Characters faced with emotional Hell!

I'm over at Heroines' with Hearts today. 

The topic this week: Emotional Stress in romance novels and how characters handle it.

Do you as a reader want to see characters put through romantic hell?

Come on over and tell us what you think, and tell us whether you're cruel to your characters!

Romantic Friday Writers 3rd challenge/blogfest!

Masquerade!

Mrs. Vandervelt’s palatial mansion and floodlit garden as always, perfect for a masked fancy dress ball. To see couples strolling through the tropical gardens, or perched on the low wall of vast circular fountain, a sight to behold yet heart-wrenching. On the terrace below her, women in glorious gowns chatting and laughing with male escorts, all beneath string of balconies overlooking the grounds. She too standing on one of many balconies accessed from the ballroom: the last place she wished to be, and no escape.

Masked balls were normally such fun, but tonight’s almost surreal, and she felt akin to female extra on a historical movie shoot. She turned about, the ballroom again before her, the glass doors flung wide; light from glittering chandeliers bouncing off jewels worn by guests. A few notable males easily identified, as much by stature, mannerism and voice, but most of the guests totally unknown entities.

She preferred absolute anonymity, despite tonight’s ball held in her honour and dearest friends beside her. Why had she let Ursula Vandervelt persuade her this was for the best, that she must come out of her shell and let go of the past? She had come out, but her mask decorated with the tiniest of shells and sequins and pearl dropper, reflected where her heart lay and why tears cascaded forth every night when alone. Sudden aware the balcony a tad overcrowded, and people exiting the dance floor en masse in search of fresh air, she felt trapped, claustrophobically so.

‘Come on Tara, dance with me.’

Giorgio's vice-like grip on her elbow ushered her forward, but as she struggled against oncoming human tide a distinctive aroma caused her heart to lurch. It had to be pure imagination. But there it was again, that oh so familar tangy essence. Rick could not be there, and despite frantic search this way and that for a glimpse of the one face she would give anything to see: nothing . . . but sea of masks.

How cruel . . . How cruel that someone else should be wearing his favourite brand of after-shave: tonight of all nights.

Quick add-on: I won't be able to comment until Sunday! A wedding calls . . . 

If you would like to read more of today's posts select from list below.

If you're a romance writer and would like to know more about Romantic Friday Writers

please visit the RFW blog and perhaps you'll decide to join in the fun.

Beware Blog Invaders! - They lock you out!

Ssshh. Hello, hello and no, you aren’t in the wrong place. This is indeed Francine’s blog, but she is graciously letting me – Wendy Tyler Ryan - take over her blog for the day. She may regret this tomorrow! Do you think she’ll mind if I re-decorate while she’s gone? I just want to hang up one little picture. I think she’ll like it. What do you think? → → → → → → →

Some of you may already know that my book, Fire’s Daughter, was published this week. Very exciting stuff. I know that some of my followers have already purchased copies and I am very grateful for their support. I only hope that I can live up to their expectations.

It’s been a long slog, sometimes difficult and sometimes exhilarating. In the end, I’m so glad I stuck with it and I am also glad that I made the choice to self-publish. The enormity of the sense of accomplishment cannot be measured.

The stigma that once surrounded self-publishing has almost completely fallen by the wayside. Many good writers have made that choice and jumped in the ever-increasing pond and a lot of them have done very well. Whether you are published by the traditional route or as an indie author, a certain amount of your success or failure will be dumb luck. That you can most certainly count on. The rest will be up to you as an individual to keep your book “out there”. Kind of like what I’m doing now – commandeering people’s blogs to brag and show off!

If you’ve taken the plunge like I have, stop worrying about the numbers. Stop checking your stats every hour and get back to writing. Potential readers need to keep seeing your name out there. The more books you have, the better it will be for you all around. Make your name a Brand. That doesn’t mean you should just publish any old thing. Only put your best work out there. And I’m not talking about the odd little spelling oops that may sneak through. We’ve all seen these little oopses in traditionally published books – it happens. Just make sure you have done everything in your power to put your best work in front of potential readers.

Format, format, format. If you don’t know how, find someone to help you. Edit, edit, edit. If you don’t know how, find someone to help you. Read, read and re-read until your eyes bleed! When your own work becomes too close for you to see objectively, find someone else to read it with a fresh pair of eyes. Once you’ve done all that, get yourself a professional looking cover for your book. Not everyone can hire an artist, but if you look hard enough, you should be able to find a Photoshop savvy person who can take stock photography and turn it into something unique.

Does self-publishing mean you have to give up trying to get published by traditional methods? Of course not. Many self-published authors have been picked up by agents and or publishers because of the following they’ve garnered for themselves. All things are possible. You have to believe that.


If you find yourself interested in learning more about my book, feel free to visit my website: http://www.wendytylerryan.comor my blog: http://www.waitingforpublication.blogspot.com/ or drop me a line at wendytylerryan@gmail.com .


Thanks again, Francine, you are a dear and I had a blast dominating your blog for the day!

Hee hee, look what I found dropped on the floor! 

 

read more

I've been Tagged! - Talei I'm coming to get you . . .

The lovely Talei tagged me, and there are 7 things for this tag: here they are . . .

1. Do you think you're hot?

Ans: Yeah, when gunning for someone who’s just pushed their luck! ;)


2. Upload a picture or wallpaper you're using at the moment. 



3. When was the last time you ate chicken meat?

Ans: Blue moon past.  More a beef person is moi: blood on the knife.


4. The song you listened to recently.



5. What were you thinking as you were doing this?

Ans: Not thinking as such: writing a tragic love scene.


6. Do you have nicknames? What are they?

Ans: Bubbles = champagne junkie.


7. tag eight bloggers

OK folks, you're tagged!

Ju Dimello

Kittie Howard
 
L'Aussie's Writing Blog
 
Laura Bambrey
 
Li
 
Madeleine
 
Margo Benson

N.R.Williams

Raquel Byrnes

Can you spot deliberate flaunting of 7? Hedging bets!

Second Challenge/blogfest - Romantic Friday Writers

Romantic Friday Writers!



My entry today is from the same novella as last week - "Her Favoured Captain" - LOST the theme.

I swear, on my honour, it's from a romance novel. :o 

* * *



She crept close to the closed library doors, his words as clear as if she in the very room with him. “You cannot be serious,” he said, in the manner she had come to dread over the past two years. “We agreed terms, did we not?”


“We did indeed, your lordship, and had your sister obliged in my desire for a mere kiss to seal the betrothal, our agreement would be honoured in full.”

“I do not understand this sudden reluctance on Emerald’s part, for it was her wish to be sure this estate safe for future generations of Penhavean’s.”

“Nor I,” returned the earl, a long drawn sniff, and then another. She could well imagine snuff on the back of his hairy hand. A shiver of revulsion rippled down her spine, the memory of his hands upon her flesh detestable, his voice a reminder of the greater threat: unbidden attentions. He chuckled, and second icy shiver of fear streaked down her spine. “Wild little filly, to be sure, and although she sought to kill me with damnable candlestick, I will see my way to forgiveness on the proviso she comes to me before noon of her own volition, and alone.”

“In what manner do you propose this forgiveness you talk of?”

Had Ned not guessed the earl’s intentions? Had he no thought for her safety?

Silence hung heavy within the library, the weight of it pressing on her shoulders. Unable to see for herself, but ear to door she could imagine exchange of glances between her handsome brother and the bulldog-featured earl, saliva dripping from his mouth in anticipation of second close encounter with her.

“Come now, your lordship, would you have me deprived of a bit of a feel of your sister?” The earl drew breath, a sucked shuddering breath, as though delighting in the prospect of her in the room with him, and without protection as happened before. “You know how it is, dear boy. A filly trotted up and down, a ride to try out its stride, and then exchange of money to conclude the transaction.”

“You cannot be serious?” exclaimed Ned. “You expect me to . . .”

“Go for a walk,” barked the earl. “Do what ever you must, and on my honour I promise it shall be no more than a look and a feel of what I am to get for my money.”

Silence again befell the room. On his honour, the beast had no honour and would have had her the night previous had not the candelabra served her well in sending him to black void and she able to escape his clutches. What next his plan to deceive and get his way?

“That or I sell her as untried. Put her up for auction to the highest bidder. Your estate in close proximity to sea is not particular to my liking, so what say you we get this over and done with?”

“But she’s my sister, not a filly at a horse fair,” charged Ned, at last seeming on her side.

“In drunken stupor you gambled on your sister’s hand for marriage, your lordship, and lost. Last night we agreed terms on a legal document to be drawn as surety in payment of all your debts. On, I might add, proviso of my sampling your sister’s charms. Now it is up to you. Either I have her by noon or I sell her on.”

* * *



May 27th Challenge - Glitz & Glamour.

 If you would like to become a member of Romantic Friday Writers,

pin your pic on the wall,

sign on the dotted line,

join the fun and get writing for next week's challenge.

Members post either poetry, snippets from novels, or pieces written especially for today's post. All supposedly no more than 400 wrds.
To keep within the specified paremeters is tough! I usually fail! ;)

If you would like to read more of today's posts select from list below.


Ann Best

Andy David
 
Andy McDonald
 
Francine's Romancing the Blog
 
J.L.Campbell
 
Kittie Howard
 
L'Aussie's Writing Blog
 
Laura Bambrey
 
Li
 
Madeleine
 
Margo Benson

N.R.Williams

Raquel Byrnes

Roland Yeomans

What is Writer Voice? How do you recognise it?

So, what is writer voice? How to recognise it! Have you got it, already?

Answer: It's your writer fingerprint!

There's a lot of myth associated with and regards to interpretation of writer voice.

Want to know more and get into a discussion about this, then pop over to HWH, grab a cup of coffee and let's talk writer voice!



TRA's Inanimation Blogfest

If you're here looking for Romantic Friday Writers challenge it's below this blogfest post.  

This blogfest is hosted by The Red Angel in celebration of 100 followers.

As the title suggests the subject matter inanimate theme!



I’d been sitting there for 50yrs: same porch, same house and same view. New folks and new kids moved in and out a half dozen times, and the garden rearranged as many if not more. New owners always assumed I to be a forgotten item, and the kids always said, “don’t throw it away, IT’s kind of cute.”

Year in year out, the seasons changed; I got baked, frozen, and on occasion a duster flicked over my rainbow coloured self. When that happened a frisson of something indefinable warmed my cold-to-the-touch form, for I felt loved if but for fleeting moment.

Kids, visiting kids, used to stand and stare at me, kind of like they’d wished they’d had one just like me. Adults, though, a wary eye cast in my direction, their verbal responses unrepeatable. I’d oft pondered why I existed at all if so regrettably bizarre. Then, a rather cute and inquisitive old dear came to visit one day, capacious handbag the like I’d never seen before. She too stopped to stare, and then in kindly manner laid a pat to my head and whispered: “Rather fetching plumage, dear chap, I quite like the look of you.”

Well, strike me pink, shortly before saying her good byes, I found meself snatched from the porch and careful secreted to bag. Now I do sit all proud and mighty with friends a plenty; our plumage dusted daily, and us all loved and treasured. Paradise is this house, a china parrot’s paradise.

To see entries by other participants, go here: TRA

Romantic Friday Writers challenge/blogfest

For this week's challenge the theme is "Dire Moment".

Brief: mine is the opening to a historical novel. Unfortunately, at 400 words the hero has yet to step centre stage! 

How could his stable be empty? She rushed across to a stable lad, straw and dung already pitched to wheelbarrow. “Where is Tobias?” His face flushed pink, and before she could question him further two shots echoed across the valley. “No-nooo,” her wail, yet her voice seemed somehow distant, not hers at all.

“I be so sorry yer ladyship, but his lordship said as how Tobias were finished. No good to any man.”

“Where, where has he taken him?’

“To the meadow.”

She turned, fled, and on approach to the meadow her heart sank for her brother came striding through the gateway a triumphant air. “How could you do that?” she screamed, heart wrenched by loss of Tobias.

“It had to be done, Emerald,” replied her brother, pistol to hand. “Would you have had him die a slow death?”

“But he looked and sounded so much better this morning.” Tears flooded forth, and it felt so good to pummel her hateful brother’s chest in childlike rage. “We thought him quite well, his breathing sound?”

Ned’s strength far greater than hers, and in spite of pistol in hand he managed to brush her aside and hold her at arm’s length. “We, who is we?”

“Your head groom, who else. Jenkins felt sure Tobias had not broken his wind despite persistent cough, and if you walked him to the meadow did you not hear his steady breath?”

“It is done, Emerald.’ He let slip his grip on her shoulder, and began to stride away. “The horse is now out of its misery, and no more to be said about it.”

“How dare you, take that tone with me. Tobias was my horse.”

He paused, turned to face her his hooded eagle-like eyes those of hardened soldier used to death and of killing. “Your horse, yes, and had you heeded my warning to ride in the manner befitting a lady, Tobias would be alive now, not dead.” She sensed him angered at her for reasons beyond compassion toward her horse, Tobias mere weapon in his arsenal of do as you are told or suffer the consequence. He wished to crush her defiance in refusing the Earl of Moorby’s hand in marriage: confirmed in venomous outburst. “With nothing to hold you here, now perhaps you will see your way to acceptance of the Earl’s offer of marriage.”

“You beast, utter beast. You murdered Tobias, and I shall never forgive you, never.” She drew sob-choked breaths and ran to the meadow. “Poor, poor Tobias. I shall love you always.”

She could not bear to stay there in bright sunshine, for his blood-streaked head and dappled grey lifeless body tore at her heartstrings. She ran across the meadow, the woodland edge a tear-laden blur of green and shadowed gloom. Once inside beneath its comforting cool canopy she trod the path that led to the creek. She would not be wed to a man twice her age. The waters, the waters of the creek, so cold, so inviting: she and Tobias would soon gallop forever.

To see entries by other participants, go here and select from thumbnail images in sidebar.

Above image is clue to the hero's status!

Romantic Friday Writers - Get Seen, Get Published.

The above banner represents a new platform for romance writers!

We will be sending advertising blurb to Lit Agents and publishers.

We aim for online blog club in which members will post up to 400 words for Friday/weekend viewing.

Content may well be from a recent WIP, from a book newly published (yes pubbed authors welcome, if not I'd be banned from contributing to club posts), poetry etc.

To find out about membership go here RFW.



On the blog you will find a club banner and details re club membership.

Blog Award Alert.

Thanks go to  Laura for this hotty!  

I really do appreciate every blog award bestowed, and in my side bar you'll see a link to Award Page, where there are awards up for grabs and lots of Qs & As as answered by moi for differing awards.   

For this award I have to pass it on to five other bloggers.

Pass on the love, so to speak,  or in this case, pass the heat!

I hate this bit because it means picking specific names, and in truth I'd award it to everyone as I have done with other awards (see award page).

So, to the deserving few! But I feel sure the heat will travel fast across the ether to grace all blogs in a short while. 

Wendy Tyler Ryan: having slaved away at getting her book ready to hit Amazon!

Anne Gallagher: whom I know has been slogging away at getting a novel ready for subbing!

L'Aussie: who has written a brillliant series of blog posts relating to Byronic Heroes.

Paula Martin: who has a book release date coming soon!

Ju Dimello: who moved home to the other side of the globe, and didn't forget to drop in to my blog as soon as able!

There you have it, five deserving bloggers.

Driving a novel forward within descriptive Prose!

Tapestry of words!

The discussion this week at Heroines' with Hearts: moving a story forward within descriptive prose regarding characters' physical appearance via POV.

Please feel free to join with us in discussion at above linked url!