I suppose I should give a shout out to our author, Lex Valentine, who always considers it a win if she can make her editor (me) sniffle a time or two during her books. And how can I not, with the rich, emotional story, the depth of feelings, and the characters that you can really are about? It’s those things that make a reader (or an editor) cry.

I was thinking about this topic as I was finishing up the most recent book in a series (non romance). I was lying on the couch, tears leaking down my face, though I blamed it on allergies and being overly tired, and there I was…crying over a book. In fact, I hadn’t cried in the first few books, but in the fourth, when the sniffles threatened, that was when the author hooked me, and she’s an auto-buy/auto-read ever since.

Readers want an emotional connection with their books and characters. Most authors probably don’t have to have a reader cry to get on their auto buy list, but that visceral, emotional reaction to a book will certainly do it. At least for me. I don’t think authors should shy away from those heart wrenching scenes. And those scenes will be different from one reader to another. An emotional reunion might not threaten tears, but have someone’s cat or pet be in danger, and the waterworks are on! We probably shouldn’t put in things to try and make every reader cry, but if a story is deeply emotional, then there’s no reason why an author wouldn’t want to make as deep a reading experience as possible. And yes, sometimes that includes tears.

I like to joke that I’m a sap. I do get emotionally involved in characters and stories. I love it when a story brings itself to life through brilliant execution and pulls at my emotions. That’s what a good book does. I still can’t read the entire Vanyel trilogy by Mercedes Lackey without bawling my eyes out, and honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

So writers, go for the heart! Make your reader (or your editor) cry. We’re waiting!

Publisher’s Note: Reclaimed is the third book in this trilogy. The stories are connected and readers will receive the most enjoyment out of reading all three. Look for special savings on the first two books during the last half of May!

Reclaimed by Cari Z.

People say that you get what you deserve. One of the few theological constants the world over, at any time in history and with almost any culture, has been the idea that the things you do directly affected the things that were in turn done to you, whether by God, or man, or nature itself. It was the concept that, barring instances of extreme good or bad fortune, if you treated others well, then you would be treated the same way. If, however, you treated others with disdain or abuse, then the wheel would turn and life would punish you for your arrogance. Well, somewhere along the way I must have made a hell of a jerk out of myself, because life had taken me into its jaws and was shaking me hard enough that I thought my neck might break from whiplash.

I had always considered myself to be a fairly average person, not especially good or kind or brilliant, but definitely not bad either. I didn’t steal, tried not to lie and was raised to be respectful. I didn’t cry out for attention or notice and always stayed within the lines of correctness that society had drawn for me. I was a student, a scholar and an introvert, and happy to be that way. I didn’t ask for anything incredible in my life but incredible happened to me anyway in the form of Reese Daveth. From the second I met him, I knew in my heart that my life would never be ordinary again.

If nothing else, Reese Daveth was a constant source of wonder and surprise to me. He was a fun companion, an incredible lover and he seemed to like me, really like me, and enjoyed my company even when all I was doing was research, rewrites, and agonizing over finishing my doctoral thesis. He was surprisingly patient and amazingly good at lifting me out of whatever study or mental rut had me stuck, and I loved him more than was probably good for me.

All of his good points were accentuated by the lengths Reese went to see me when he was supposed to be keeping a low profile, hiding from a dozen different governments and one very shady organization that had already kidnapped him once in an effort to get him to work with them. It was fairly easy for Reese to keep a low profile: in addition to being a highly skilled thief, he was a doppelganger, the kind of shifter than could imitate another human being if they had enough of their target’s DNA to work with. I had no idea how many “shells”, as he called them, Reese had, but since our disastrous trip to Venice last Christmas, he’d come to visit me six times. Each time he’d worn a different shell, and none of them were the tall, dark-haired seducteur I’d first met. It became kind of a game, with my trying to spot him before he could approach me. I picked him out first about half the time, and always if I could see his eyes. They took on a certain look when he was with me, and whether the eyes themselves seemed old or young, brown or blue, they were always warm and soft and welcoming, and I knew it was him despite how the rest of his body appeared.

For example, the last time Reese came to visit he wore the shell of a young woman, blonde and pretty in a New York kind of way, model-thin and standing out in the crowd in black leather and silk. It was striking in part because Southern women generally had different taste in attire, but I still didn’t pay her much attention until she took her sunglasses off. Her eyes were grey, brightened with heavy eyeliner and mascara, but I knew instantly that she was Reese. As soon as she realized I recognized her, a perfect white smile split her face, and she rushed across the university café, students parting before her like the Red Sea, and engulfed me in a hug.

“Danny!”

It felt so strange to hear Reese’s pet name for me come out of a female throat. At least the British accent was still there. Still, holding her was more than a little disconcerting. I liked women, but I didn’t like women.

“Hi…Reese.”

“So demure in public,” she grinned, shaking her head. “As if any of these people care that your lovely Cousin Reese from London is visiting. Besides,” she continued, taking my arm and leading me out of the café, “I hate how we can never go out these days. I want a night on the town with you, Danny boy.”

“We could go out with you as a guy, you know.”

“Nah, pet, would never work,” Reese replied blithely. “Everyone round here knows you’re not the type to sleep around, yeah? If they saw you out with a different bloke every third week they’d think something was up. Better we have a nice time without having to look over our shoulders. The really fun stuff can wait ‘til we get home.” “Home” being my tiny apartment, but it felt good to have him call it that. We’d ended up going out to dinner at a five-star seafood restaurant, and then to a club I’d never even heard of before, even though I was the one who lived here. By the end of the night Reese was nicely buzzed and I was mostly over the fact that he was wearing a female shell, and just enjoying his company.

Once we were alone again, though, he always took the shape I knew best. It wasn’t that Reese wasn’t willing to look like someone else in bed. The thought of it kind of excited him, honestly, but for my part it mostly creeped me out. I was just made to be monogamous, and even though I knew intellectually that Reese was the same person inside whether or not he looked it on the outside, I was very partial to the shell in which I’d first met him. He knew it too, and back in my apartment he indulged me with my favorite. God, did he indulge me. I couldn’t sit easy for a week after he left.

I had the joy of watching someone become a fan, the kind of fan who stays up into the wee hours of the morning to read, of a new-to-them author this past weekend. Even better, this was a genre that this person really hadn’t read, and didn’t seem to be his “thing”.  You see, Patricia Briggs was the author guest of honor at Demicon this past weekend. (www.demicon.org), and I had purchased the first two Mercy Thompson books to read, because I wanted to familiarize myself with her works. Plus, I felt kind of late to this very awesome party. Well, I’d mentioned to my partner that he should read her books, too. Just so he’d be familiar with her work. The next thing I know, as I’m pulled into this world and reading as fast as I can, he is, too. It was amazing to watch.

As a writer and a publisher, this is the kind of reaction I’d hope to hear of when someone discovers my/our books, that a series filled with beloved characters turns into a “can’t put them down” and “gobble up all the books” reading marathon.

So how do you create that kind of reading experience?

First, whether the book is in third or first person, make sure there is an intriguing main character who has a compelling voice and story to tell.

Second, don’t give away all your thunder before the climax of the book. Hints and tidbits are great. Those are what makes the reader go, “ohh, so that’s how it all worked out” when the ending is finally revealed, but doesn’t make them guess the murderer ten pages in.

Third, each book needs to be better than the last. I can list at least half a dozen series where readers are still raving, but for me, the books just got…well, “meh” by the second or third one in, and I couldn’t really justify the money, nor the time, in reading them. And these are pretty big name authors. I bet the names would shock you. But when each book is better than the last, when each book reveals something new and different about your world, then the readers will keep coming back for more.

I was informed this morning that someone stayed up until almost five am reading. Yes, he’s almost done with the series. And I just smile, because my hard science fiction, logic, politics, and math guy is hooked on urban fantasy which he’d never have picked up, unless I said, “honey, you really want to read these books. They’re good.” I may have offered the bait, but it was the author’s talent which made him swallow it– hook, line, and sinker!

I’m a fan of reunion stories. Two high school sweethearts see each other for the first time since graduation and realize they’re still in love. Friends who were separated years ago reconnect and discover that their feelings run deeper than friendship. Those stories are heartwarming and remind readers that love can outlast time and separation.

But what about if the person you’re reuniting with isn’t a former sweetheart, or even a former friend of yours? What if it’s someone you hoped you’d never see again?

What if it’s someone who stood by while you were bullied, or even participated in bullying you?

It’s hard to forgive someone for bullying you. I was bullied in school, and twenty-five years later there are still people I won’t speak to because of how they treated me. Even if they apologized, I don’t know if I’d forgive them.

So how could a character in a romance fall in love with someone who bullied them in the past? Well, that’s what I’m working on finding out in my current work-in-progress, a contemporary M/M novella, which I mentioned last month.

It’s a romance, so of course there’s a happy ending. But how do they get there? We’ll all just have to wait and see.

Well Traveled by Jasmine Aherne
contemporary sensual romance
full length novel (65K)
ISBN# 978-1-938257-08-7
Cover Art by Valerie Tibbs

Temporarily living in London to care for his ailing father, travel writer Wade is torn between his urge to globe trot and his love for his dad.

Enter broken hearted but free-spirited Kiersten. After a spilled cup of hot chocolate brings them together, Kiersten shows Wade that he doesn’t need to get on a plane to find places to explore. The city opens up before his eyes, and he starts discovering things about London – and about himself – that he never expected…

Purchase Now From Pink Petal Books

Excerpt

“The hot writer from last year? Wow, I did not see that one coming.” Rajni, Kiersten’s friend and former colleague, hugged one of Kiersten’s couch cushions closer to her chest. “Is he single?”

Kiersten helped herself to a chocolate coated Brazil nut. “Um. We haven’t talked about that.”

Natalie, who sat in the chair by the bookshelf, grabbed one of Wade’s books – the bestseller about a journey through the Grand Canyon – and turned it to the back page, the showed it to Kiersten. “Look at this photo. Look! That man is sex on a stick. Tell me why you haven’t talked about it?!”

Kiersten declined to mention that Wade was even more gorgeous than his photo made him out to be. The black and white headshot just didn’t do him justice.

The photo didn’t show how the grey of his eyes turned to slate in the gold of evening street lamps. It didn’t show how the glow of the setting sun picked out the two-tone copper shades threading through his hair, or-

“Kiersten?” Rajni snapped her fingers in front of Kiersten’s face.

“What?” She was jerked from her reverie.

Natalie laughed and put the book back. “You went somewhere else. I hope it was somewhere nice. Was Mr bestselling-travel-writer Lomax there, too?”

Kiersten had a feeling she’d need a lot more wine than the one glass she had poured herself.

“We have not talked about,” she said slowly, “Because we’re not in a relationship, nor are we going to start one. I’m just helping him out. That’s all. End of story.”

Rajni sighed. “I know how I’d like to help him out.”

“Amen,” Natalie agreed.

“Oh my God!” Kiersten threw her hands in air. “Just because we slept together, once, year ago-”

“On Valentine’s Day,” Rajni reminded her.

“Yes, fine, on bloody Valentine’s Day, does not mean that I am doing him this favour for a repeat performance. For all I know, he has a steady girlfriend. He might even have a wife!”

Natalie was busy doing something on her smart-phone. She turned it over so Kiersten and Rajni could see the screen. “He’s not married.”

Kiersten looked at the little screen. Wikipedia. It just figured that Natalie had used the internet to disprove her point.

She poured herself more wine. “Not everything you read online is true.”

“Seriously, though.” Rajni rubbed Kiersten’s shoulder sympathetically. “He seems a really nice guy. Where are you going to take him first?”

“Besides your bedroom,” Natalie interjected.

Kiersten rolled her eyes. “Honestly, I swear that between the two of you, you think about sex more than most of the men I’ve met.” She pointed at Natalie. “You. What happened to that cute guy you were flirting with who works on the floor below you?”

Natalie sighed. “Turned out he is married.”

“I’m sorry. But you!” She aimed her hand at Rajni. “You’ve got a boyfriend already. Why do you need to be so fixated on my love life?”

Rajni laughed. “My boyfriend is not a famous travel writer, whom I slept with on V-Day last year,” she replied. “Your story is far more interesting. And fun! And Nat and I care about you and want you to be happy. That’s all.”

Kiersten felt the air deflate from her. “I know. I just feel….”

“You want something to happen, don’t you?” Rajni finished for her.

Kiersten nodded. She couldn’t deny that she didn’t look at Wade and yearn for him to kiss her, touch her…. Or do anything else which might lead to a repeat performance of their horizontal tango in his apartment last year.

Purchase Now From Pink Petal Books

Three ingredients and delicious!

Ingredients:

1 half boneless, skinless chicken breast per person
1 can of cream of mushroom soup
1 package of whole button mushrooms

Put the chicken breasts in the crock pot. Dump the soup on top of it. Wash and drop mushrooms on top of soup. Cook for 3-4 hours until done.

Serve with salad or steamed veggies. Enjoy.

Wolf’s Wind
by Vonna Harper
Release Date: 04/19/2012

Despite the nightmarish accident that took her brother Skye’s life here, Carlan Nashel is drawn back to the raging mountain river. She needs understanding and closure. Instead, a ghostly human presence and a spirit wolf pack send her running terrified into Brett Schneider’s strong, capable arms.

Brett hasn’t yet made his peace with the forest that nearly killed him. He wants one thing, hot passion with Carlan, a night full of sex and no memories.

But Skye’s ghost and the yellow-eyed wolves want more.

Purchase Now From Pink Petal Books

Wolf’s Wind by Vonna Harper
erotic romance with paranormal elements
novella (approx 22K)
ISBN# 978-1-938257-07-0
Cover Art By Winterheart Design

Note: This book follows Wolf’s Storm, but can be read by itself.

Dangerous Men, Dangerous Places
an anthology of five hot romance stories
ISBN# 978-1-938257-06-3
Release Date: 04/05/2012
Cover Art by Winterheart Design

Taking A Risk by Lyncee Shillard
erotic contemporary romance

Dangerous Place For Love by Sam Crescent
erotic contemporary romance

The Prisoner by Dani-Lyn Alexander
erotic contemporary romance

Russian Heat by Rhyll Biest
erotic contemporary romance (Menage)

Bounty by Krystal Brookes
sensual science fiction romance

When Gemma Scott’s shuttle crash lands on Alcatraz prison planet, she’s sure of one thing: if the impact doesn’t kill her, the inmates will. She wakes up in the hut of a convicted terrorist and wonders how long it will be until the handsome but dangerous man discovers she was the one who arrested him two years earlier. As their attraction grows, they work together to help Gemma escape the dangerous planet. But they can’t deny the sparks that fly between them.

In this collection of five amazing short stories, you’ll struggle to choose which man’s arms you prefer—and whether or not you ever want to leave.

Buy now from Pink Petal Books
They worked together for about an hour without saying very much. When he looked over her shoulder to see what she was doing, his warm breath made her shiver with anticipation. Occasionally Gemma asked for a tool and Rob looked through them until he found whatever she had asked for. Then he held it out to her, making eye-contact and holding onto the tool slightly longer than was necessary. She knew that he was impressed with her abilities and she smiled to herself. He had obviously thought she was completely helpless. Yes, she had been afraid and to an extent, she still was. But she would not let that stop her.

“You don’t seem to be strong enough to be a bounty hunter,” he said suddenly.

“Who said being a bounty hunter was anything to do with strength?” she asked.

“Well, you bring in all these violent criminals. I would have thought that you needed some amount of strength for that.”

“You’re stronger than me, aren’t you?” she noted.

“Yes,” he conceded.

“I caught you.”

“You snuck up on me.”

“Well this is not the OK Corral. Different rules apply. I’m not legally obliged to allow you to walk twenty paces away from me before I shoot you.”

“Fair enough, but you must have captured good marksmen and more wily prey than me.”

“Yes, but I have other talents.”

“Such as?”

She smiled at him over her shoulder.

“Let’s just say that there are some situations in life where men are the weaker sex.”

His snort of derision made her eyes narrow and her mouth set in a determined line.

“It’s very hot in here,” she said softly before pulling off her t-shirt. He raised an eyebrow at her but said nothing. She continued to work on the engine for a few minutes in her bra and leather pants, before turning to find him watching her intently. She turned toward him and smiled again, this time crawling over to him and raising herself so that her breasts were level with his mouth.

She raised her hands and ran them through his soft brown hair. She watched as he licked his lips, dragging his eyes from the lace covering her pert orbs, up to her eyes. She knew this was a dangerous game she was playing. She really wanted to prove her point and he was not her prey. For hours she’d longed to know how it felt to have his lips surround her nipple and suck on it. The very thought send a spear of want to her core.

He gently kissed the skin just above the lace of her bra. She was straddling his legs and could feel him harden underneath her. She pushed him back gently until he was lying down, then covered his body with hers, claiming his lips in a fervent kiss. As he tangled his fingers in her hair and deepened the kiss, she groaned.

This had started out as an exercise to show him how weak men were and how easily they fell prey to her feminine wiles. But it had backfired on her. She pulled back and looked down into Rob Paris’s passion-filled brown eyes. She smiled as she gently removed her pistol from the holster on his side and pressed it into his neck.

“Like I said, in some situations, men are very weak.”

She watched as fear flashed across his features. Just as quickly though, it was gone.

“So this is how you catch your prey?” he growled.

I’m going to mention a dirty word…grammar! Learning the parts of speech, correct punctuation use, and how to correctly apply these things is the bane of every elementary school student. Some pick up on this easier than others. Even in this house, my partner is a grammar god, and I’m always asking him questions or double checking things, but that’s how we learn. I’ll get to that in a minute.

So I’m going to start with a baseline belief that everyone wants to produce well-written, grammatically correct stories. How do you do that? Well, one of the biggest and best ways is to self-edit. There are numerous classes out there; I’ve taken a few of them. Being able to go back through your work and catch the missed, or overused (but more often these days missed) commas, the singular-plural mismatches, tense shifts…well, I could go on and on.

In order to self-edit, an author needs education. This can be obtained through the aforementioned classes or from books. I routinely mention two of my favorites. I love The Transitive Vampire and The Well-Tempered Sentence, but I’ve also heard good things about Eats, Shoots, Leaves, or anything that the Grammar Girl puts out. (She also has weekly podcasts.)

Another way we get education is from others. Whether they’re critique partners, boyfriends and friends who read our work, or editors at other publishing houses, this education also plays a role in our grammar usage. It also, for those of us who know grammar, grates like hell on our nerves when publishers have grammatically incorrect house styles. And yes, I’ve seen it.

This means that when you have some look at your work, be it a professional or just someone helping out, you need to be sure of their grammar knowledge. Sometimes that’s going to be based on trust. You can’t know that an editor, or a publisher, has a particular house style until you either a) read books edited/published by them or b) work with them. Now errors are going to slip through. It’s the nature of words and writing. And, when an author knows the rules, he or she can break them. That’s also part of writing.

But, it’s vital that those first readers–critique partners, friends, family–know grammar. Hiring an editor might be one way to get the problems fixed, but if you don’t know how to fix them yourself, then you will still make the same issues. Education and hard work are key.

The money and time invested in learning grammar, taking classes, and educating yourself will pay off no matter where you are in your career. Even seasoned authors need refresher courses now and then.

I just finished the first draft of a novella about a ballet dancer, and it got me thinking.

Dancing is beautiful. And I can’t do it to save my life.

My husband used to teach West Coast Swing dancing before he met me. He was also an amateur competitive dancer, and won some awards. He dances beautifully; the night we met, he danced with me (though it was more just swaying to the music) and even then it struck me how gracefully he moved. When we moved in together, he thought West Coast Swing would be a great activity that the two of us could do as a couple, so we started going to the studio where he’d danced and taught. I thought it would be great; I wanted to be able to move as easily as he did.

Not a chance. I’ve since come to the conclusion that I have two left feet. Possibly three. Even having the steps explained to me and watching the instructors perform them, I couldn’t seem to get my own body to do the same thing. I could picture it and could explain to others how to do it, but my body just plain wouldn’t. We went back a few times, but I got more and more frustrated, so we gave up.

I admire people who dance. Those who do it professionally, and those who just do it for fun but are really good at it. I have a pretty good idea of what holds me back from being able to move as gracefully as they do, and there unfortunately isn’t much I can do about it. But even if I can’t dance, I can write about dancers and hopefully evoke a similar feeling in my readers to what dancers evoke in their audiences.

Yep. Those who can, dance. Those who can’t, write. At least in my case.