She interrupts me. I interrupt her. Elle A. Muse is unfortunately not amused…
Found where? On my website, 0f course! Recently, Laura Bradford of Bradford Literary Agency, answered several questions for me. Quite thoroughly, too, I might add. It’s a fantastic interview. Check it out.
Older agent interviews (Kevan Lyon, Elaine Spencer) can now be found in Archives.
I am obsessed with research. Well, I’m not obsessed in the sense that I love to research. No, I’m obsessed in the sense that once I’ve started researching, I can’t stop.
It’s a disease, I swear.
A few weeks ago, a Canadian writer friend and I brainstormed revisions for the single title I finished this summer. We came up with a fantastic way to deepen the heroine’s GMC. I passed the brainwave by another Canadian writer. She gave it glowing reviews.
This week I began researching. My first step was to post questions to a couple of writers’ listservs. I’m very glad I did, because the American members alerted me to a whole host of issues I hadn’t considered. On the other hand, their replies sent me back to the Land of Research. A land that, all too often in my case, develops into a bog. I experience a great deal of difficulty digging my way out. There’s just so damn much to learn! And if there’s one thing my mind loves, it’s information. Even the useless bits.
My characters in this story are American. I am not. And the revisions to my heroine’s GMC involve the American medical/health insurance system. Every time I think I’ve hit upon a way to make the brainwave work, I smash into another roadblock. Now, I do believe the revisions can work. They will work. If I would put half the energy into reading the articles I’ve printed off the Internet as I have into scrounging for them, I’m sure I would come across the perfect solution. But every time I read another article, I feel a compelling need to hit the Internet again. Just in case, you know, I missed something the first trillion times.
All I can say is, it’s a good thing I don’t write historicals.
Are you a research hound? Do you have binders filled with articles you’ll probably never use? Do you feel the need to read 30 news stories when 3 or 5 will probably do? How do you stop the madness?
Saw this video on Facebook the other day. Didn’t take much digging to find it again on YouTube. And here I thought The Evil Entity was weird. She’ll run into the bathroom and sit on the edge of the tub until I come in and run the water—and scoop it over her. I start with her head and then under her chin. At that point, she puts her paws on the tap, and I water-pet her belly, back and even sometimes her tail. When she’s had enough, she runs off and has a cat-bath. The lazy feline. I’m doing half the work!
This cat, Snookers, takes the cake. Watch all the way to the end. It gets funnier and funnier.
Male Bonding in Romance
First off, thanks so much for having me as a guest on Muse Interrupted, Cindy. It’s such a thrill to be celebrating my debut novel and sharing my excitement with the blogworld.
One of my favorite parts of romance novels are those little glimpses you sometimes get of the hero is spending some one-on-one time with other guys. Most of the time, I’m like everyone else, desperate to read the next part when the hero and heroine are engaged in clever repartee—I’ve been known to skip over secondary romances in a book just to get back to the main couple. But those moments the hero spends with other men are ones I rarely skip.
Why?
I think it’s because I feel like I’m getting the insider view—a brief peek at what really makes the men in the story tick. The hero is usually relaxed in these scenes, just being himself and not trying to win the day. Although I love my heroes to be larger than life, I like to see them handling the smaller slices of life, too.
There’s usually some humor in those scenes, too, and I enjoy a few lighter moments—especially if the overall story is dark. An example? Okay, I’m going to steal from TV and not a book, just because I know it’ll resonate with most of you: Scenes involving Angel and Spike in the series Buffy the Vampire Slayer. The push and pull between those two very determined male vampires is both fun and funny to watch, even when there are lives at stake. (Sorry, couldn’t resist the pun).
When it comes to my own writing, I find myself including some of that same interaction, in part to round out my characters, and in part for the sheer pleasure of it.
Here are a few moments between my hero, Lachlan MacGregor, and his friend Brian:
Lachlan wiped his practice sword with an oiled cloth and leaned it up against the stone fireplace. “This would be much easier had you begun training when you were a lad.”
“Yeah, well, I was too busy skateboarding and blowing my eardrums out with Pearl Jam, so that wasn’t an option.”
“Your combat skills need a lot of work.”
Brian deposited his sword and shield on the floor. Looking more like a walking sportswear advertisement than an immortal warrior, he used his arm to wipe the faint sheen off his brow and gave Lachlan a rueful smile. “All those years of corporate backstabbing and deep-sixing the competition don’t count, huh?”
“No.”
“But I’m young and I’m agile. You told me that when we started. And last week, you said I’d come a long way in five weeks. So why the long face?”
“Because you know just enough to get yourself killed.”
“Hey,” the former stockbroker protested, “I thought you said I had good instincts?”
“You need more than good instincts. You need skill.” Lachlan rubbed his shirt front to halt the trickles running down his chest. “And you need more bloody endurance. You should be training every spare minute.”
“No way. Unlike you, MacGregor, I have a life.”
“Read the cards, Webster. Things have changed.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. A year ago, the chances of being ambushed were one in fifty and now it’s more like fifty-fifty. But I’m already doing my bit. I work out with you three times a week. That’s more than most Gatherers can say.”
“Three hours a week is not enough.”
“Why not? I’m learning from the best.” Brian smiled. “Word on the Gatherer grapevine is that you once single-handedly took down a pair of martial demons.”
“Don’t believe everything you hear.”
“Oh, come on. You were ambushed by elite soldier henchies from the inner rings of hell and lived to tell the tale. I know it’s true, admit it. With you as my coach, there’s no question I’ll eventually own some demon ass.”
Shaking his head at the young man’s bravado, Lachlan strode into the kitchen.
I’m offering up a copy of DRAWN INTO DARKNESS to one lucky person today—all you need to do is comment. Do you have a favorite book or series that in your opinion does ‘the guy thing’ really well? Tell me about it.
P.S. This is also a stop on my “Cross into Darkness” blog tour, so feel free to visit my website at www.annettemccleave.com for a chance to win the tour grand prize. If you’ve been following the tour from the beginning, here’s the clue….
Muse Interrupted clue: First word of the two-word answer is the Scottish term for valley.
Thanks for joining me today—I’ve really enjoyed my visit. Good luck in the draw!
***
To read the back cover copy of DRAWN INTO DARKNESS and Annette’s bio, please visit yesterday’s post. To learn more about Annette, please visit her website.
Tomorrow paranormal romance author Annette McCleave visits the blog! Annette is blogging about Male Bonding in Romance and is giving away a copy of her Signet Eclipse debut novel, DRAWN INTO DARKNESS. Here’s the back cover blurb:
For centuries Lachlan MacGregor has battled demon thieves for the souls of the dead, carrying out his pledge to deliver them into Heaven or Hell. But his greatest challenge as a Soul Gatherer is now among the living.
Struggling to connect with her troubled teenage daughter Emily, artist Rachel Lewis turns to her enigmatic yet strangely compelling neighbor Lachlan for advice. As Lachlan soon discovers, the young girl has fallen victim to a seductive demon—a specter from the past using the unsuspecting women to fulfill an ancient prophesy and settle a hellish score with Lachlan himself.
In the race to save Emily and avert a disastrous power shift among the deities, Rachel and Lachlan forge an uncommon bond. But how can Lachlan tell the mortal woman he’s falling in love with that the next soul he’s been enlisted to gather—and deliver beyond—is her daughter’s?
About Annette:
Annette McCleave is the Golden Heart® award winning author of DRAWN INTO DARKNESS, the first novel in a new paranormal romance series about Soul Gatherers—immortal warriors who battle demons to protect the souls of the dead. A former marketing executive, Annette is now a full-time writer and mother of one.
For more information about Annette and her books, please visit her website.
Ever had a bird in the house? Ever wondered how it got in? Ever considered that it might not be via the cat?
My family has lived in our current home for nineteen years. Sure, we’ve had birds in the house before, courtesy of cats, but those are easy to spot because they’re usually wounded. In fact, our first cat, Slink, once brought a baby owl (dead and frozen before he got to it) into a house we rented in a town about three hours drive from where we currently live. Our second cat, Seiki (a nasty, toothless Siamese I immortalized in BORROWING ALEX as Rusty), considered himself quite the Great White Hunter (one of his nicknames). He’d bring maimed birds into the house and then get much joy from watching them flap about trying to get away from him. Lucky for those birds, the family was usually on the ball and saved the bird before Seiki could further torment it. I can’t recall one single bird becoming the cat’s dinner.
Now, we’re on our third cat, Keisha. Otherwise known around the blog as The Evil Entity. She’s not actually evil. She is quite sweet. Behold, evidence:
Come on, admit it. She’s cute!
So, The Evil Entity has a cat door. Our cats have always had cat doors. I grew up with a cat jumping on my window screen in the middle of the night to get in the house. Not fun. Thus, the cat door. It’s accessible from the carport.
Last winter we had to close the cat door for several months, because, sweet as she is, The Evil Entity wasn’t guarding it very well. A big black cat in the neighborhood decided that sneaking into our house in the middle of the night to eat Keisha’s cat food was a fine idea.
Jump to the summer. We decided to open the cat door again. The big black cat seems to have forgotten about it. Good news. The bad news? We have a birdbrain!
Last weekend, while My Liege was busy helping Eldest Son put away his car for the winter, the kitchen door was left open. My Liege was walking by the cat door in the carport and noticed Keisha inspecting said cat door. He realized something was inside the house, pushing back on the cat door, but not strong enough to get out. Keisha wanted to get in, but was unnerved by the pushing on the door.
So. My Liege goes downstairs, and there’s a huge bird—quite healthy, totally unmaimed by a cat—pushing against the cat door in a vain effort to get out. M.L. and E.S. managed to get the bird to fly back out again (after removing a screen from a basement window), but not before the bird tried to dive-bomb E.S. 
What, did he think we were casting for a remake of The Birds?
Okay, bird leaves the house, The Evil Entity, Not Very Evil, can now enter the house again. Everyone is happy. How did the bird enter the house, we wondered? I theorized that E.E. pushed it in through the cat door, but M.L. and E.S. maintained the bird was far too large for E.E. to catch, much less push through a cat door.
All right, I conceded, I guess the bird flew in through the open kitchen door and just happened to fly into the workshop and decide to try to get out again via a cat door.
Meanwhile, My Liege had moved a bunch of freshly chopped kindling into the carport beside the cat door, but no one, not even moi, considered that this wood might have had something to do with the birdbrained bird entering our house.
So. The other day, I take Allie McBeagle outside for a bathroom break. We pass the carport. A huge bird that at this point lives in my imagination as part crow/part magpie because I didn’t get a good look as a result of lowering my head so it wouldn’t Hitchcock me, swept up from near the cat door, wings fluttering madly, and attempted to dive-bomb my head before I screamed and scared it off. The Evil Entity was sitting at the other end of the carport, watching with interest.
That dagnabbed bird, I swear, was trying to get into our house via the cat door. What a birdbrain.
Why would it do such a thing? My guess is that it can smell the freshly cut kindling (can birds smell?), and, look, there’s an opening right next to this nice-smelling wood. Surely, the wood must be a weird tree and the opening a nice door for a bird house.
Except it’s my house, birdbrain! Get the heck out!