What would you do if you knew you had seven sexy days and nights in your very near future? We’re talking passion so scalding, so unbridled, and so primal that most mortals never know the like. The catch: those same seven sexy days and nights are most likely going to have to last you the rest of your life. Oh, and you’re not quite twenty-one which means “the rest of your life” promises to be a very, very long time. Lady Bea Lindsey confronts that very scenario in THE TUTOR, my Victorian-set romance published with Harlequin’s super sexy Blaze line. At the opening of THE TUTOR, Bea has gotten herself engaged to a very nice, very dull gentleman. Conventional wisdom counsels that a young woman on the cusp of twenty-one, in this case a young woman of noble birth, purse-poor dowry, and an impulsive nature, dare we say “wild streak” should settle down safely and quickly. But conventional wisdom is not always…wise. And Bea is very much a modern girl-modern in the context of the 1890’s. She may be willing to settle for a dry-as-toast husband at the dining table but when it comes to the boudoir, she is going…

Let’s talk about sidekicks. I don’t know about you, but I love them. Best friends, sympathetic rivals, brothers, sisters–sometimes even mothers and fathers–are key figures in the lives of most main characters. In mystery and paranormal fiction, where the heroine is usually in way over her head, they can help her fight her way out. And, to me, there are few things I enjoy more than a really well-depicted friendship in fiction. Partly this is because paranormal fiction especially, and mystery to a lesser extent, tend to place a lot of emphasis on the romantic lead and complications thereof. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a big fan of romance, but it’s always a little disappointing to me when it seems to get in the way of Our Heroine having, well, real friendships. Especially with other women. If I found myself inexplicably at the center of (say) some centuries-old war between vampires and werewolves, you bet that my sister would be on the phone in five seconds, and she’d be on the train to come and help me in less than a day. That’s just how my relationships with my female friends work. We’re there for each other, and we have…

As a kid, I remembering not only wondering if they were real, but being terrified of ghost stories. Things that go bump in the night had a way of making me peer into shadows and wonder . . .what was lurking out there? Then in high school, I met Mary. She was in my grade, a tall girl with flowing hair. Mary told ghost stories like some of us talked about what we were going to wear to the next Friday night dance. Her family had a long tradition (fact or fiction?) of living in haunted houses, and every chance she got, Mary talked about their experiences. Mysterious hand prints that could never be removed from walls. Noises. Specters. Messages from beyond the grave. Back in the day before staying with friends was called a “sleep over,” we called them “pajama parties,” and the highlight of every pajama party was a story from Mary that had us all squealing and finding it impossible to sleep. Fast forward a bunch of years (you didn’t really expect me to tell you how many, did you?). We were adults, both of us with children and careers. I was writing romance (historical and contemporary)….

Look back on your life for a moment, okay? Just close your eyes and remember the people who were most influential in helping you become the person you are. Your parents, who may or may not have been role models you could follow. That special third grade teacher who realized you needed a little extra help learning to spell. The librarian who led you to novels you still remember with a catch in your throat. And the friends. With sixty-something books to my credit, one day I realized that I’d never really written about friendship. Sure, there were lots of friendships in my novels. That person a main character tells her life story to. That person who insists a main character get his act together. The walk-ons who serve a limited purpose before they stroll into the sunset. Lots of friends, but never a novel about friendship. Enter the women of Happiness Key, a shabby beachfront community on Florida’s Gulf Coast who don’t know they need friends, don’t recognize each other’s potential, and are reluctant to spend more than a moment in each other’s presence. Ah, a writer’s dream scenario. Happiness Key, the resulting novel, explored the ways women come…

He can be swathed in a Victorian cloak like Heathcliff, a Regency jacket like Darcy, or a short sleeved shirt with a pack of cigarettes rolled into the sleeve like James Dean, but we all know him for who he is – the quintessential bad boy. He’s the one we want to hate, or at least to shun. He woos us, then drops us, hurts our feelings, then asks for forgiveness with those appealing little boy eyes. What is it about bad boys, anyway? Are they born knowing they can get away with a lot because they have long eyelashes? Do they figure it out in kindergarten? Sixth grade? Because they sure know it by high school. It’s a fascinating character type, and one I had no intention of exploring in my debut mystery, MURDER IN THE ABSTRACT, which came out in late June. But I invented a back story for my protagonist, Dani O’Rourke, so she would fit into the high society world, but as a bit of an outsider: She was once married to the scion of a wealthy family, a young man with two Porsches, several hundred million dollars, and a roving eye. Okay, that got her…

People always ask me where I get my ideas for stories. The second most asked question is ‘where do I get my characters?’ Generally the questions instill a measure of discomfort within me. Because the truth is hard to explain. Or maybe, I just don’t have enough faith that the answer will be well accepted. Or believed. And, after all, they’re aren’t many of us who want people to think we’re weird. My answer to both questions is usually some sort of vague ‘Oh, they’re just there.’ Not much of an answer, I know. And yet, it’s the complete truth. I don’t have a trunk in my attic filled with ideas, or people, or even costumes for people to wear. I don’t have a diary, or a ledger, where I make lists. I don’t go anywhere or look anyplace for the stories that fill my pages, or for the people who live and breath between the covers of my books. They’re just there. They always have been. I believe that the ideas, and the people who fulfill them, are given to me by a source that is greater than I am as an individual – given to me as a…

My third romantic suspense with paranormal elements, The Wild Irish Sea, hit the shelves this week. I certainly had quite a time mixing together the plot, characters, mental telepathy, beautiful Irish scenery and a few Celtic legends. I’m thrilled that readers and reviewers are enjoying this story. If you haven’t heard about or picked up your own copy of the book yet, I’d like to give you a brief glimpse of some of the things you can look forward to when you read The Wild Irish Sea. Being a late night person, I occasionally tune in the various talk shows, so with a nod to David Letterman, here are my Top Ten Things You Will Love About The Wild Irish Sea: 1.The cover – I really can’t take much credit for this. I love all my covers and they are all the work of the fantastic Sourcebooks Art Department. I will say that I did suggest the seascape on the bottom of The Wild Irish Sea. I’ve always loved… seascapes! Yes, that’s my story and I’m sticking with it! 2.Kevin Hennessey — Okay, what’s not to love about a tough, but vulnerable Irish hunk of a hero? Kevin is my…

Welcome to Susan’s Money, Honey Blog Tour in which she will heroically address the Top Ten Responses Commonly Heard when An Ill-Groomed Stay-at-Home Mom Announces her Secret Career as a Romance Writer. (If you’re dying to see all ten responses, check out my website.) Hello, Fresh Fiction! Welcome to the blog tour! Today we’re discussing Response #9: The dreaded “Don’t you get tired of writing the same story over & over?” Okay, this one kills me. Really, it does. People who don’t read romance seem to have this incredible misconception about the genre. It’s like they think that because romance novels feature a love story and a happy ending, they’re all the same book. This is like saying all detective novels are the same because the plot revolves around a crime and we get to find out whodunit at the end. Or that all thrillers are the same because the hero gets to foil a Plot to Destroy the World As We Know It. That’s not a formula–that’s a contract with the reader. It’s the reason we read genre fiction in the first place. If I want a happy ending, I read romance. Exquisite world-building? Science fiction. A near miss…

As a thriller writer, I’m always searching for the idea that sends a chill slithering up my spine. A decade ago, I felt just such a chill when I came across a news article about an incident that had occurred thirty years earlier. The year was 1968, and it happened in mid-March, in a place called Skull Valley, Utah. It was chilly that afternoon, with patches of snow on the ground. While doing chores in his yard, Ray Peck developed an earache and decided to go to bed early. When he woke up the next morning and stepped outside, he was stunned by what he saw. His yard was littered with dead birds. It seemed as if they had dropped from the sky struck down in mid-flight. Not far away, a struggling rabbit was twitching in its last death throes. Over the next few days, the local university began receiving frantic calls from farmers across Skull Valley. Thousands of their sheep were lying dead in pastures, a death toll that eventually mounted to over six thousand animals. No one could explain it. No one admitted any wrongdoing. Thirty years later, the answers were finally revealed when the U.S. government declassified…