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Book Blog, Crystal Cove Romances, This Author's Life Thursday

A Sneak Peek of THE PATH

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0TawdraThePath4

 

THE PATH releases next week, August 25th~but you get a sneak preview today!

Abby Donavan came to the small beach community of Crystal Cove to start over. After a painful affair broke her heart and derailed her burgeoning career, taking over management for the just-opened bed-and-breakfast was the safe choice. In this sleepy town, Abby figured she could bury her memories and forget the pain.

When the chance to have her own hotel falls into her lap, though, she can’t resist the temptation. Making the old Riverside Inn into the showplace she’s always dreamed of running offers the second chance she never expected.

Abby didn’t expect another kind of second chance to land on her doorstep at the same time. Ryland Kent wants to help her bring the Riverside back to life, and his passion for restoration is irresistible. But as much as she wants to ignore it, she can’t help seeing another spark in his eyes . . . one that offers to reignite her own flame.

Sometimes the path to a happily-ever-after is anything but smooth.

***

“Hmmm.” Jude nodded. “Cooper told me there was some kind of mix-up with the spa plans. He said you handled it, though.”
Mentally I rolled my eyes. I should’ve known that Cooper would tell Logan and Jude about anything that might affect their property. “Oh, it was just a misunderstanding. I took care of it, and everything’s set now.”
“Wonderful.” She retied her apron, making the knot at the back of her neck a little more secure. “You know, Ab, Logan and I did a lot of research before we hired Ryland Kent. We wanted him because he’s the best in the business. He’s young, sure, but his talent and reputation are better than contractors twice his age. He’s got vision.”
I tried not to cringe. Had Cooper said something else? Did Ryland complain about me, either to Coop or directly to Logan?
“That being said . . . he’s a man. And I’ve been a work- ing woman long enough to know that no matter how en-
lightened a man can be, there’re times when he might try to bully a woman. He might not even realize it; some men just think their plans and ideas make more sense, so they believe they’re doing us a favor by pushing for their own way. I’m not saying Ryland’s doing that.” Jude held up one hand as I opened my mouth. “And I’m not asking you to rat him out, or gripe about him. I know you, Abby. That’s not your style. You’d grit your teeth and get through it until you’d have nothing left but bleeding gums, rather than ask for help or say someone’s giving you trouble. But I want you to keep in mind that I’ve got your back. Logan and I believe in you. We trust you. And in our book, you are the final word on anything that happens at the Riverside.”
It was mortifying to realize my eyes were filled with tears. I never cried. I hadn’t in years, and most certainly not in any work-related situation. I was a Donavan, and Donavans were tough. I could almost hear my father’s voice.
But Jude’s support was more important than I’d known. Hearing her affirm that she and Logan would back me in a show-down with Ryland took a weight off my shoulders that I hadn’t realized I was carrying. I swallowed hard and raised my eyes to meet Jude’s.
“Thank you. Really, you have no idea how much that means to me. You and Logan have been my lifesavers these past few years, and I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.” I let a moment of silence pass as I collected myself. “But everything’s fine with the contractor. I can hold my own. And I think he gets that now.”
“I’m sure he does.” Jude’s voice held more than a trace of amusement. “I can’t see anyone getting the better of you,
Abby. Ryland’s a good guy, I think. Cooper likes him, and that speaks volumes, since Coop doesn’t really like anyone outside the posse.”
I smiled. It was a long-playing joke among the group of friends that Cooper Davis didn’t play well with others. He could be gruff, sure, and he didn’t suffer fools. I knew that. But then, neither did I. The difference was that while Cooper was seen as being an eccentric artist, the same traits in me apparently made me a bitch. Oh, well.
“He’s pretty cute, too.” Jude added those last words with a sly glance my way. “His arms . . . wow. Well, I’ve got a thing for arms. And those dark eyes? Mmmmm.”
I gave her wide eyes and shook my head. “Jude, you’re a married woman. Really. What would Logan say?”
“He’d say I can look as long as I know whose bed I’m in every night. And I might be married, but I’m far from dead. I also happen to have some single friends, so I keep my eyes open. Ryland Kent looks like he could be a lot of fun.”
I slid off the barstool. This conversation was taking a turn down a road that I’d blocked off a long time ago. There were dangerous potholes there, and I wasn’t in the state of mind to navigate them this morning. “Well, good luck with that. I hope you can find the right single friend for Mr. Kent.”
“I think I already did. Abby, you haven’t had even one date since you moved to the Cove. At least, not as far as I know, which means you’d have to be playing it pretty close to the chest, since nothing happens in Crystal Cove without someone finding out. Why not take a second look at Ryland? Sounds like the sparks are there already.”
I rolled my shoulders, trying to release the tension that had suddenly seized them. “First of all, I’m not looking for a man. Or a relationship. Or even a one-night hookup, if you want to sound like Emmy. Second, if I were looking, it wouldn’t be with anyone from work. Been there, done that, still have the scars. And third, Ryland Kent is younger than me. Considerably younger. He’s not interested in someone like me. Trust me on that.”
Jude sighed. “Abby, you’re hardly ancient. Hell, I’m over ten years older than you and I’m not ancient. Ryland would be stupid not to think you’re incredibly hot. As for the fact that you’re not looking . . . trust me, sweetie. It happens whether you’re looking or not, and more often than not, the guy you fall for isn’t the one your logical brain would choose.”
“And on that note, I need to get to work.” I pulled out my phone to check the time. “My boss is a real stickler for punctuality, and I don’t want to be late. Thanks for the coffee, Jude. See you later on.”
“Don’t forget to send me that info on the winery.” She called the words after me, and I paused to look back, waving to show I’d heard her.
“And don’t forget to check out Ryland’s arms, either. His chest is pretty smokin’, too. Oh and his ass—”
I clapped my hands over my ears and hummed loudly as I pushed through the swinging screen door that led to the parking lot. I probably looked ridiculous, but desperate times and all that. I didn’t need the mental image of the res-toration specialist’s finer points haunting me all day long.

 

Find out what happens next . . . and follow The Path to happily-ever-after! Preorder today.

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Book Blog, Crystal Cove Romances, This Author's Life Thursday

Everybody needs a little time away . . .

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Chicago had it exactly right.

One of my goals as an author this year was using this gorgeous website, posting daily in the various categories and keeping everything updated. And for quite a long time, I was good about it. Having the categories to keep me on the straight and narrow really helped.

And then June came.

June meant finishing writing The Plan. Gearing up for the release of the box set. Working on book-related business, including Indie BookFest, and attending two book events. Whew!

I’m happy to say that I’m back, but I’m also glad I gave myself that break when things got crazy.

But enough about that. Today I want to share with you a little about the thin and hazy line between real life and fiction.

Pageflex Persona [document: PRS0000035_00020]If you’ve been following me for a while, you might remember that The Posse was my first non-YA, non-paranormal novel. I never intended to write it; once I’d finished with The King Series, I fully intended to write Rafe’s book and then Nell’s. Contemporary romance was never part of the plan. Then one day, I was driving home from New Smyrna Beach, a small beach town on Florida’s east coast. We’d just begun going there, since we’d moved over to the east side of the greater Orlando area; prior to that, most of our beaching had been done on the Gulf coast. But after a few visits to NSB, I fell in love with the quaint little town. It felt very much like home.

On this day, I hadn’t been thinking about books or stories, but something must’ve been lurking in the back of my head, because as I drove home, most of the plot for The Posse fell into my lap. I knew Jude’s name. I knew her late husband’s name. I knew how many kids she had, all about her friends . . . and about her family restaurant. Suddenly, it seemed, I was writing a contemporary romance novel for adults, since there was nary a paranormal element and the leads were most definitely grown-up.

I returned to NSB often during the process of writing The Posse, and slowly parts of the town made it into the story. One was a sweet B & B that was being rebuilt and restored. In the book, this bed and breakfast was the last planned project for Jude’s late husband Daniel and his best friend Logan. Jude’s involved in the final stages and the opening of the Hawthorne House during the course of the story.

For the last two years, I’ve walked past the Hawthorne House–or the Inn on the Avenue, as it’s known in so-called real life–watching its growth and evolution. We stay in NSB fairly frequently, but it never worked out to stay at the B & B until last night.

As I type this post, I’m actually still in bed in the beautiful Starfish Room at the Inn. It’s a lovely spot, welcoming and IMG_0005friendly, and I’m thrilled that we actually were able to do this. But I’d be lying if I said there hadn’t been a surreal aspect to being here.

As a writer, my characters are very real to me. I can tell you all about the house where Tasmyn Vaughn lived in King. I can describe the dorm where Julia and Ava lived at Birch College. I could walk you all around the Reynolds’ family farm in Burton, Georgia. And I’ve definitely pictured The Hawthorne House Bed and Breakfast in Crystal Cove. So walking into the Inn on the Avenue, my brain was reeling, trying to reconcile how I’d seen the house with reality. To be honest, it wasn’t really that different. There are a few minor changes, sure, but overall . . . being here as been oddly like stepping into one of my make-believe worlds.

IMG_0008I half-expect to see Abby come around the corner and ask me if I like my room. Maybe Emmy will stop in to deliver some pies or breakfast pastries. Jude could pop over from the Tide to say hello before Logan comes in to pick her up. And there are a few other characters you’ll meet or get to know better during The Path who might wander in.

Will some of the ‘real’ Inn and New Smyrna creep into the Crystal Cove romances a little more? Perhaps. But in most ways, Crystal Cove will continue to be its own lovely, enchanted spot, a place where families grow and men and women live and love.

And that’s this author’s life today.

Book Blog, Promotion and Publicity, This Author's Life Thursday

Win a spot on the Readers Talk Back Panel at Indie BookFest 2015!

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Do you want to tell your favorite authors how you feel about their books? Do you want tell authors what you’re looking for in books? Then this panel is for YOU–a chance to talk back to some of the best authors around!

At Indie BookFest 2015, we’re offering a Readers Talk Back Panel. And in order to be on the panel, you must win a spot.

How?

Enter here! You must have a purchased ticket for Indie BookFest 2015 and you must have at least one night/one room reserved at the host hotel, the Caribe Royale.

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Book Blog, This Author's Life Thursday

Writers: A Higher Standard?

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{This post originally appeared here three years ago. It’s a rerun because this week, this author is on vacation! That’s right, folks, I actually have a life. So enjoy a little blast from the recent past. It holds true even for today. See you next week!}

These days, I spend a good deal of time with other writers on social media sites like Twitter and Facebook.  It’s wonderful to interact with these creative minds, and most of the time, I really enjoy it.

tumblr_lvhuqruxUd1r1vzzeo5_r1_500But every now and then, I see a tweet or post pop up. . something along these lines:  “This is how my book got it’s title!”  Or “My characters love there story.”

Cringe worthy grammar issues make me. . well, cringe.

Am I too picky?  Maybe.  After all, these are just a few lines tossed out into cyberspace; it’s not the Great American Novel.

True. . .but shouldn’t authors, people who have chosen to embrace the written word as their vocation or avocation, be held to a higher standard? At the very least, shouldn’t we use the basics correctly?

My own personal biases are the least of the reasons to watch our grammar. As indie writers, we are already fighting preconceived notions that we just weren’t good enough to make it in the world of traditional publishing. I’ve encountered some traditionally-published writers who sniff (in their tweets of 140 characters or less!) that indie books are poorly written, poorly edited, amteurish imitations of ‘real’ books.  Why should we give them reinforcement for that argument?

You can be a writer even if you don’t know all the basic grammar rules, but you’ll be a better writer if you make the effort to understand them. Learn how to use there, their and they’re as well as its and it’s.  Study sentence structure.  And then pay attention to every tweet and post.  Yes, we’re all going to make mistakes here and there. That just means we need to proofread all the more vigilantly.

Writing well truly is its own reward. . .and the best revenge!

Book Blog, This Author's Life Thursday

Using the Pain

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I’m veering away from bookly goodness this week to talk a little about my life beyond the page.

This weekend, I’m leaving the Sunshine State to drive north–a little further than normal. Next week I’ll be at the United States Military Academy at West Point as a guest at my father’s 50th class reunion.

1965CrestcolorWhen the planners of the reunion contacted me a few years ago, inviting my sister and me to attend in place of our father, I was glad to say I’d be there. After all, 2015 seemed a very long time away.  But as the time has crept up on us, and the reunion is more reality than it was, I have to admit to a little emotional panic.

I was close to my dad, and our bonds were built around books, a love for history and nostalgia, a passion for popular music and a shared enjoyment of football and baseball. Army football was the pinnacle for us; I can’t remember a time when I didn’t fully understand and fervently believe the phrase “Go Army, Beat Navy!” My father was a ’65 grad (Strength and Drive!), and for me, West Point, the old gray home in the mountains of New York, was always a touchpoint, no matter where we lived.

My mother and father dated all through his years at the Academy, so she always claimed to be part of the class, too. And she was.

We watched the Army-Navy game every year, mostly together, but sometimes only together in spirit, depending on travels and Thompson25688where we lived. I remember the last game we watched together; I’d stopped to drop something off at my parents’ house, and the game was just beginning. We sat in the dwindling light of a December afternoon, glum witnesses to the Army loss.

The following June, my father left this life on the 41st anniversary of his USMA commencement. That was not a coincidental date. It was a different sort of graduation.

The next year, my mother was fighting leukemia and about to go into the hospital for a stem cell transplant. My father’s class invited both my mother and me to be their guests at the game. My mother was thrilled, even though it was a bittersweet day for us both.

The following June, her funeral was held on the first anniversary of my father’s death, 42 years after his West Point graduation.

Next week will be the first time I’ll be at West Point since losing my parents. I’m looking forward to being there, to seeing places that are memorable to my husband (class of ’87 grad) and to meeting my parents’ friends. But I’m also dreading it. In a very real, I’ll be saying goodbye again.

We use our pain as writers. We use the grief, and we channel it into our stories. Even now, as I’m growing anxious about next week, what am I doing? I’m writing about it.

I had more than one person tell me that they thought I’d modeled Michael from The King Series after my dad. I didn’t do it consciously, but perhaps. There have been goodbye scenes that have come from painful days. And the dialogue between Ava and her mother, before her brother’s wedding, was directly from my own experience.

With everyone pitching in, clean up didn’t take long. My mother and I were leaving the restaurant, heading home, before I knew it.

            “I thought Daddy was coming with us.” I climbed in as my mother turned the ignition.

            “He’s riding home with your brothers. I wanted to have this time with just us.”

            My heart flipped over. “Oh.” I struggled for something to say, anything to keep her from talking about Liam and me. “I’m sorry the rehearsal was such a disaster.”

            “Not me! Bad rehearsal, good wedding. Trust me, it never fails.”

            She backed out of the parking lot and turned onto the road. “I’m happy for your brother. I love Angela like she’s one of my own. She practically is, as long as she and Carl have been a couple. This is a happy day. Tomorrow will be even better. But you know. . .” Her voice trailed off, and a sob caught in her throat. “Every happy day from now until forever will always have some sadness, because our Antonia should be here with us.”

            Tears blinded me, and I put my fist to my mouth. My sister had been on my mind all day: she should have been cutting onions with me at the table, making faces at the rehearsal, fussing over her daughter’s dress for tomorrow. But she wasn’t. All the places she should have been were empty.

            “I miss her every day.” My mother dashed at the tears running down her face. “Every day, I talk to her while I’m getting up, getting ready. When I go over to open the restaurant. When I drop Frankie at pre-school. But it’s worse on days like this, when everyone’s together.”

            “I miss her too, Ma.” I sniffed. “So much.”

            “I know you do. That’s why I wanted this time with you. My sisters, my mother, of course your father and the boys, they miss her. But not like us. And I needed to just be with you, and cry a little. Remember.”

            I reached across the seat and gripped my mother’s hand. “Wouldn’t she have loved all the family together today?”

            “She would have. But I’ll tell you something, she would have hated those pink dresses Angela picked out for all of you. Can you just hear her now?”

            And so we drove home, laughing through our tears, remembering, and somehow it brought Antonia closer to us again. I could almost hear her giggle and smell her perfume.

            When I climbed out of the car, still wiping away tears, my mother gripped me and pulled me to her for a hug.

            “I’m proud of you, Ava. Proud of your hard work and what you’re doing.” She stood back and patted my cheek. “Don’t think I don’t know things are hot and heavy with you and Liam. I don’t like it. . .but I like him. And I understand. I remember what it was like to be young. It makes me lighter to know you have someone who loves you like that.”

            “Ma, it’s not like that. Not yet. It’s new.” I glanced up to the light in my bedroom, where Liam was probably getting ready for bed.

            “Don’t tell me what I don’t know. He looks at you with love. When you know, you know.” She took my hand. “All right now, let’s go in, and watch your father and the boys pretend they don’t see our wet faces. Because don’t think they weren’t doing the same thing all the way home.”

Next week, while I’m getting through this time of remembering, part of me will be tucking away the sadness and feelings. They’ll show up in one book or another. They always do.