning coffee (“Wake me up before you go-go…”–Wham!) to the boring staff meeting at 3pm (“It’s been a long day…”–Matchbox 20) to a quick stop at the post office (“Oh, yes, wait a minute Mr. Postman…”–The Marvelettes) to the microwave meal nuked for dinner (“Drop it like it’s hot…”–Snoop Dogg).
I’m not saying the references were always appropriate (*g*), but I would hear these lyrics beneath the swirl of real conversations around me — the cross-genre, multiple-era melodies running through my mind like an inside joke I couldn’t share with anyone. Just about every memory I have is tied to a song and, even if I wanted to, it’s not possible for me to escape that.
Thankfully, though, I get to inflict this special kind of fun on my characters.
 Both of my first two novels are heavily music laden. The first, According to Jane (Kensington, 09-29-09), persistently references the era of big hair and legwarmers — a time when Michael Jackson (RIP) still wore a single white glove, Spandau Ballet was all the rage and Def Leppard rocked the stadiums with “Hysteria.” As much as I also love the music of today (can’t get enough of Coldplay), the songs of the 1980s are inexorably, undeniably linked to my goofiest and most poignant memories of high school, and I find it impossible to listen to Bruce Springsteen belt out “Dancing in the Dark” without remembering dancing in the, um, dark. And, you know, other eventful teen stuff…
There are a number of songs that — were they to be removed from my debut novel — would make me fear the narrative was incomplete: Boston’s “Don’t Look Back,” Foreigner’s “I Want to Know What Love Is,” Eric Carmen’s “Make Me Lose Control” and the endlessly amusing (and somewhat mystifying) ”Safety Dance” by Men Without Hats, to name but a few. I don’t expect readers to know every verse of these songs as I do, but as I wrote the book, the unstated lyrics informed the text. In my mind, at least, they underscored the dramatic situations and played up the comedy. For me, these musical asides were a little bonus I could give those readers who were equally fanatical about the music of this era. And, in that small way, I’d get to finally share my inside joke with someone.
And, so, to my fellow writers, I ask: Do musical soundtracks accompany your books? If so, which songs were important to the telling of your stories?
And to everyone, writer or not: Do you have a favorite ’80s tune or two? If yes, which ones?
For anyone who comments on this post today, I’ll be drawing two names late tonight and giving away an advanced reader copy of According to Jane to each of them, as well as a 3-pack of the new Starbucks VIA Ready Brew coffees. (The coffees are only available in Chicago, Seattle and London right now, so I hope it’ll be a tasty sneak preview.)
May those of you living in the States, have a very Happy 4th — or, to put it another way, since I’m hearing Martina McBride playing in my head now — may you enjoy celebrating ”Independence Day” . And may everyone who reads this have a wonderful weekend!
Today’s Canada Day. Happy Canada Day to me! Seeing as I’m Canadian and this is my inaugural post with Nobody Writes It Better, I’m giving away a trade paperback copy of my Canadian-set romantic comedy, HEAD OVER HEELS. To enter, please leave a comment pertinent to the discussion and check back tomorrow morning to find out if you’ve won.
Going with the Canada Day theme, I thought I’d talk about romance novels set outside the United States. When I began writing romance back in the Dark Ages (ie. pre-Internet), it never occurred to me not to set my stories in my own country. Write what you know, right? I wrote four novels, two of which shall never be published (please, nobody find them once I’ve departed from this earth and publish them—it’ll just embarrass me and then I’ll have to haunt you) before learning that it’s much more difficult to sell stories set outside the U.S. to an American publisher (or even a Canadian publisher like Harlequin in Toronto with a massive U.S. readership), unless they’re historicals set in England or Scotland. That in general American readers don’t want to read stories set outside the States, so I was just shooting myself in the keyboard by continuing to place my books in my own country. At one writing conference, an agent interrupted my pitch two sentences in to ask if I could change the setting from Vancouver to Seattle because otherwise the book would never sell. And I heard the same advice over and over from more seasoned writers. Ironically, my first (and former) agent signed me because she thought my Canadian settings were fresh and different.
What’s a polite, little Canadian writer to do?
 I decided to compromise. HEAD OVER HEELS takes place in Vancouver and Whistler, British Columbia, while BORROWING ALEX occurs in Seattle and on fictional Lake Eden. I also write erotic romance under a pen name. So far, I’ve sold three novellas. The first two are set in Calgary, Alberta and Victoria, B.C., and the third is set in L.A. “Penny” (my pen name, get it?) (collective groan) is currently writing the first of an erotic short story series set in Vancouver. Apparently, she’s not very smart, because she totally does not get this “set it in the States” thing. Luckily, her editors don’t seem to mind (phew).
Despite the “rule” not to set romance novels outside the U.S., aside from the agent I pitched to at that conference, no editor or agent has ever told me that they’re rejecting a story because of the setting. Maybe they are, but they don’t tell me so. Lately, I’ve noticed that more and more romance novels written by Canadian authors are getting set outside the U.S. So maybe the wall, if it ever existed, is breaking down.
Blog readers, what do you think? Do you like to read contemporary romance novels set in Canada? How about Australia? New Zealand? Why or why not? (I’m honestly interested. I won’t berate you if you hate reading about litres of milk and how 40 degrees Celsius is scathingly hot when to Americans it sounds slightly above freezing). (36 degrees Celsius is around 100 degrees Fahrenheit, I think). (See how handy I am? I taught you something).
If you’re interested in checking out more Canadian romance authors, some of whom have set novels in the Great White North, visit these ladies: Jo Beverly, Opal Carew, Eileen Cook, Laura Drewry, Bonnie Edwards, Susan Lyons, Lee McKenzie, Kayla Perrin, Wendy Roberts, Kate St. James, Nancy Warren, and Loreth Anne White. And tell them I sent you!
Scenario: The dh is late coming home from work. He doesn’t answer his cell phone. No response to email. Now, a normal person knows that there are a thousand possible–and simple–explanations for this. Traffic, a dead zone, or maybe someone snagged him for a chat in the parking lot. These are the soothing explanations most people would reassure themselves with. Not me. I immediately jump to Worst Case Scenario mode. Within seconds I am conjuring up horrific car crashes, toxic chemical spills or devastating propane tank explosions. I don’t freak out or call anybody or spread fear to the kids. I just go on with the tasks of the day, all the while silently spinning one terrifying scene after another until the dh blithely walks in the door and I heave a silent sigh of relief.
A fertile imagination–it’s a blesing and curse.
I had to include a nod to this idiosyncrasy in An Improper Aristocrat, my second release for Harlequin Historicals. The heroine, Chione, is a half Egyptian novelist living in Regency England. She’s had her share of troubles, as you might imagine. At one point her hero, an archeologist/adventurer teases her for worrying.
She shrugged. “It is one of the drawbacks of being a storyteller. It seems I’m always imagining the worst possible outcome of any given situation.”
A fire smoldered in the grate. Exhausted, but acutely aware of their isolation,Trey dropped into one of the chairs before it. “We’ll make a good match then,” he said, “because I am forever imagining a way out of the worst possible outcome.”
It’s not only worst cases that set me off into a spin of imagination. Recently I was driving home from the grocery store. Sitting at an intersection, I was just across from a beautifully landscaped entrance to a subdivision. As I watched, a car stopped, a woman hopped out and helped herself to a huge handful of gorgeously blooming tulips–completely denuding one side of the lovely flower bed.
In shock, I spend the rest of the drive home imagining Why she would have done such a thing? Was she visiting a sick friend or relative and didn’t wish to arrive empty handed? Was she having a party and hoping to impress her guests? Setting off her kitchen for an open house? Was she right now feeling an agony of guilt–because I could never have gotten a moment of enjoyment from those flowers.
So tell me–Am I alone? Crazy? Do the rest of you conjure up Worst Case Scenarios? Speculate endlessly on the curious things that happen around you? Share your stories! I’ll chose a random commenter and send them the UK version of An Improper Aristocrat!
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