With HIS BORDER BRIDE, I crossed a border myself and set a book in Scotland for the first time. While I’m still writing 14th century medieval romance, this time I looked at the world from the northern side of the Cheviot Hills. I crossed another border with the book, too. I wrote my first “bad boy” hero. (Well, at least everyone THINKS he’s a bad boy. We all know he’s a hero at heart.) The man who is “mad, bad, and dangerous to know,” as Lady Caroline Lamb once said of the poet, Lord Byron, should have STAY AWAY signs all over him. He’s disillusioned, cynical, and has done things you can’t tell your mother about. (Many of which, we suspect, have something to do with S-E-X.) But despite all this, (or because of it?) he’s somehow irresistible. Not only is he sadly wiser to the cruel ways of the world, he’s also developed a charismatic charm that will draw you closer until you’re hooked and you can’t escape. I’ve always written wounded heroes, and the hero of this book is no exception. Gavin Fitzjohn is the illegitimate son of a prince of England and a Scots woman. Not only…

I read a blog post recently, written by a woman who was announcing that she was “quitting” Urban Fantasy. She stated that the genre was so glutted, and there were so many substandard books–all apparently filled with the same tropes–that there was nothing in urban fantasy worth reading anymore. Moreover, the comments section was filled with people expressing similar “I’m done!” sentiments. This made me sad for a number of reasons, the first of which is–of course–because I write urban fantasy. But the biggest reason this announcement saddened me was the pure illogic of it, coupled with the self-denial on the part of the blogger. She was obviously once a fan of urban fantasy, and now in her desire to steer well clear of it, she was going to be denying herself all of the potential that urban fantasy (and paranormal romance) has to offer. That being said, I could see why she’d grown weary and jaded. It seems impossible to turn around without seeing something related to Twilight or True Blood or any of the other vampire-inspired media. When it’s this “in your face” the impulse to draw back and get some space is practically reflexive. On the one…

These days I’m the author of a series of thriller novels featuring Dr. Derek Stillwater, a troubleshooter for Homeland Security. Derek’s particular area of expertise is biological and chemical terrorism. He’s been favorably compared by reviewers and readers to Jason Bourne, Jack Bauer and Jack Reacher. (Yes, I’m flattered). The most recent Stillwater novel is THE FALLEN. In March I had a book launch party at Aunt Agatha’s Mystery Bookstore in Ann Arbor, Michigan, and I wisely stocked the store with family members. While I was giving my spiel, apparently Robin Agnew, Aunt Agatha’s owner, leaned over to my brother and asked him if I looked like Derek Stillwater. To which he responded, “When he was younger.” I can’t tell you how bizarre an exchange that is to me. In addition to the Derek Stillwaternovels I’ve had a couple standalones. One is an e-book for Kindle, DANCING IN THE DARK, which features Joanna Dancing, a high-level bodyguard and security expert. She ain’t me. My first novel, DIRTY DEEDS, features Meg Malloy, a computer troubleshooter who made a fortune before the dot-com bubble burst and now spends her time doing short-term computer projects. She ain’t me, either. What brought this home…

I grew up in Los Angeles, one of the largest, loudest cities in the world. There’s a lot to love about living in a city. The sights, the sounds, the colors are exciting and energizing. No matter what your interests, you can always find classes and groups where you can meet like-minded people. Then there are the events. Every day, a hundred ways to answer the question, “What should we do today?” Art shows and museums. Live music and theater. Baseball and basketball. (I’ll confess. My answer to the aforementioned question would only be “Let’s go to the game” if there was a high-end luxury spa around the corner named The Game.) I’m big on luxury, and I enjoy instant gratification. I like that cities are on the cutting edge of technology. I like thorough cell phone coverage. When smart phones move to 5G, city people will be the first to be wowed by everything they can do. I love living in a cultural melting pot. I love walking down the street and not understanding all the languages I hear. I love the cosmopolitan feeling that comes from mingling with people from all over the world. Immigrants bring the colors…

I don’t know whether accountants hear about children who dream of doing taxes or if parents brag to plumbers about kids gifted with a plunger and wrench. But I’ll tell you this much: parents (mothers especially) frequently confide that their son or daughter (daughter, usually) loves to write and hopes to be an author someday. They say that like it’s a good thing. And I kind of don’t get it. That is, I understand the kids’ ambition – if that’s the right word. When I grow up, I want to stay at home in my pajamas and make stuff up about people who don’t exist. But why do parents want that for their children? Is it because they think that if your name is on a book, you must be making a lot of money? Or do they not realize that most authors – at least the ones I know – consider themselves to be just a little bit . . . off? It’s not just that some (most) of us have certain slacker tendencies. I recently asked twelve author friends, “What three adjectives best describe yourself or most writers you know?” Four of the twelve authors responded (there’s that…

Paper or plastic? Decaf or regular? Debit or credit? Every day, every one of us makes hundreds of decisions. As a matter of fact, a study by Cornell University found that we make more than 200 daily decisions just about food! (Personally, I suspect I’m above the curve on that score. For me, chocolate choices alone “tip the scales” in that direction.) I have no statistical information on this, but instinct tells me that the average woman has to make more decisions in a day than the average man. And one thing I am absolutely certain: today’s women face more decisions, and weightier ones, than our grandmothers ever did. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not pining for the old “Father Knows Best” days when men made all the choices for their wives and the only career paths open to women were nursing, teaching, or marriage. But, no matter your age or level of life experience, the smorgasbord of choices we face today – marital, relational, educational, vocational, reproductive, domestic, professional, and financial – can be daunting, even paralyzing. Liza Burgess, one of the main characters in A Thread So Thin, the third of my Cobbled Court novels, understands exactly what…

I’ve always wanted to write a bride series. Something romantic with orchids and white lace. For years, I toyed with an idea for a sort of Cinderella story about a duke who accidentally falls in love with the wrong woman. Not his betrothed, the woman he has promised to marry, but his fiancée’s poor relations, a cousin hardly suited to become the wife of a duke. ROYAL’S BRIDE was the result. From conception, it was a book that involved three brothers, which gave me two more hunky Dewar men in need of the perfect bride. In REESE’S BRIDE, the middle brother, Reese, is the kind of dark, brooding hero I love to write. He is home from the war, retired from the cavalry and forced to live the sedentary life of a country gentleman, the last thing he wants to do. Worse yet, Reese’s next door neighbor is the woman he once loved, a woman who betrayed him by marrying another man. Elizabeth is now a widow, a forbidden temptation even more powerful than before. Reese definitely has his problems, but so does his younger brother, Rule. In RULE’S BRIDE, the handsomest, most rakish Dewar brother is shocked to find…

I can’t remember when I first noticed that Five Stages of Grief are really, really similar to what I go through every week when I get a chapter back from my critique group with comments. 1. Denial. “Whatever, my chapter is perfect the way it is. I don’t really have to change anything.”“She just didn’t understand what I’m trying to do.”“Well, A said I needed to fix X, but B said it was okay, so it’s probably fine.” 2. Anger. “How dare she say that about my heroine?”“Don’t they realize how hard I worked on this chapter?”“MEANIES MEANIES MEANIES I HATE YOU!” 3. Bargaining. “Well, I know in my heart that this scene is under-motivated and lacks conflict like my critique group said, but maybe if I just give the heroine a new hat no one will notice.”“Can I put a band-aid on it?”“I’ll wait until my rough draft is done to make a decision.” 4. Depression. “I’m a terrible writer.”“Why is everything I do such crap?”“I’ll never sell a(nother) book.”“This can’t be fixed.” 5. Acceptance. This is the place I have to fight to get to, where I’m able to say, “Look, Rose, this is why you have a…

Writer TipsThe nuts and bolts of the writer’s toolbox During the DFW Writer’s Conference writers had a chance to register for a ten minute scheduled appointment to sit down and pitch a piece of their work to an agent. But for first time writers sitting down with an agent for the first time is a heart pounding, stomach flipping experience. I know. I was lucky enough to sit down and talk with Laurie McLean, of the Larsen-Pomada Literary Agents, about one of my literary works. I had known for a couple weeks which agent I was meeting with. I didn’t feel nervous until the day of my appointment. At fifteen minutes before my appointment I stood outside the room, waiting to be ushered in for the actual sit down had my stomach doing back flips and my heart racing like a galloping horse. I wasn’t alone, nor was I the first to arrive. Other writers were waiting for their turn with their chosen agent. Some were nonchalant, others dressed up for it like an interview, and in a way it was. I spent the entire time telling myself that regardless of what happens I’ll still gain the experience of talking…

What makes you laugh? I find all sorts of things funny, although they are rarely jokes in the traditional sense. I can only remember one joke in fact – the one about the inflatable headmaster at the inflatable school telling the inflatable boy caught with a needle that not only has he has let the school down; worst of all he’s let himself down. But the best fun is when people are being amusing without knowing it. In my past as a glossy magazine journalist I worked with some staggering characters (sometimes literally if they’d been on the white wine and, as usual, hadn’t eaten). One editor asked me in all seriousness if I knew the difference between aristocratic legs and those of common people. Another had some good party tips: champagne made your breath smell, canapés were to be avoided because those that fell on the floor were put back on the trays and MTF men were to be avoided at all costs (MTF = Must Touch Flesh). Oh, and Desserts was Stressed in reverse. An assistant of mine once failed to show up to work because she was testing different shades of white paint on the wall of…