It’s been a well over six years since my ten-year marriage ended and I started over as a single mom. When I first started dating my ex, having dial-up internet was the big tech craze. Facebook didn’t exist. Beepers were the way of texting and online dating was unheard of. The way you met people was through work, friends and going out. Now fast forward a decade. I have two kids. No time. The same small group of friends I’ve had for years and I work from home. See the problem? For me, the scary part of starting over wasn’t having all the responsibilities completely on my shoulders, it was the idea of dating again. Meeting someone the ole fashion way—meaning you actually met a person, felt a connection with said person and things happened naturally—didn’t seem likely for me. Which left online dating. Of course, I knew about online dating. I had a couple of friends who’d used that route. One actually met someone they eventually married. But more often than not, all I heard were horror stories. I had always thought, I’m glad that’s something I don’t have to worry with anymore. *Snort* My introduction to dating again…

Last spring I was on a panel at Malice Domestic, and Margaret Maron was moderating. She was asking questions about JUST KILLING TIME, the first book in this series. She wondered if anyone in my family was a clock maker, since my protagonist Ruth Clagan had such a palatable love for clocks. No one in my family is a clock maker. But research for this series has made me passionate about them, and I’m happy if that spills onto the page. What has my research taught me? Being a clockmaker takes years of learning and apprenticeship. Like writing (or acting, or playing a musician), talent is important. But as important, maybe more, is spending time learning your craft. I admire people who dedicate themselves to learning as part of how they make their living. Especially when actually making a living isn’t a given. Clocks are beautiful on the outside. If you go to the American Clock and Watch Museum in Bristol Connecticut, you will see dozens and dozens of clocks and watches. Some clocks are “just” clocks, but most are also pieces of art unto themselves. Cabinetry, painted faces, choice of clock hands, size, style. Details matter on clocks, and…

I’m always fascinated by the American fascination with royalty. Why did the colonies fight so hard to get rid of a king, only to spend the next two hundred years wishing they had one? Well, maybe the fantasy aura of royalty is better than the reality. This series came into being because my editor had been urging me to write a big, dark standalone. I kept toying with serial killers, child molesters and terrorists and finally asked myself whether I wanted to spend six months in such company. The answer was a resounding NO. So a silly idea crept into my head. What if my sleuth was a sheltered, upper class British girl in the 1930s—what if she was a member of the royal family, not allowed to work, to go out unchaperoned, and destined to marry to some chinless, spineless, buck-toothed and utter awful European royal. Trying to solve a murder would indeed be a challenge, and fun. I would have a chance to poke fun at the British class system and chuckle to myself as I wrote. And I did have the necessary background to make this authentic: I had had tea with the current queen. I had…

When I was a teenager, back in the Jurassic period (okay, the late 1970s), Gothic novels were hugely popular. I read them voraciously, entranced by atmospheric castles on the moors (or someplace equally remote), sinister servants, and heroines standing up to brooding heroes (or were they really the villains?). I read Phyllis Whitney, Victoria Holt, Joan Aiken and her sister Jane Aiken Hodge, Daphne duMaurier, Susan Howatch, Dorothy Eden, Philippa Carr, Mary Stewart, and many others. I hope those names ring a bell for some of you. They swept me up and entertained me, gave me something to look forward to after doing my Algebra homework, and comforted me when the objects of my crushes ignored my existence. I’m not sure what attracted me to that variety of romantic suspense, but I think it had something to do with a young heroine, sometimes protecting a child (if she was a governess or new wife as many of the protagonists were), striking out on her own and emerging triumphant. (The fact that “triumph” in these books meant, at least in part, snaring the moody man of the moment was a non-feminist story chestnut that didn’t bother my teen self as much…

If you’ve checked the news recently … maybe you wish you hadn’t. These are anxiety-provoking times, overwhelming and draining times; times that make it seem four horsemen may just be galloping ever closer on the not-so-distant horizon. Since I learned how to read, books have been where I’ve turned for consolation, hope, and a clarifying dose of perspective. Lately, my solace seems to come from classic literature. Classics remind me how resilient humans are, how much beauty exists in the world. They remind me of the cyclical nature of human history. They illuminate all that humans have survived—insane rulers, endless wars of all kinds, devastating plagues, more devastating plagues … yet another devastating plague. We have survived it before, and we can survive it all over again. The Iliad by Homer (maybe) That this poem, set in the 10th year of the Trojan War, has survived thousands of years provides hope in itself. Gruesome battle scenes play counterpoint to moments of grace, as when a Greek and a Trojan honor their past friendship by refusing to strike each other down. Woven throughout the poem are timeless snapshots familiar in any time and place – the pleasure of a cozy sleep,…

Spoilers Ahead Missy Jane: Today we’re talking to Master Wynnston and Master Kephas, the two heroes of Born of Magic. Welcome gentlemen, and thank you for the interview. I know you’re both quite busy. Wynn: (chuckles) Thank you, Missy. I wouldn’t say we’re very busy at the moment. Kephas has his royal wedding approaching, but I’m free so long as Zephara doesn’t need me. Kephas: (groans) Gods, don’t remind me of the wedding. Do you realize the entire kingdom has been invited? Missy: Aren’t you excited? Kephas: Not at all. I’d much rather steal my bride away and have a quick handfasting like Nel did. He avoided all of the crowds and fuss that way. Wynn: The king would kill you. Kephas: (sighs) Yes, I know. So instead I’m allowing the royal house of Kadmos to plan out the most important day of my life… I can’t wait for it to be over. Missy: (laughs) Let’s talk about the journey you both had to take to find your women. Was it a surprise that you found women so compatible and irresistible? Kephas: Yes. Wynn: Absolutely. But it was a relief as well. We have watched Orestes and Nel with their…

The thing about weekends is they’re rarely perfect. The other thing about weekends, though, is if you chase perfection too hard, you’ll destroy any chance you have of achieving it. It’s sort of like a soufflé in that regard. A perfect weekend requires both underplanning and overdelivering. When I think about that elusive, never-to-be achieved perfect weekend, I think a lot about unstructured time. By unstructured, I don’t mean time in which I’m doing nothing. I am genetically incapable of doing nothing. The idea of stretching out for an hour by the pool with my eyes closed give me hives. Nor do I nap—at least not willingly–though I will occasionally nod off for five minutes in a movie. (I blame the dark.) Unstructured time means time in which I can do whatever I want for as long as I want. So, for me, the perfect weekend would be something like this: Friday Afternoon swim with husband. We have a heated pool at our condominium. Heaven. Better than cocktails and that’s saying A LOT. Head to a late afternoon movie. (Yes, we’re that old.) Head somewhere for dinner—Thai, Indian, Ethiopian, sushi, Mexican, BBQ, noodles—we like it all. Home for a TiVoed…

Did any scene have you laughing or crying while you wrote it? Please share a snippet. The moment I saw this question, I knew exactly which scene I wanted to share. There are (I hope!) some chuckle-worthy moments in A PROMISE OF FIRE, especially when the hero and heroine can’t decide if they need to kiss or fight. I definitely prefer comedy to tragedy myself, but there’s one scene that always makes my eyes prick, no matter how many times I’ve read it, and I love that stirring of emotion just as much as I love to laugh. Cat, the heroine in A PROMISE OF FIRE, survived an abusive and unhappy childhood. While her past impacts both her and the story immensely, the novel is really more about the now—and the future. Her past shaped her, though, making Cat who she is when the story starts: rebellious, fierce, a survivor, a protector, and a little bit hard. Only a few key players from Cat’s past have any real page time, the ruthless Andromeda being one of them. Flashbacks show some key moments with Andromeda who, as my kids like to describe the villain in Disney movies, is “the evil bad…

Back in college, a guy friend of mine asked me out to dinner. We’d been friends more than a year and hung out together quite a bit, so I didn’t suspect it was an actual date until I learned the restaurant he’d chosen was across the US-Canada border, about two hours from campus, and that he wanted to make a day of it. Open to the idea of travel, I agreed to give it a go. On the big day, my friend showed up in a suit and tie. Feeling underdressed in spite of my new shirt and pants, I changed into a dress and heels. Back in the eighties, that involved the wearing of panty hose. He’d put a lot of thought into our itinerary, though, so I decided I could tolerate a little itchiness. The drive to our destination was pleasant, and the weather and stroll through the city’s historic district was beautiful—almost enough to distract me from the torture of navigating cobblestone streets in heels. Turned out, those scratchy nylons were a blessing in disguise, since they helped contain the swelling in my newly twisted ankle. Next up was our museum visit. I stifled a groan at…

Did you ever wonder how a writer’s mind works? Because – spoiler – it isn’t pretty. But I’ll give you a peek. Here’s the flat out truth – I was more than a little tipsy when the idea for my Naked Men series originated. I was at a wine tasting at Fleming’s Steakhouse (twenty-five wines in two hours – hence the tipsiness!). The idea of a series revolving around five guys who share a blog seemed like a winner. Okay, lots of hysterical things seemed like a winner that night, but this one really had legs. Like the wine (that’s a joke only for wine snobs, but I promise they’ll be ROFL over it). Obviously the guys all had to be different. I still have the paper with the original scribbled ideas: the jock, the jerk, the manwhore, the smooth talker, the big business tycoon. Then I drank more cabernet. You know – to celebrate having an awesome idea! So the next day – after much water was consumed – I had to figure out how to turn a fun idea into a book. Because five guys typing a blog post on their laptops is, in fact, not a viable…