Reading what we called the “funny papers” was a Sunday tradition when I was growing up.  We all took turns with the comics, sometimes spreading them out on the floor.  At an early age some of the humor escaped me but there were always a few comic strips I could grasp and one of them was Mort Walker’s Beetle Bailey. Probably everyone who’s ever read the comics knows about Private Beetle Bailey and his Army life at Camp Swampy.  What many don’t realize, however, is Camp Swampy came out of Mort Walker’s past and dates back to the time when he
was a young soldier stationed at Camp Crowder in Neosho, Missouri during World War II.

Most of Camp Crowder (which briefly grew up into Fort Crowder before the post was deactivated) is just a memory but the “Crowder area” adjacent to the small town of Neosho is now home to a community college, the local Y, several industries, a Bicentennial Park with hiking and horseback trails, and apartments.  The Missouri National Guard still owns a portion of the former Army post and they still do military maneuvers on site.

I attended my first two years of college at Crowder College which includes two of the former administration buildings. Renovations and additions have expanded the campus since my time but back then it was easy to imagine the soldiers who once went about their daily duties in the same space.  I wrote a series of articles for the campus newspaper, The Sentry, about the remnants of the former Army post.  With my photographer at my side, we backtracked out into the vast empty spaces gone to scrub brush to see one of the old theaters, what remained of a PX, the train station platform, and more.  A lot of the areas where we went are now fenced off and restricted but the experience fired my imagination.  Learning Camp Crowder was nicknamed “Camp Swampy” by some of the earliest arrivals and that Mort Walker was one of several celebrities stationed there just added more fuel to the fire.

My just released and first full length historical romance novel, In The Shadow of War, is set in Neosho and my heroine – schoolteacher Bette Sullivan – falls for a soldier from Camp Crowder.  After writing those articles for the college newspaper and penning several non-fiction pieces about the former Camp Crowder over the years, I enjoyed writing fiction.  I researched Camp Crowder online, visited the small but amazing museum on the college campus dedicated to the Army years, and even drew on the stories I heard from my grandfather and uncles who served during World War II.  I also headed “out to Crowder” as locals say and visited the sites which remain accessible.

Here’s the blurb for In The Shadow of War:

Her great-granddaughter wants to know if Bette remembers World War II for a school project and her questions revive old memories….

Small town school teacher Bette Sullivan’s life was interrupted when the Japanese bomb Pearl Harbor on December 7th 1941 but her world changed forever when she met Private Benny Levy, a soldier from the Flatbush neighborhood in Brooklyn, New York stationed at Camp Crowder, the local Army base.

Their attraction is immediate and mutual but as their relationship grows their love and lives are shadowed by World War II. As the future looms uncertain the couple comes together with almost desperate need and a powerful love they hope can weather anything, including the war.

And of course I’m sharing the beautiful, nostalgic cover Carl J. Franklin, our Rebel cover artist did for me.

Links:

https://www.facebook.com/#!/leeann.sontheimermurphy

https://twitter.com/#!/leeannwriter

A Page In The Life: http://leeannsontheimermurphywriterauthor.blogspot.com

Rebel Writer: Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy: http://leeannsontheimermurphy.blogspot.com

View the book trailer here:

http://youtu.be/k8anriKBuTU

Can you believe that I had nearly ten people tell me that I would need a pen name when I told them that I wanted to write romance novels? Is it that wrong to want to use my real name on the books that I’m overly proud to write?

On the Rebel Reasoning blog featuring Melissa Keir (March 21, 2012), she mentioned the fact that if you lived in a small town, everyone knew your business. The same applies to my small town. I’m from a county of only 8,000 people and the town has at least 3,000. I couldn’t sneeze without someone writing their friends about it. So when I approached some Twitter followers with the idea of toying with Erotica and Romance, the first thing that was said was, “You’ll need a pen name.”

I’m not ashamed of what I write. I’ve never been one to hide who I am on Twitter or Facebook. I curse, I love the word Fuck and my vices include hot naked guys and lots of Riesling. I am who I am and I’m not going to change my name on a book that I worked my fingers to death on. I’m not going to do it and no one can make me.

Trust me, I thought about the repercussion on my family. I thought about how my mom or dad would have to answer to some of the people in my town. I can hear it now – “Did you see what Elicia wrote? Her poor parents must be so ashamed of her.”

Actually, it’s quite the opposite. My mom is damn proud of me and so is my dad. They wouldn’t read anything in the romance department (okay maybe my mom would but my dad wouldn’t touch it). I can understand if you wanted to write under a pen name to separate your genre or if you worked in a business or profession that you would have to hide your true self. I have a friend that is a school teacher who would have to do the same.

I think my point of this blog post is that I don’t need to hide who I am. I love writing and I won’t change my mind on that.  No fucking way.

Elicia M. Seawell

What happens if your past finally catches up to you? We’ve all been something else in a previous life even if it’s been about a job. What if the job finally dragged you into the pit of hell? What if your monsters are real? That’s the premise around Uninvited – the 4th in The Retribution Collection releasing tomorrow. It’s a good cop/bad cop situation and one in which my hero is challenged for many reasons. He finally has a new life but isn’t allow to enjoy – especially when his significant other is taken from him. This is a gritty and in your face m/m piece and the twist at the end just might surprise you. Take a taste of…

UNINVITED

A monster shattered Raine Thompson’s life. On a single stormy night, he lost the man of his dreams to a murderer who was never caught. Forced out of his home and away from his friends and family, Raine started a new life in a far away location but one close to a childhood friend, Carlos Tempata. Raine became a recluse as he continued his quest to hunt down the killer himself. And in his tormented dreams, a face continued to haunt him every night. A secret from his past was hell bent on destroying him. Just as he believed he’d remain alone for the rest of his life, a chance encounter on the beach reminded Raine he had to live.

Justin Cameron was a mystery man who showered Raine with not only his affections but also his wealth. Finally enticing him into a relationship, Justin offered Raine his heart in return for Raine’s undying love. But somehow the man wasn’t who he claimed to be and held more than just secrets. As Raine’s dreams became nightmares and his life was placed in jeopardy, Carlos worked to discover the truth against a backdrop of continued deceit. As a series of damning events turned into tragedy, Raine is forced to make a choice. One that could destroy everything he holds dear.

EXCERPT

“She’s choice, brother. You want a piece of her? I just might let you have some.” Sniffing, the man looked up from the teary-eyed woman who wore a look of horror.

“Nah. I got me a little woman. What the hell would she say if I took a piece?” Stone breathed as anger raced through him. He didn’t sign onto the job for this bullshit. Looking away briefly, he knew he had to keep his mouth shut but damn it, he was sick to fucking death of the insanity. The guy was barely human. No, Michael was the epitome of evil personified and Stone was on a personal mission to rid the world of his kind.

“Oh come on. This is sweet meat and easy too. Ain’t nothing better than taking what you want. Your little bitch ain’t gonna be none the wiser. What’s wrong? You a pussy, boy? I don’t hire me no faggots in this organization.” Snorting, Michael cupped the girl’s chin and hissed as he twisted and squeezed her face.

Shaking his head, Stone stepped back away from the scene. “I just like mine begging for my cock.” He stole a glance at the girl, who couldn’t be more than twenty, and resisted yanking out his gun and killing the fucker. They were so damn close to nailing this guy. So close but far enough he knew they powers that be would pull him from the case if they couldn’t get enough ammunition against him. He stole another glance at the girl and sucked in his breath. Strapped to the bed, strings of dark mascara were a garish reminder of the madmen he was working for. Goddamn how much of this shit had he seen? Girls were kept like animals to be played with and toyed with and… No, he could barely take the entire scene any longer, no matter what the hell it meant.

Groggy, the girl squealed behind the thick duct tape.

“Oh the bitch’ll be beggin’ for it. Trust me.” Climbing off the bed, he unfastened his belt as he chuckled. “I got balls the size of grapefruit.” Freeing his cock, he stroked down the length of his shaft as he turned to glare at Stone. “You’re staring. You wanna watch or what? Might learn somethin’ from the master.”

“I’m leaving. Just remember we have a timeline, man.” Yeah, the master of brutality. Holding up his hands he started to walk out of the room. The second he made it to the door he sucked in his breath as he heard the sound of her dress being ripped. Walk out. Don’t play the cards. So close. So fucking close to shutting down not just one asshole but also others. Hell, he didn’t even know half of the freaks involved, but he knew enough to realize the situation was getting out of hand. But sweet Jesus, he was one man. Stone swallowed hard and eased into the tiny living room toward the kitchenette of the sleazy motel. Goddamn he was tired of spending time in shit holes. He’d been deep under cover for so fucking long he was no longer sure of his own name. Michael Siska was one bad man but far too well connected and had skated around the law for years. Stone was determined to stop him. This was daddy’s pride and joy after all and his to keep and protect. What a fucking joke.

Hissing, Stone rubbed his tired eyes and tried not to concentrate of the ugly sounds coming from the other room. The poor girl was squealing and fighting. He thought about the few nights he’d been able to help the girls, if you could call throwing them scraps of food helping. How men lived this way was beyond him. Gripping onto the counter, he attempted to control his breathing. The asshole was not only a major player in a series of drug-riddled crimes including high class brothels in the city but also had a penchant for raping and mutilating women when they got out of line. This was the third time Stone had to stand by while the freak got his jollies off on hurting some innocent girl. Thank God none of them ended up dead or he’d have to blow his cover. The man’s behavior was getting out of hand. Even his lieutenants, as Michael liked to call them, could barely tolerate his level of savagery.

And protecting certain family members was supposed to be a step up. For him it was a one-way ticket into hell.

His pulse racing he started pacing the floor as the sounds continued, the girl crying in anguish. As she wailed, Stone heard what had to be the sound of the asshole backhanding her hard. Then as a series of slaps and grunts filtered into the room he sucked in his breath.

I hope you enjoyed…

Later

DH

http://dhblack.wordpress.com/

Email: dhblack@dhblack.com

http://www.omnilit.com/storeSearch.html?searchBy=author&qString=D.+H.+Black

Delighting In Your Company

Alas my love you do me wrong,

To leave me so discourteously,

While I have loved you well and long,

Delighting in your company.

These words from a fifteenth century song, Greensleeves, were a part of the inspiration for my paranormal novel with time travel, Delighting In Your Company, released on April 17th .

My heroine, Amalie Ansett, finds herself in the unenviable position of falling in love with a ghost.   Jonathan Evans was a plantation owner on the small Caribbean island of St. Clement’s in the early 1800’s.   He died suddenly and violently and has walked the island ever since as a ghost, or, as the people there call the dead who walk, a jumbie.

Amalie can see and hear and touch him as no one else has in two hundred years.   It is up to her to help him find out what happened all those years ago.   Why he is alive but not alive, dead but not dead.

The island in my book is based on a real one, St. Eustatius. I’ve had a home there for many years.   Details in my book about jumbies and Obeah, the ancient religious practice brought by the slaves from Africa, are based on stories I’ve heard many times from local friends.   There is a White Wall Road.   And there is, according to local lore, a ghost who walks White Wall.   The “real” ghost, however, is a woman.   In my book I’ve chosen to change her into a man.

There are other differences, as well. My book is fiction after all.   While St. Eustatius is Dutch today, I’ve chosen to make my fictional island, St. Clements, English.   I did this because in 1807 the British Parliament enacted a law prohibiting the transportation of slaves into and out of all ports in England and all British possessions.   At that time St. Eustatius was a British Island.

This had a profound effect on the economies and social structures of the British Caribbean Islands, and it is a key factor in my plot.

While I’ve been steeped in Caribbean culture for many years, I learned much in the course of researching the Caribbean of the eighteen hundreds.   I have a large collection of books on the history of the Caribbean, some of them very old, and these were invaluable.

Delighting In Your Company is a fantasy.   A figment of my imagination.   But the scenes of a slave auction and of an Obeah Ceremony are taken from the works of nineteenth and early twentieth century writers, and the hand written records of slave sales that my heroine finds are, with minor changes, the ledgers I have seen in the Museum of the St. Eustatius Historical Society.

This book almost wrote itself.   Once I became immersed in the tale, all that I love about the Caribbean Islands and their culture and peoples simply took over.

I hope you will enjoy reading Delighting In Your Company as much as I enjoyed writing it.

In the following scene, my heroine, Amalie, is transported in time and is observing a slave auction……

In the basement room, Amalie contemplated the papers strewn around the wide pine table.   There was a large, leather-bound ledger sitting on top of them.   She hadn’t noticed that yesterday.   Where had it come from? She opened it and started to read the faded ink entries.

To her shock she discovered it was a ledger of slave sales, with descriptions and prices.

1 male and 2 females, household slaves to Jeremiah Johnston ….   425 guineas.

2 field workers to Emerson Gainsborough….   250 guineas

6 field workers to John Taylor….   1250 guineas

The room spun around her.   She grasped the edge of the table to keep from falling as consciousness faded.

She was in a harbor full of wooden ships.   A crowd of men, from the look of their clothing, planters, shopkeepers and businessmen, milled about the dock, shouting to one another, pushing and shoving, vying for position.   The cacophony was ear splitting.   A large vessel was pulled up to the pier.   Naked male slaves, their ankles chained together, were shuffling down the gangplank and being herded into a holding pen.   The smell of their fear and hopelessness hovered in the air.

Amalie heard a voice raised above the clamor and turned to see an auction block.

“And here we have a fine specimen from the Gold Coast.   You all know there ain’t no stronger or better field workers than these.   Turn around, boy.   Let’em see you.   So what am I bid? Come on gentleman.  ”

Bids started coming, fast and furious.

Horrified, Amalie watched as the young man was led away by the successful bidder.

When she turned back to the auction block she saw that it was occupied by an emaciated boy barely into his teens.   Even in the hot tropical sun he stood shivering as the crowd jeered and the auctioneer turned him around for prospective buyers to examine.

“I’ll admit he ain’t much, but he might be some use as kitchen help.   Don’t know how he got into this batch.   Was supposed to be all field workers.   What am I bid? Come on gentlemen, got to move along.   Don’t nobody want this scrawny piece o’ nigger flesh?”

There was a moment’s silence.   Then from the back of the crowd, near where Amalie stood invisibly, “I’ll take him.   Ten guineas.  ” The speaker was a boy no older than the one on the block.

“Ten guineas?” the auctioneer sneered.   “Might as well give ’im away.   What am I bid, gentlemen?”

The crowd was silent.   The boy reached into his pocket and counted out a handful of change.   “Ten guineas and twelve bob.  ”

Someone in the crowd called out.   “Jonathan Evans.   Your pappy know how you’re squanderin’ his money?”

The crowd broke into raucous laughter.

“Never you mind.  ” The auctioneer took control.   “The boy’s money’s as good as anybody else’s.   You got yourself a slave, boy.   Come and git him.  ”

To buy Blair McDowell’s intriguing new novel, go to her website and choose your preferred seller.

And just what is this other one of which I speak? The fourth installment of the Identity Crisis series, Assumed Master. That series has taken so many twists and turns for me, I sometimes look back and think, “What happened?”

I’ve talked about this series before, several times in fact, and starting in a few days I’m going on a whirlwind blog tour to promote it, since I’m sure—yes, POSITIVE—it is now complete. J I think most of the reading world is aware that the Identity Crisis series began as a stand-alone novella length work that was supposed to whet my appetite for the darker side of romance in the form of a little slap and tickle via the BDSM highway. Okay. That lasted all of…what a couple of weeks after finishing the first installment Identity Crisis, thus the nifty series name. See how that works? J

So, I completed Identity Crisis, which by the way was a very fun write. I still love Tori, Chad, and Ren—oh, did I forget to mention it’s a ménage? A tres hot one I might add. You see, when all this arms and legs action happens, the two men are hooded and Tori is clueless as to who is who. Fun and sexy! Anywho—with Identity Crisis complete, I figured out my itch wasn’t quite scratched and a couple of more characters began to chatter away. And they told me they were book two…Ummm? Book two of what exactly?

The Identity Crisis Series, the voice of one Stephan Sachelles said. Who? He’s the very talented and skilled master from True Identity. His submissive to be, one Jillian Stewart, agreed. Well, alright! Guess we’re doing a series. Now what about book three? Everyone knows a series comes in threes. After much thought, Assumed Identity started coming to fruition after I read some accounts of and talked to a few people I know in the lifestyle about edge play. Interesting stuff to say the least. J Julie Marie Hayden Chelsea Stevens was born and Mason Seidler came along with her. Oh, and did I mention her best friend? Who’s gay? And married to a bi-sexual named Dante that wants her, too? Oh yes, it does get complicated my friends. And to make matters worse, or better, or not, maybe…

Before I could even get Assumed Identity finished and off to edits, Dante came off the page in all his Dom glory and declared, “Guess what? Our story is nowhere near finished.”

Really? Just who’s in charge here anyway?

Ummmm…clearly that is the wrong thing to say to someone as dominant as the likes of Dante. He is in charge and that’s the final word on that.

Now, I must warn you. Assumed Master isn’t for the faint of heart. There are some unconventional ideas going on and I address the issue of what happens to a completely submissive slave when her one and only Master has died. I’ve been asked repeatedly where I go for my research, do I know people that practice, etc, etc , etc. Yes, I do know people. I just keep my sources close because I won’t betray them their privacy, but I can tell you that I do know of actual accounts in which a slave has been more or less “willed” to another in the event her Master would die. I know. It’s a hard concept to grasp. But I’ve found that most of these occurrences have been pre-planned and discussed ahead of time so everyone involved is aware of what’s to come. And all parties are agreeable.

J Did you know I’m known as the conflict queen? (I’ll censure myself here as I’m actually called another word entirely, but it’s not appropriate for public discussions…) Yes, and I wear the title with pride. I wondered, how can I take this concept of willing another human to someone  and create an even bigger conflict that public disapproval and appall?

Oh, I know, I know!! What if the heroine and the person inheriting her are completely unaware of this Mason’s intentions? Oh…now that’s good…

Happy reading!

Lila Munro~~

We may be born to the lifestyle,

Julie Stevens and Dante Larson always knew their tastes were a bit more eccentric than those of the average person, but acknowledgement of their chosen paths came at different times. While their lives have run parallel for the last twenty years, destiny always came knocking at the wrong time. Julie was a closeted edge player and before Dante could pull her free of her fears, Mason came along and dragged her kicking and screaming from her self-inflicted darkness, leaving Dante wanting. Although Dante’s been in love with Julie since the day he first laid eyes on her, he’s happily married to Blake. But the tides are turning.

But Lady Fate dictates how it should be lived…

Still mourning the death of the only Master she’s ever known, Julie finds herself forced to live with the one man she’s been terrified of for years, Dante. While she has to admit something between them feels right, just as many things feel very, very wrong, starting with the fact he’s married to her gay best friend. Before she even has time to sort out her current predicament, another man catches Julie’s attention. But after losing her mother, her sister, and her husband, can Julie come to grips with the fact that Keegan McKettrick jumps out of perfectly good helicopters for a living, rescue diving for the Coast Guard? And where exactly does that leave Dante, who knows for sure he needs a woman to complete his unconventional marriage? Quite frankly, he’s tired of waiting.

What was going on during the time you wrote your story? What was the inspiration for the events you unfolded or who were your characters “fashioned after?” That’s the real story behind the story and every good book has one! Some writers keep a journal or diary for each story they write. More fascinating to read after the book is completed, you can gain interesting insight into your creative process from the journal. I’m one of those writers. I like to see how daily activities influenced my work in progress.

So, what is Nardi Point’s story? Thank you for asking! (smile) I’ve had a long interest in discovering or uncovering objects secreted away, buried in the earth. I admit to burying a story out in the backyard one summer and wondering how long it would take to transform into a crinkled, yellowed pirate map. One week later, unable to wait, I dug it up and found it to be just wet.

Years later, I was in North Carolina, a state rich in prehistoric and historic artifacts (old things long buried and being dug up out of the ground). Excited, I volunteered at the State Archaeology office and was trained to handle and categorize selected artifacts under the watchful supervision of the experts. I handled ten thousand-year-old Native American stones smoothed for pounding, or sharpened for scraping, and sherds of pottery broken apart centuries ago. To actually hold a sherd in the palm of my hand that was created by indigenous peoples from that long ago was startling. The artifacts were found on a Piedmont farm and brought to archaeologists’ attention through the wisdom of the family who noticed the bits of history and recognized them for being something out of place and intriguing.

I thought about what would have happened had these artifacts been handled in a less than responsible way. The writer’s “What if” drill. You see, where the artifacts are found is called their “provenience.” What is found with them comes from the same time period and provides clues for what the object was and its use.  Archaeological resources are limited and irreplaceable, and should be left in the ground untouched until responsible and scientific methods can ensure no provenience information is lost during their removal.

This spring, a reality series, American Digger, follows a team across the nation which callously excavates archaeological artifacts using metal detectors and state of the art backhoes. Their goal is to sell the unearthed artifacts to collectors, then split the proceeds between the landowner and the team. Some of these sites contain unmarked human burials and skeletal remains. Their greed robs us all of the chance to understand and learn from our shared past.

What was the story behind the story for your latest project?

http://www.amazon.com/Nardi-Point-ebook/dp/B007US8S0O/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1335136754&sr=8-1

You all know how much I love to write m/m romances and while I do enjoy the grittier side of some in which the pieces allow me have murders and fires, kidnappings and espionage, I truly love to write about passion. Passion and love have no boundaries in my mind. I don’t care what kind of relationship you’re in, we all want to find the perfect man or the perfect woman in our lives. Let’s face it, we can’t be alone. We need people and love to nurture and cuddle.

And yes guys do too. I think having men who share real lives in our books really draws in our readers. When I sat down to pen Hot Summer Nights, I really wanted to bring out a fun side of being on vacation with a bit of drama and passion smack in the middle. I have eight sexy pieces coming out two a month starting in May and they are all designed to show the rather hungry and yet romantic side of men who you might not think would get together.

The first one is set in one of my favorite places on Earth – Key West. A place where sun and fun and good times are had. Let’s take a taste…

HOT SUMMER NIGHTS – KEY WEST

BLURB

For marine Darnell Wright, an R & R was long overdue. Stationed in Afghanistan for almost a year, he was bone tired and hungry – for a taste of sin. A carefully planned trip brought him to the hottest spot on Earth – Key West. Determined to have an uninhibited adventure, he made reservations at the best hotel on the strip and prepared himself for two solid weeks of pleasure. His first stop? Watching the sun setting at the Southernmost Point with a cool margarita in his hand. What he didn’t anticipate was seeing a familiar face. Brent Majors was a one-time fling and a long-term friend, lost among a sea of lies. When a chance encounter brought them together, sparks flew, but could they move past their fury? Little did they know one hot summer night would drag them both into ecstasy and perhaps something more…

EXCERPT

Disembarking from the plane, Darnell Wright stood quietly for several minutes merely drinking in the enticing atmosphere. He hadn’t been through Miami in almost ten years and Jesus Christ everything had changed. As he headed for baggage claim he drank in the eclectic mix of people and smiled. There was no doubt he was ready for a little R & R. In truth, it was long overdue. Stationed in Afghanistan for almost a year, he was ready for sun, fun and sin, and not necessarily in that order. Sadly, the ten days were going to go fast and he was ready to make the most of them. While he longed to see his family, time away from everything with nothing to do but cruise the strip in Key West was first on the agenda.

Grabbing his bag, he scanned the airport and found what he was looking for, the rental car section. As he strolled toward the Hertz counter he couldn’t help but finger his sunglasses, nestled in his shirt pocket. He had to laugh as he gazed down at his attire. The tangerine colored Hawaiian print shirt and khaki shorts was a far cry from his usual attire, Marine drab. But hell, he loved being a Marine and serving his country. One more tour of six months and he was officially out. And then he’d figure out what he was doing for the rest of his life.

“Can I help you sir?” The lovely blonde behind the counter gave him more than a once over.

“I have a car reserved for Darnell Wright.” Too bad he wasn’t into blondes – at least women that is.

“We have you right here.” Batting her eyelashes furiously, she leaned over the counter and smiled as she pushed the paperwork toward him. “Just sign here.”

Grinning to himself, she could have no idea what he was hungering for and he knew of certain locations in Key West where he could find exactly the man of his dreams. While he was going to practice safe sex of course, a little taste was most definitely in order. He glanced at her nametag and pulled out his practiced, bottled charm. “Samantha. What a beautiful name for a sexy lady. This is a special treat for me since I’m been serving our country for a very long time. Tell me, do you actually have convertibles you rent?”

“Well of course.”

“Could you check and see if just maybe you have one and tell me what the upgrade price is?”

Samantha licked her crimson stained lips and nodded. “Not a problem. We want to make all of our customers very happy and especially our servicemen and women. Let me see what I can do.”

As he tossed his bag into the back seat, Darnell donned his dark shades and took a giant whiff of air. This was going to be a damn good time. Laughing, he pressed his hand down the length of the flaming red Miata and licked his lips as he strutted back and forth, showing off for any and all who would watch. “Mmm… Oh yeah, baby!” Not only did he upgrade to one hot steel beast but at no additional charge to boot. What some shameless flirting could do. Maybe he shouldn’t have pulled the military card but what the heck.

Settling into the leather seats, he turned over the engine and had to resist screeching out of the parking lot like a bat out of hell. His method of transportation for almost three years? One glorified high dollar tin can. The regulation Humvee was more than just functional and practical but this ride was like a fine stallion, meant to be ridden hard and fast. His cock aching, he pressed his hand over his bulge before heading out onto the street. Look out world, because one hungry man was coming to town.

What do you think – a little hot?

Kisses   xxx

Cassandre

WHERE TO FIND ME

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Email:  cassandre@cassandredayne.com

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Generally characters come first for me. I’m big on character name meanings so that’s something that I focus on in the very beginning.

Are you in control of your characters or do they control you?

It feels like they control me most of the time! I do have a kind of multiple personality relationship with my characters. As if they aren’t my own creations but just another part of my brain.

How do you come up with the titles to your books?

Titles take me forever! I try to use my story’s theme elements to pull a title together but for some reason it is really difficult for me.

What did you want to be when you grew up?

There were a ton of things that I wanted to be but I suppose the most notable were singer, TV news reporter, photographer and of course writer.

Are you working on anything at the present you’d like to share with us?

I have quite a few works in progress that have been collecting dust while I gave all my attention to The Low Notes. Now I’m focusing on a beach romance.

Do you have any strange handwriting habits, like capitalizing all your “r”s or dotting your “I”s with heart (or anything like that)?

People look at me funny when I write because I apparently hold my pen/pencil ‘weird’. Instead of resting my writing utensil in the crook of my thumb, I hold it straight up. Comfortable to me, weird to others.

You can erase any horrible experience from your past. What will it be?

None. Everything I have experienced or endured has made me who I am today. I can’t imagine not going through the rough stuff for fear I would turn out different from the lady I am now.

When you looked in the mirror this morning, what was the first thing you thought?

“Stop sleeping in your makeup!”

What were you doing at midnight last night?

Sleeping.

What’s the strangest thing you’ve ever eaten?

I’m not too adventurous with food. I’d say calamari.

What do you want to know about the future?

I’d love to know what my kids will be like.

What’s your heritage?

My mother’s grandmother and grandfather came from Ireland and my father’s ancestors were Dutch.

What’s your favorite pizza?

Margarita

What’s one thing scientists should invent?

Cure for cancer seems a little overdue.

What do you do to relax and recharge your batteries?

I’m a movie buff and I adore going to the movie theater. It’s an odd way to relax but it is the most comforting thing to me and it also has the potential to inspire me.

Have you always wanted to be a writer?

All signs point to yes but it was an ambition I denied admitting to myself off and on for a few years. I had a lot of self-doubt about my writing over the years.
If you weren’t writing, what would you be doing?

My day job has me doing hair but in my free time I enjoy going to the movies and baking!

Fill in the blank favorites (two word max!) -

Dessert. – Tiramisu

City. – London

Season. – Autumn

Type of hero. – Vulnerable male

Type of heroine. – Sassy sweet

Tell us about your current title.

I feel like I’ve been trying to write this book since I was a teenager. A few times I started and stopped until finally it all came to me and I just wrote the darn thing. The Low Notes is about a forbidden romance between a teacher and his student. It brings up the question of whether or not you can help who you fall for. This project has been my baby for a few years now and I’m so happy to finally be able to share it. Tentatively it will be available May 17^th and you can read more about it on my blog www.katerothwrites.blogspot.com

There was a time when I was in love with two characters, one was named Edward, and the other was named Bella. They set the stage for my first book which was a YA Fiction Romance novel. Granted, it had supernatural undertones in it but I found something was missing.

I quickly realized after I finished the book what my characters needed.

Sex.

There are some YA books out there that have sex in them but to be honest I’ve always felt a little off about portraying sexual issues in a YA novel. I nearly picked all the skin off my fingers debating this issue and as I placed a band aid on my now upset thumb, I realized that maybe the YA genre just wasn’t for me. I wanted to deal with real life, grown up issues with well… sex.

That’s why I wrote “A Charleston Love Story.” I felt connected to my character Baker Thompson, a young graphic artist (I was one at the time of the story idea) who was frustrated with life in general. Her only sanctuary was Wadmalaw Island, located near Charleston, South Carolina. The idea for the story came to me as I watched the sun set over the island one afternoon with a dear friend of mine. I always considered Charleston and amazing place full of history and I hated to leave the view on that particular afternoon.

In my short story, Baker meets Jimmy, someone who understood her fascination with the island and encouraged her not only to stay, but also to make a giant leap of faith and act on her desires. This was my catalyst to writing romance. I’ve always believed in happily ever after, even though I have written some short stories without just that.

My best friend who pre-reads every single thing I’ve ever written said that my transition came when my writing grew up with me. As I matured, so did my characters and I no longer needed to write about teen-aged issues. It was time to write like an adult.

I’m not saying that all YA authors are immature. Please do not get that misconstrued. I just found that I could no longer think in the mindset of a teen. Everything I wanted to write about had to deal with adult themed issues and it was a personal choice of my own. There are some amazing YA authors out there that are writing amazing books.

When I saw that Rebel Ink was hosting an anthology, I immediately thought of “A Charleston Love Story” and how much I wanted it to find a good home. I’ve had an opportunity of a lifetime given to me thanks to that day on Wadmalaw Island. I finally have a chance to put my writing out for the world to see and I sincerely appreciate the opportunity.

I for one cannot wait to see what the Memorial Day Anthology looks like and I can honestly say I’ve only been this excited four times in my life, the day I married my husband and when all three of my kids were born. This definitely fits right up there with that.

Our blue collar working class neighborhood equaled the world to us in my childhood. Those narrow streets lined with tired, worn houses provided shelter and a familiar refuge.  We shopped at the small markets within a few block radius, went to school, to church, and to our relatives, most of which lived within the same area.  St. Joseph’s Hospital – known in the ‘hood and community as “Sisters” – was where I was born and where the old folks went to die.

Growing up there my life seemed destined to follow a particular path.  I’d grow up, go to the same high school my mother attended, graduate and get married to a boy from the neighborhood.  He’d work at the brewery a few blocks away, the same one with the whistle everyone used to keep track of time.  Or maybe he’d work at the packing house like my dad did or another factory or at Quaker Oats or if he were really a go-getter, he might become a postman like my uncle.

I’d work, maybe in a nice office somewhere or if not, I’d be a waitress or sew hatbands onto men’s hats at the same sweatshop where my grandma worked.  Or I could wash the hospital’s dirty laundry including the priest’s smalls like my Granny.  If we could, maybe I’d be able to quit work when the inevitable kids came and if not, they’d go to Granny’s just like I did from the age of two months until school began for me.  The years would pass, the kids would grow and I’d get old, living the same lifestyle that nurtured me.  I’d go from girl to Granny myself in a few decades but it would be the natural order of things, the way of it all.

Except I never quite fit the pattern. Somehow from birth I was never quite the perfect little girl with ringlet curls and sweet demeanor my mother expected and as I grew up, I dreamed of another life, somewhere else and something different.

I may have left the old neighborhood behind but it lives within me, baggage that serves me well.  Along with the teachings of my family members, especially my Granny, I have the stubborn, fighting spirit that brought me here to keep me moving into the future.

Girls from my old neighborhood, from my rough river rat hometown aren’t supposed to grow up and write novels or anything else.

But one of my grandfather’s handed down a saying, “there is no such word as ‘can’t’” and so I grew up believing I could.  My father encouraged me to soar beyond the confines of the nest, to try my hand at writing and anything else tempting my fancy.  When I headed to college, he applauded and when I ran out of money before starting my senior year, he funded it.   He didn’t try to keep my home when I took off for California or stop me when I moved in with a man.  We won’t even talk about my mother’s reaction but let’s just call it classic and stereotypical.

If I hadn’t lived my back story, I probably couldn’t write the stories I do.  If I hadn’t left home and visited other places, maybe I wouldn’t be able to write the stories.  But the background, the neighborhood remains a foundation.  Instead of becoming my life, my growing up turned into my springboard to farther places and my past remains a touchstone.  I couldn’t write the stories without it either.

Someone once made a lot of money by writing a book claiming everything he learned was in kindergarten.  I wouldn’t go as far to say I learned everything in the neighborhood which cradled me but I learned a lot and it travels along with me, baggage of my soul.