Smart Bitches Trashy Books | All of the romance, none of the bullshit.

1. You are often discussed on our site among the company of “writers who do romance brilliantly but very differently.” Do you think you have a unique view of romance?

Thanks for the compliment!  I think the driving force behind my books is not so much my view of romance as it it my penchant to become easily bored.  So I tend to create characters that have some odd quirks, I guess, or to put a hero and heroine together who don’t have much in common.  Then it’s a challenge to figure out what they might give one another in an emotional sense.  Once I have a challenge, then I can stay interested in what happens.

2. New book! Details! Please!

After I finished SHADOWHEART, long before it was on the shelves and there was any controversy among readers about it, I’d already decided that I wanted to do a much lighter book this time. So I’ve pulled a complete 180--if books have family ties, the THE LUCKY ONE is a first cousin to MIDSUMMER MOON and a very distant relation of SHADOWHEART.  I wanted to revisit some of the character styles that I’ve enjoyed in the past--what I think of as “hedgehog humor.” It’s a regency setting.  The hero is a feckless French emigre and the heroine is a wallflower who’s been jilted three times. Her greatest desire is to win the silver cup at the agricultural fair with her gigantic prize bull, Hubert. This doesn’t turn out to be quite a simple as it would seem. First they have to get Hubert out of the kitchen.

Now...as to the next question, when it’s coming out…

The short answer is, I don’t know. ;)

The longer answer is, publishers seem to have expected a “dark” book from me, and THE LUCKY ONE is light-hearted. While I received several offers, none were what I was looking for, and mostly focused beyond that manuscript on contracting for another book from me. I’m not prepared to sign for another (unwritten) book yet, although I’m working on my next one. Once I’m well into it, I may feel comfortable signing onto another deadline.

Now, before this information starts another one of those Woe and Doom discussions out there on the net because “even Laura Kinsale can’t sell a book,” I’ll add a little perspective. I had offers for the manuscript that most people would consider to amount to a nice annual salary. They weren’t bad offers at all. But for my own particular reasons, I didn’t accept.

Right now I write because I want to write, not simply to sell. I’ve found that is the only way I can continue to do it. Naturally publishers have an entirely different perspective. Who could blame them?  What makes sense to me now is to create a small backlog of work, so that I have books that can be published on industry schedules without putting me into driven deadline mode.

3. In your LLB interview from 2003, you mentioned that reading fiction now is like trying to watch a movie after you’ve been involved in the process too long. You lose sight of the forest for the individual knowledge of the lighting, the sound, the craft. Is that still true?

It’s pretty much still true.

4. I love your animal sidekicks, and how they often play an integral role in the story. One of my all-time favorites is Merlin’s pet hedgehog in Midsummer Moon, who literally helps save the day. Why a hedgehog?

The ducks were busy. ;P

5. Another animal question: your books have featured dogs, a wolf, a penguin, a pig, a ferret, several horses, a parrot, a falcon, sharks, a hedgehog--and the new one features a prize bull. In short, everything but a cat. Why no cats?

There are cats in my books!

6. A lot of writers write with soundtracks in their heads, and for The Lucky One, you mention that Alison Krauss’ The Lucky One was an inspiration. Do other books of yours feature musical inspirations?

I’m a musical barbarian; I know nothing much about it and I’m always years behind the curve on what’s popular.  I sometimes listen to a lot of my oldies but goodies while I write and occasionally as a book goes along, some song will strike me and perhaps have a small influence, but this is usually pretty limited.  That said, a reader told me about a song she’d heard that reminded her of THE DREAM HUNTER.  So I went out and got hold of it (Desert Rose by Sting) and now I Swear.To.God that he read that book and then wrote that song!  (The song is more recent than the book, hey.) It is a perfect match.  Anyone who really liked TDH, especially the desert part, should listen to it.

So I guess maybe that’s musical inspiration in reverse.  Or just acoincidence, but I can dream. ;)

7. Tell us how you feel about the Google Library project. Let us have it with both barrels, baby.

Both barrels, you say?  I have no objection to the Google project beyond that fact that they intend to do it without permission from the copyright holders.  Google does not have the right to profit from copying works which are owned by someone else.  They whine that it would be “too difficult” to find the copyright owners, but somehow it’s not too hard to scan the entire body of published literature.  And it’s not like the U.S. copyright office has an unlisted phone number.  Google claims they are offering an “opt out” of the project, but just try to find out how to opt out as an author.  Apparently only publishers can “opt out” as far as I can determine from spending hours that I didn’t have to spare in trying to find something about it on their site.  If you are an author, you are instructed to “contact your publisher” in order to opt out.  So again, the burden is on me to figure who in a couple of different publishing companies would happen to be in charge of this, and it’s fairly likely that nobody is.  So there would be a lot of calls and e-mails and nothing would happen but a big waste of my time, thanks to Google’s laziness in not bothering to find ME, the copyright holder, the person who spent years writing the stuff, to ask my permission to copy MY work for THEIR financial gain (or more likely their deliberate decision to make it difficult so that I won’t bother--a scheme that is succeeding quite well.) On top of that, in order to opt-out, you are required to submit PROOF that you are the copyright owner!  So here I am, having to come up with documentation that I own my own copyright so I can stop Google from infringing on it without my permission.

So yeah, I think Google is looking for a nice free ride while spouting a lot of high-falutin’ rhetoric about how this is going to increase authors’ sales--which is the equivalent of someone breaking into my house, looking over my stuff and proclaiming that it would be worth something at a garage sale.  If I don’t happen to want to sell it, they’ll just take it and put it in a garage sale for me, and tell me it’s in my own best interest because it will make money for me.  Maybe it will, maybe it won’t--I see no particular proof that someone happening across one of my books in a search engine would make them rush out and buy it new.  If Google wants to create a searchable library of literary works, they can take the time and effort to get permission from the owners of those works.  Just because something is a slight inconvenience doesn’t make it legal.  If this is so great for authors, they’ll be flocking to get their books scanned in.

The Authors Guild, in conjunction with a number of publishers, has filed suit to require Google to obtain the necessary permission to copy protected works.

Entry #1

I’m a serious bitch with a jaded past.  Do I count sheep before I go to sleep?  Hell no, I count lovers.  A few days ago had an amnesia moment and forgot one man’s name, but could still see his face and hear his voice.  Bingo, his name’s Dennis.  Now there’s just one man on my mind who writes me toe curling e-mail I won’t share with anybody but my sister.

Characters:  A to Z?
Theme:  Men
Conflict:  Getting to my soul mate by April Fool’s day.

Entry #2

This query is for my novel - Forgetting Frank.  I suspect the word count will run to at least 200K as I am a fabulous writer with a lot to say.

Lulabelle Andrinosolous is busty brunette with a talent for blowjobs and making chocolate cake.  Her boyfriend Frank Smith is fast with his fingers, and rakes in the cash at the local casino.  When Lulabelle trips over Frank’s bowling ball, she hits her head on a convenient marble table - forgetting the combination to the safe where Frank’s winnings are.  Not only that but Lulabelle has forgotten she’s a vampire, and runs into trouble when she bites the UPS man.

Frank must get Lulabelle to remember the combination to the safe in the next forty-eight hours so he can use the cash to pay off a gambling debt, or the local mob boss will cut off his fast fingers and feed them to the fishes. This is an offer he cannot refuse.

Things are complicated further when Lulabelle’s secret love child, Bob, arrives to confront his mother about his abandonment – only to find that she has no idea she even had a secret love child.  Bob is furious and curses his mother to never regain her memory.

Poor old Frank must race against the ticking clock to break the curse, remind Lulabelle who she is, which involves a lot of blow jobs so she remembers how good she is, figure out the combination of the safe, pay off the mob boss, and remember to call his mother on her birthday.

The theme is obviously a very powerful picture of how money saves lives, and forgetfulness will remind you of who you really are.  Written in the Point of View of Frank’s bowling ball, I think you’ll find the story powerful and engaging and urge you to request a full.

Entry #3

Author: Marcia (blog)
Proposed Title: The Vampire’s Secret Baby
Proposed Length: 50,000-75,000 words

Summary:

The Patient

She woke up in a hospital. She didn’t know her name. She didn’t know who she was or where she came from. All she knew that she was hungry. And kind of fat. And she craved something liquid and salty…

The Doctor

Dr. Trevor Hapgood fell in love with the beautiful raven-haired amnesia patient as soon as he saw her. As he worked with her to restore her memory, he became increasingly aware that she was returning his looks of passion, and soon they were locked in a feverish embrace. All was bliss until she bit him. Because she was carrying…

The Vampire’s Secret Baby

They were two unlikely lovers, brought together by crazy circumstance. What would happen when the patient regained her memory? Would she totally succumb to the dark forces growing inside of her? When the vampire who impregnated her infiltrated the hospital, a fatal showdown took place, and just as the patient remembered her name--- Alicia Wentworth-Biggs--- and her true identity, she would be forced to choose between the evil (but sexy) creature of the night who fathered her fetus and the charming, innocent doctor who loved her. Who would she choose? And what about her baby? Would it become a monster? Would she have to give the vampire partial custody? In the end, only Alicia could decide, with a little help from Trevor…

This book, filled with chills, thrills, tears, and the occasional laugh will astound readers with its daring new vision. Never before have paranormal romance, medical romance, and secret baby romance met in such an Earth-shaking way!

Entry #4

The “Who the Hell are those Triplets?” series presents:

Blank on the Bayou

Length:  50,000 Folksy, Simple Words

They say, “Forgive and Forget”...but did they mean everything?

She doesn’t know where to turn.  Or who to trust.  In fact, she doesn’t know anything at all.  Jade (...or is that really her name?) is in fear for her life.  She’s been told she was in an accident that made her lose her memory--but can she believe Clint, the tortured ER doctor with the piercing blue eyes?  Or was she born without a memory, a severe case of XWHY Chromosome disease, as the sexy redheaded neurologist Layla is suggesting? And if Jade was in an accident, why does no part of her body hurt--except her heart?

Now a lanky Texan cowboy appears by Jade’s bedside at Louisiana General Hospital (at least, she thinks it’s Louisiana General Hospital) with baby triplets in his arms, claiming they’re hers.  But are they?  Or could the triplets really belong to her half-sister, Prissie…who may not be her half-sister at all?

Only Emeril, the tall Cajun PI her father has hired (…or is that man really her father?) can help Jade find the answers.  When her father asks her to honor the promise he made to her dead mother by eating dirt while engaging in sexual acts with four different men simultaneously, Jade is torn between family loyalty and her attraction to Emeril, the cowboy, the doctor, and the redheaded neurologist--none of whom are the four men her father has designated to help her fulfill the old vow.

Jade snaps.  She flees from Louisiana General in nothing but a scanty lace hospital gown that doesn’t quite tie together properly in the back.  Emeril shoves her in his pickup truck under some tools and fodder bags, and they hit the road while he curses in sexy bad French.  But the cowboy and his triplets are hot on their heels, and so are Jade’s father and the four men he’s picked.

Emeril takes Jade to his wizened grandmother’s shack on a dark bayou, hoping voodoo might bring back Jade’s memory. His grandmother’s powers find the truth: Jade’s past hides a terrible wrong she must forgive.

But at that moment, her pursuers corner them in the swampy alligator-infested shack.

Jade’s downer past and her perky future are suddenly revealed in a raging climax of gunfire, bluesy Cajun rhythms, diapers, and sensuous bayou dirt.

Entry #5

Proposed Title: Song of the NyQuale

Summary: Natalie Conner has always prided herself in being a strong, independent woman who would never go through with marriage. However, her career as a magazine writer is turning stagnant and if she doesn’t turn out something new, she’ll be fired. When Natalie finds out that Brent Cocham, the son of an insanely wealthy hotel and resort mogul is throwing an engagement party at her favorite bar, The Chilly Tumbler, Natalie decides to crash the ceremony for a chance at interviewing Brent. She disguises herself (since reporters and papparazzi are not allowed at the engagement party) as “Sherri Amour”, a hanger-on of the Cocham family. At the party, Natalie (as Sherri) becomes the object of desire to a ditzy bartender with a killer bod. He serves her his specialty drink, NyQuales (cocktails made of NyQuil, vodka, Five Alive citrus punch, and ginger ale), which make Sherri Amour loopier than Anna Nicole at the American Music Awards. The rest of the night becomes a blur.

Natalie/“Sherri” wakes up the next day, slightly hung over, in an apartment that’s not her own, and unable to figure out who she is, where she is, and how she got there. In bed next to Natalie/“Sherri” is none other than Brent himself, who wants “Sherri” as his “secret girlfriend”. “Sherri” doesn’t know, since she doesn’t know who she is or how she ended up in bed with Brent, but after Brent gives her his Oreo treatment (i.e., spreads her legs open and licks her “creamy center”), “Sherri” decides that being the mistress to someone who can please a woman that way. Meanwhile, Jodi Jegglers, Brent’s fiancée, is freaking out over how ill-prepared the wedding is so far. What’s worse is that Brent hasn’t spoken to her since the engagement party. When Jodi drives up to Brent’s apartment, “Sherri” makes the mistake of answering the door. Jodi breaks off the engagement (and the pending wedding) with Brent after slugging “Sherri” in the face. “Sherri” comes out of her amnesia and finds Brent crying over her. Now “Sherri” has to choose whether she should be a proud, independent woman or arm candy to one of the richest men in the world.

Entry #6

Daphne Dranklushy-Merlot is fleeing from her dastardly uncle, Lord Erasmus Flaggellickly, when her coach-and-four overturns in a torrential downpour, plunging her and her heaving bosom into Cracklebrains Fjord. The water is rising in the wreckage, but Daphne is blissfully unaware, having been knocked unconscious in the accident. The screaming horses draw the attention of the Baron Buttswilder, who comes to Daphne’s rescue.

Daphne regains consciousness at the Baron’s posh estate, but has left her memory on the banks of the fjord – they don’t call it Cracklebrains for nothing, you know. Bereft of even the slightest inkling of who she is and with her wits not altogether unscrambled (causing some confusion in her conversation), Daphne must fight to reclaim her memory and her identity.

The wickedly handsome, dim-witted Baron has a quandary of his own: does he search for the identity of the buxom siren he pulled from a certain death or does he simply claim the sensuous beauty for his own, more earthly desires? The blonde Baron is not even sure what a quandary is, but whatever it is, he’s got it bad.

Meanwhile, Lord Flaggellickly is advancing his evil plan to make his niece’s money his own. He bribes a mute, baseborn housemaid to pose as the missing heiress, planning to wed her to his deplorable son, Sir Chancey-Bon-Dancey of WhackyBoombaLackey.

Here is a sampling of Daphne’s dilemma (page 89):

“What we have here, Girl, is a failure to communicate. Now, strip off those rags and let me see your body. I’ve plans for it, and they don’t include clothing...or chicken feathers.”

Entry #7

Please consider my contemporary sports-related inspirational romantic suspense thriller, FROZEN IN TIME, for publication in your new Why Hero(in)es with Amnesia (WHA?) line.

During the 2002 Salt Lake City Winter Olympics, the family of perky Mormon Sariah Smith hosts the equally vivacious Swedish athlete Garth Hunfridssonssonsson, the “Pride of Páarp.” A romance blooms between Sariah and Garth, fueled by the excitement of the Games and their shared love of reindeer sweaters. Sadly, Garth loses his memory in a freak curling accident. He forgets both his love for Sariah and his talent for the sport. Garth returns home to pursue his brand-new dream of leading the Swedish beach volleyball team.

Unable to get the Scandinavian scamp out of her mind, Sariah travels to Rio de Janeiro to watch Garth compete in the World Beach Volleyball Championship. A life in curling has left him ill-prepared for long hours in the sun, and he lands in the hospital with heatstroke.

Luckily, Sariah is fluent in Portuguese due to her mission work in Mozambique, and she translates for Garth in time to avoid an accidental prostatectomy. Though Garth’s amnesia and failure on the volleyball court have turned him into a sullen, arrogant cad, in his radiant blue eyes Sariah sees a spark of the innocent imp she once knew.

When Garth recovers, he and Sariah hit the trendiest Rio dance clubs, where he spurns her for a bevy of Brazilian beauties. Hurt, she indulges in her first Coca-Cola, and the caffeine surge dissolves her inhibitions. Her super-freak dance moves--combined with her knee-length skirt and long-sleeved polo shirt--make her the hottest new thing in Rio. Even as she basks in the attention, Sariah pines for the simple joys she and Garth once shared—root beer floats, long walks in the snow, and indoor turtle racing.

Right-wing Marxist guerillas (trust me on this) kidnap Sariah to raise ransom money for their Amazonian free-market commune. Rather than fear for her life, she welcomes the opportunity to minister to the poor and convert the unenlightened.

Will Garth remember himself in time to save Sariah--armed with only a small horsehair broom--before she falls for her suave yet sensitive captor Eduardo, in a tragic and ironic case of Stockholm Syndrome? Or will their love remain forever…FROZEN IN TIME?

Entry #8

A Wedding to Remember

Louise is going crazy getting ready for her upcoming wedding. Her mother, Harriet, a fretful status seeker, has invited hundreds of people, and Louise is dealing with a huge list of wedding chores. Meanwhile, Michael, Louise’s high-flying financier of a fiancée, is no help at all. In fact, he seems to be worrying about something. Louise is starting to wonder if she made a mistake in agreeing to marry him.

Two weeks before the wedding, Louise’s best friend Suzie throws her a shower. As Louise opens presents, Suzie’s sister, Clarice, gathers all the bows and ribbons to adorn a paper plate, which the bride will pose in at the end of the shower. Louise gets up to admire the final, and biggest, gift: a floor lamp crafted out of an tuba by Suzie’s brother James, an artist who secretly has loved Louise since they were toddlers. As Louise reaches for the bow, she brings the top-heavy torchiere down on her head.

By the time the guests get the lamp off Louise, she has regained consciousness and seems fine. Her mother urges Louise to pull herself together quickly so that the shower can go on. The young woman has no idea who she is or what she’s doing, but realizes it’s easiest just to smile and nod to appease the woman who is being so insistent. Then Louise sees the hat of ribbons and bows being brought her way and realizes that she is a bride-to-be.

Louise’s wedding preparations are considerably complicated by her amnesia, although her mother’s whining about the to-do list often provides her with useful information. Every time she’s alone with Michael and tries to explain to him that she has lost her memory, he brushes her off, saying he’s got problems of his own at work. James, contrite about the accident, is being a big help, and Louise finds herself relying on him more and more.

By the night of the rehearsal, Louise has yet to tell anyone about her amnesia and is considering calling off the wedding. Then Michael fails to show up, having eloped with Clarice, Suzie’s sister. The SEC is charging Michael with stock manipulation and he has married Clarice, his executive assistant, to prevent her from testifying against him. When James hears the news, he proposes. Louise, still painfully aware that she emembers nothing of the first 25 years of her life, tells James that she can’t marry him. As she struggles to escape his loving arms, she stumbles, falls, and again is knocked unconscious. When Louise awakes, her memory has returned, along with the knowledge that it’s James whom she has always loved.

Like Rosario, I keep a certain distance from the characters I read about, although most of the time, I can dentify with certain aspects of their personalities or the struggles they go through, especially if they’re portrayed sympathetically. However, my enjoyment of a book isn’t predicated on sympathetic characters, because I’ve read and enjoyed books that immersed me in the points of view of characters who were quite repulsive, such as Marabou Stork Nightmares and Perfume.

And, again like Rosario, I can certainly accept certain elements of a Happily-Ever-After in a fictional world even if they’d be anathema to me in a real-life situation. I mean, if nothing else, romance novel heroines tend to be ridiculously fecund (and happy to be so), even though personally, the thought of having children makes me want to clutch protectively at my ovaries--or at least, the part of my abdomen underneath which my ovaries presumably lie.

In short, I want whatever makes the characters happy to be in the HEA. If having kids is important to the character, then by all means they should be surrounded by boatloads. To Love a Dark Lord by Anne Stuart features a rather over-the-top romance novel epilogue that depicts of My Greatest Nightmare Ever: the hero and heroine living on a farm, surrounded by constant chaos and a swarm of children. Far from making me retch, however, I went “Awwww, the two of them seem so happy!” and sighed happily.

There are instances in which I just can’t buy into the HEA for a particular novel, but it’s usually because the author hasn’t done a good job of portraying the love relationship. Most books with characters who fight and spar constantly only to be struck with the Sudden Realization of Luuuuurve, for example, fall into this category. However, this is different and distinct from specific elements that are HEA dealbreakers, which transcend the author’s ability to make me root for the HEA, so to speak.

These dealbreakers exist, but they’d have to be pretty over-the-top. If, for example, there existed some romance novel out there in which white supremacist protagonists happily spewed racist epithets together in their HEA, I’m pretty sure I’d be deeply, deeply uncomfortable. And by “deeply uncomfortable,” I mean “wishing a stampeding herd of buffalo would crush these assclowns already.”

And that’s an important difference, perhaps: I could perhaps BELIEVE that people who are completely offensive to my sensibilities (e.g. racists, homophobes, Ann Coulter) could live happily-ever-after, but the question is, would I want them to?

So, what do you others think? How closely do you need to identify with your characters to enjoy your fiction? What are some of your HEA dealbreakers?