Romancing Words

Romancing Words–Charater Interview with Lillian Grant

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Welcome Lillian Grant and Michael to the blog. Michael is from Lillian’s latest release Hot Male, Reigning Men Volume 3 and he’s here to do an interview. So, without further delay…

LSB Cover Art Template for PhotoShopTell us a little about yourself: What’s your name, age, and job? What is your role in the story? Ex: Hero, Heroine, Villain, etc.

My name is Michael Monaghan. I’m close to 30, and I’m what you might call an exotic dancer in polite company, but I’m happy to say I’m a stripper. I’m the hero. This book is about my life, my journey, my conquests and my desire for love. Although Sam Stephens would probably cast himself hero and me as villain, well until I convinced him that loving Maggie Riley would be far more fun if he let me play along.

How did you meet your mate?

I’ve know Maggie since I dated her older sister. She was just a teenager and even thought herself in love with me once. Although, I think the attraction was more for my reputation as a bad boy her ma didn’t approve of than the real me. She crossed my path again after she had found love with someone else but no barrier is insurmountable if you know what you want. Sam was an added bonus that I was happy to accept as part of the deal. He’s quite cute once you get to know him.

What is the most embarrassing thing your author has done to you?

In the first book in the series she had me handcuffed to a bed and sent Maggie’s eighty year old nymphomaniac great aunt into the room. She wanted me to sleep with her. I have nothing against older women but truth be told this one would have frightened braver men than me. Thankfully I’ve now made my peace with the lady in question and she has found someone else to warm her bed.

What’s planned for the future?

I have no idea but I do hope my author plans to continue the series. In the meantime she has given me a website of my own to play on. You can find me at

If you were stranded on an island with your author, what would you talk about?

Her lack of co-ordination. You would think a woman who writes about a dancer would have some ability but you should see her in an aerobics class. It’s humiliating for all involved. I’m sure given enough time I could help her get her groove on.

How long did you have to bug your author to get her to write your story?

I think it’s been two years since she wrote Male Order, Reigning Men Volume 1 and made me a bit player, ever since I have been waiting for my moment in the sun. Finally, my day is here and I get the happy ever after I’ve been longing for.

What advice would you give to the people reading your story?

Don’t drink fizzy beverages at the same time because snorting them all over your e-reader is neither attractive nor good for you sinuses. Oh and you might want to read it when you’re alone or you may get some very strange looks from people.

LOL! I loved your answers…. Now let me share your blurb and excerpt.


One man. One sensual dance. One night only to prove his love.

Michael wants Maggie. Maggie has Sam. Two’s company, three’s a crowd.

Years ago, Maggie tried to seduce Michael Monaghan, only to have her efforts rebuffed. Now she’s older, wiser, happily in love with Sam Stephens, and determined to keep her distance from Michael.

Michael Monaghan, hot male stripper, has all manner of women falling at his feet, except Maggie.  All he can do is watch from afar as Sam Stephens wins the heart of the one woman he really wants.

Sam Stephens is just tired of Michael watching Maggie’s every move.

Now there’s trouble with a capital T! Maggie’s Great-Aunt Maud has run off to Ireland with Michael’s Uncle Declan. Maggie needs to get to Aunt Maud and talk some sense into her before Declan’s gun-totting wife catches up with them. With Michael and Maggie off to Ireland together, Sam isn’t about to be left behind.

Tracking down the runaway lovers is complicated by the coldest winter in Dublin in years. With Michael, Maggie and Sam stuck in a house with only one bedroom, simmering sexual tension starts to boil over.

Michael wants Maggie. Maggie isn’t sure what she wants. Sam just wants to punch Michael in the nose.

Two’s company; three could be something else altogether.



Shannon scowled at the glasses with the stupid colored umbrellas as Pete placed them on her tray. Thursday was her night off. They never opened on Thursdays. She had plans to visit a club in one of London’s less seedy areas, and she was an exotic dancer not a fucking waitress.

Pete put the last drink down. “Table eight.”

“It won’t work.”

He leaned on the bar and leered at her boobs before running a finger along the edge of her skimpy bikini top, teasing the edge of a barely covered nipple. “We’ll see.”

She shifted out of reach. Pete disgusted her, and the more she resisted the more he seemed to want her. Not that it stopped him trying to whore her out to customers. She didn’t do sex for money, and she didn’t do sex with Pete, period. Fortunately, she pulled a big enough crowd that he wouldn’t dare get rid of her for refusing his gross seduction techniques. “Women won’t pay to see men take off their clothes.”

Pete glanced over her shoulder. “You want to tell them that?”

“You let them in for fucking free.”

“They’re paying for drinks, aren’t they? Or they would be if you’d fucking deliver them. Chop, chop. The show’s about to start.”

“I bet you’ve got some ugly old bloke with shriveled bollocks who won’t even flop his sad dick out.”

Pete laughed. “You’ll see. Now move it.”

Shannon delivered the drinks with a forced smile on her face, and then scooted to the back of the room to join Lisa who was already slacking off. The brunette passed Shannon a cigarette and lit it for her before blowing smoke rings. Shannon inhaled deeply and sighed as the nicotine hit her bloodstream. “Have you seen the hired naked dick?”

Lisa shook her head. “Nope, Pete’s had him under wraps. Rumor I heard was that he’s foreign and he’s never taken his clothes off in front of an audience before.”

Shannon giggled. “Oh God, this could be a right laugh if he gets stage fright. His dick’ll shrivel up. We’ll need a magnifying glass to find it.”

Pete came to stand behind them, and Shannon edged away as his fingers brushed her arse. The lights dimmed and the room was plunged into darkness. A hush fell over the crowd and then a deep guitar wail filled the air. A single spotlight hit the stage. Shannon’s stripper pole had been transformed into a lamppost. As the strains of Gary Moore’s Parisienne Walkways mesmerized the crowd a barefoot male stepped into the light, resplendent in top hat and tails, with a cane and gloves completing his ensemble. He lifted his head to reveal shoulder-length dark hair, chiseled features and full lips. He gave off an air of sexy disinterest at being the center of attention. His dark eyes scanned the crowd as he tossed the cane to someone offstage and then grabbed the lamppost with one hand and spun around in a twirl so low his hair almost brushed the timber floor.

Women yelled and whistled as he danced in front of the pole and began to remove his clothes. His hips moved in time with the music and the lamppost all but became his lover as his gloves, jacket, shirt and pants were tossed aside. He slid his hands over his body. Shannon’s skin warmed and her nipples pebbled as she imagined him touching her like that.

Standing in only a top hat and G-string, he moved to the music with a grace that made Shannon catch her breath. He was six-feet tall, studly and bad boy fucking awesome. When the guitar wailed on a single note the stripper stopped, dropped his head, and held his hat in front of his crotch. The air rippled with tension and Shannon licked her lips as she wondered if he would really go the full monty. As the note ended he tugged his G-string off, and Shannon held her breath. The song and the room fell completely silent for a heartbeat, and when the guitar riff echoed around the room he flipped the hat into his right hand and rolled it up his arm to land perfectly on his head. He spread his arms wide and tipped his head back to give all the ladies an eyeful of his junk. Shannon wasn’t the only one to wolf whistle.

Lisa coughed on her drink. “Fuck. He’s hung like a fucking horse.” She fumbled with her cigarette packet, trying to pull out another smoke, and Shannon could hardly blame her.

The song continued and he dropped his hands and lifted his head. From the low moans in the room, Shannon was sure she wasn’t the only one who felt thoroughly shagged by the stranger on stage.



Romance author Lillian Grant was born in London but now calls Australia home. She grew up on a steady diet of British sitcoms which greatly affected her sense of humor. She never left the UK until her husband coaxed her onto a plane in her twenties.  Her books showcase her quirky sense of humor and her love to travel the world. When she’s not busy writing she can be found sipping a glass of red wine with her nose buried in a book or planning her next trip overseas.




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Romancing Words

Romancing Words–It’s All in the Name! by Nancy Jardine

Today, I welcome back Nancy Jardine to the blog…

It’s all in the name!

Hi Cera, I hope all is progressing well towards the Christmas season for you, in whatever way you celebrate. I’m hoping, soon, to have some days off from recent very heavy book promotions-and maybe even writing-to just laze about for a bit and enjoy my family. I’m extremely glad to be here with you today, though, before that happens.

I decided to share how I choose names for my characters in this blog post, which just happens to be the last of my guest spots for the launch of TOPAZ EYES, my ancestral mystery from Crooked Cat Publishing. I know authors who choose names purely because they like the sound of them. I do that, too, but there’s a bit more to my final choices.

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In my first published novel from The Wild Rose Press – Monogamy Twist – my hero is half-Italian and was originally called Bosco. I’d given him the name Bosco as a sort of ‘pun’ since a translation from the Italian was ‘wood’, and wood was perfect as part of the mystery of the novel. Being a Scot, I’d not realised that there had been an American TV series with someone with that name, and my editor thought it might not go down too well as ‘hero’ material. Since I had no knowledge of the TV character I changed the name to Luke  and tweaked some bits to make it still seem ‘appropriate’ for my mystery. From that point I determined to be very choosy about names for my characters!

My second Wild Rose Press novel – Take Me Now – also a contemporary is set on a Scottish island, so thinking up Scottish names for that was very easy. Nairn Malcolm was chosen because the name is a simple Scottish one and the surname of Malcolm is indigenous to the area where I’ve placed my invented island, Lanera. Even my Canadian Vancouverite heroine, Aela Cameron, was easy to name since she has a Scottish background – and Cameron is also a name traditionally associated with the area around the town of Oban which is opposite my island of Lanera.

My third novel – The Beltane Choice – published on Aug 31st 2012 is a historical, set way back in the Roman Britain of A.D.71 in what we would now term as the border areas between the present Scotland and England. Choosing names for characters for this novel was much harder. Since it’s a historical romance, based on as much historical fact as I could reasonably include, I wanted names that would be as authentic as possible. Some authors who want Scottish sounding names for time-travel novels and historicals often totally invent names which they think sound good, or tweak existing ones to suit. I considered that but wanted to do a bit more. I wanted the names to sound different from current names, yet also wanted them to have some meaning i.e. the translation for the original Gaelic would be appropriate to the character. Brythonic Gaelic being the oldest forms of Celtic names that are found around my part of the world.

Unfortunately I don’t speak any kind of Gaelic, Scots or otherwise, so my best recourse was to go to ‘baby naming’ books which had Gaelic names with translations. My hero in The Beltane Choice is namedLorcan which means ‘the fierce one’. Painting isn’t my best skill but this is how my Lorcan turned out – though maybe not as fiercely handsome as I wanted!


New Lorcan


Many of the names in that novel were chosen in the same way. They may not have any significance to the average reader, but it was important to me to have as close as I could manage to really old meaningful names. Lorcan’s father is named Tully – Tully meaning leader seemed very apt since he’s the clan chief for most of the novel.

My recently released ancestral mystery –TOPAZ EYES has a bunch of third generation cousins coming together to search for a missing jewellery collection which has been scattered amongst the family. The plot required many of the names to be of European origin. Back I went to the ‘baby naming’ books and used them to pluck out names. I needed German, Dutch and Austrian names and wanted to be sure they were as accurate to the ‘birth’ country as possible.

Some may find that kind of naming an anal and tedious process. Not me! It was more a case of deciding why to reject some fascinating sounding names. As a non-German/Dutch/ Austrian speaker I chose names which seemed easier to phonetically sound out for the reader.

My heroine in TOPAZ EYES is Scottish so Keira Drummond was easy to name. Keira’s from Edinburgh and Drummond is a name associated with clans around Edinburgh. My hero, Teun Zeger, is of Dutch extraction. His name was easy to decide on. It’s short and easy to say. The main problem I encountered was in deciding my German cousin’s name. I originally had him as Torsten till I discovered that ‘googling’ that name brought up someone quite popular just now. Torsten was replaced with Jensen! Something else I wanted to avoid if possible was using names that are in common use at present in popular novels and/or the real name of someone ‘Google worthy’. I changed quite a few names during the course of writing TOPAZ EYES and tracking those changes was quite a challenge to make sure no sneaky ones were missed. (I’m pretty sure my editor would have noticed)

What about you? Do you spend ages naming your characters? And if so what criteria do you work under? I’d love you to share with me.

Thank you, Cera, for hosting me today! Merry Christmas to all your readers!

*Merry Christmas to you too, Nancy!!!  And best of luck with TOPEZ EYES!!*

Topaz x500


A peculiar invitation to Heidelberg embroils Keira Drummond in the search for a mysterious collection of extraordinary jewels once owned by a Mughal Emperor; a hoard that was last known to be in the possession of Amsterdam resident, Geertje Hoogeveen, in 1910.

Who among the progeny of Geertje – hitherto unfamiliar third cousins brought together for the quest – can Keira rely on? Distrust and suspicion among them is rife.

Which one is greedy, and determined enough, to hire thugs to tail her… and worse… as she travels to Vienna and Minnesota?  Can Keira even trust Teun Zeger – a Californian she is becoming very drawn to – as they pair up to unearth the jewellery?

As they follow a trail of clues, will they uncover the full collection before the hired gun kills them? Details remain furtive and undisclosed until danger and death forces their exposure. And who harbours the ultimate mystery item that is even more precious than the Mughal jewels?

Greed, suspicion and murder are balanced by growing family loyalty, trust, and love.


“Would you ditch the mystery, Jensen, and just enlighten me as to what you think I have that interests you? And tell me why you couldn’t have asked for it in the letter you sent to me? I came here of my own free will – granted – but I’m not hanging around any longer if you’re going to drag this out, for I’m damned sure I’ve no idea what you’re referring to.”

Jensen’s reply lacked emotion, his face a blank screen, his gaze focused on Teun as Keira regarded the by-play.

“Teun. It may come as a surprise to you, but you actually know more about this invitation than Keira. At least you knew from my letter I had something of family interest you might be glad to take back to the USA with you. Keira had no such suggestion made to her.”

Tension rose in the room, which didn’t only radiate from Teun.

Keira sat uneasy, also unwilling to be in the dark any longer. “Would you please explain why you think I may have something you want, Herr Amsel?” She found herself reluctant to use his first name, considering the antagonism now mounting.

“All in good time, Keira. And please call me Jensen. I don’t set out to be anyone’s enemy. I believe each of you can provide access to items belonging to the collection. All the pieces are likely to vary in monetary value but, viewed as a complete entity, it will make an impressive display. It’s a historic set… and unique.”

Author bio:

An ex-primary teacher, Nancy Jardine, lives in the fabulous castle country of Aberdeenshire – Scotland. Her husband mans the kitchen, her NancyJardineoffspring only an hour’s drive away. When time permits, ancestry research is an intermittent hobby. Neglecting her large garden in favour of writing, she now grows spectacularly giant thistles. Activity weekends with her extended family are prized since they give her great fodder for new writing.

A lover of history, it sneaks into most of her writing along with many of the fantastic world locations she has been fortunate to visit. Her published work to date has been two non fiction history related projects; two contemporary ancestral mysteries; one light-hearted contemporary romance mystery and a historical novel.


Author and buy links:

Amazon UK author page for all novels and book trailers author page for all novels and book trailers

Ebook versions also available from B&N, Smashwords, Kobo and other e-book retailers.

5 * reviews & ratings, for The Beltane Choice-Goodreads and Amazon ‘That is a powerfully sensual opening chapter, and the richness of the prose draws even this reader, unused to this era, into the story…’    Twitter @nansjar


Romancing Words

Romancing Words–Guest Blog–Vonnie Davis

Today, welcome back Vonnie Davis as she talks about creating dream worlds and takes us to Paris where her latest romantic suspense, Mona Lisa’s Room, is set.

By the way— I LOVE your cover!

So without further ado (hey, that’s even a French word, I think) here’s Vonnie…..

Hugs to you, Cera, for hosting me today. I’ve been on my whirlwind blog tour promoting my recent release, a romantic suspense set in Paris—MONA LISA’S ROOM.

Writing in any sub-genre of romance means the author must create a literary dream world. For paranormal and futuristic romance writers, it involves a more intricate level of creativity. For those of us who write contemporary and suspense-filled stories, we use our creativity in different ways to create our literary dream.

As writers, we seek to pull the reader into our dream-world so completely that they experience everything our characters do. Feel every emotion. See every sight. Hear every sound. Smell every odor. Enjoy every kiss. Sigh. Oh, yeah, now we’re talkin’…

So, we begin to take ordinary things and places and weave them into our literary dream in a way we hope will make them memorable. We use ordinary people and give them extraordinary talents or skills or thought processes. We re-create what is already created. We bend reality to the needs of our stories. We are dream-weavers, crafting our literary dream world for the enjoyment of readers.

Paris is my favorite city, and I wanted to share this jewel along the Seine with my readers…and, please God, let there be readers. I wanted to tell a story of a repressed American who’s gone to Paris as part of reinventing herself. She’s been beaten down by life, as we all are from time-to-time. Her ex-husband was a cold fish who convinced her she wasn’t desirable. Enter Alyson Moore.

While in the Louvre, studying the Mona Lisa, this high school art teacher unwittingly foils a terrorist’s bombing attack. She sketches a picture of the man who left the bomb. A terrorist Interpol suspected was dead. Now they know he’s not. His cover’s been blown, and he’s out for revenge. He wants Alyson dead.

Suspecting this might be the case, Niko Reynard of the French counter-terrorism unit is assigned to protect her. Niko is a touchy-feely kind of guy. A typical Frenchman with a healthy dose of arrogance programmed in his DNA. He dislikes Alyson’s casual American dress and wants her to blend in with other Parisian women. So he takes her shoe shopping, insisting she buy high heels like most Parisian women wear. He talks about stilettos having a way of making a woman’s hips sway. Oh, yeah, we know what this guy is thinking, don’t we?

So now, I’m dropping you into my literary dream. They’ve just exited the store on Boulevard Saint Michel, a busy street on the Left Bank. Niko sees someone…

“What is it?” Alyson peered up and down the street.

“Don’t look. Smile at me. Talk and act normal.” He wrapped his arm around her waist and nudged her up the street.

“But…” Did he see someone? Did he see Dembri?

“I’m going to kiss you so I have an excuse to look behind us.”

“Oh no. No, I don’t think so. Look, I’ve put up with your constant touching, but I’ll not be kissed on a public street.”

“Don’t be self-conscious. In Paris, we kiss in public. It’s the Parisian way.”

“For heaven’s sake! Make it quick then.” She shook her arms to relax them because she was anything but relaxed. She was about to be kissed for the first time in years. Did she remember how? Stop being silly. Kissing is simple. Two pair of lips touch. Kiss done. With her head tilted back, she whispered, “Okay, I’m ready.”

A smile tugged at the corners of Niko’s lips. He encircled her in his arms and stepped in so their thighs touched. Her stomach fluttered. Her breathing hitched. He lowered his head. “Hang on, Aly.” With his dark brown eyes open, he placed his lips on hers and pulled her body against his. She kept her eyes open, too, figuring it would lessen the kiss’ effects.

Niko kissed her, gentle sips at first, soft and sensual. Someone made a moaning noise, and she feared it might have been her. My God what a pair of lips! Her toes curled in her new Pradas. She wrapped her hands around the lapels of his jacket. Then his lips locked on hers and with his tongue invading her mouth, he turned her to look over her shoulder, all the while wreaking havoc on her system.

This was the first time she’d been in a man’s arms in years. The first time she had tongue from a guy since college and said guy was more interested in looking behind her for some hoodlum than in the kiss. Just her damn luck.

When Niko ended the mind-blowing kiss, he pulled her closer, if that were possible, and whispered in her ear. “We’re being followed. Hold my hand and run.”

Run? Melting came to mind, but running? How could she run when he kissed her until the bones in her legs turned to jelly? Plus, she was wearing new high heels, for heaven’s sake. His arms squeezed her for an instant. “Now.”

He grabbed her hand, and they took off. They dodged throngs of pedestrians and at one point, Niko hurtled over a poodle, its protective owner shouting in French outrage, calling him a fool. “Fou! Fou! Mon chien, mon chien!”

Alyson had done her fair share of running, especially after her break up with Chaz, the stranger she was married to all those years. Running was a stress reliever; so were the StairMaster and martial arts. Still, those activities were done in sneakers or barefooted, not high heels. Stilettos, no less. Oh, and the thong. Let’s not forget the damn thong chafing her in places she didn’t want to think about. She’d kill Gwen when she got home.

“Faster, Aly!”

“You put me in three-inch heels and expect me to run fast? You bossy Frenchman with a foot fetish.” She stumbled, and he caught her.

“Typical woman. Kiss her once and she figures she has the right to bitch at you.” Niko’s head turned, evidently scanning the area as they ran.

She tried jerking her arm free of his ironclad grasp. “So help me, God, if that terrorist doesn’t kill you, I will.”

He pulled her around two uniformed nannies pushing toddlers in strollers. “Promises. Promises.”

“Yeah, well look how nice my hips sway now, nutso, running in these damned heels.”

Niko quickly glanced up and down the wide tree-lined street and evidently seeing a slight break in traffic, ordered, “To the other side. Now.” They bolted across the four-lane boulevard and its well-manicured median. Two motorbikes rumbled past, nearly hitting them. Horns blared as several Renaults and Smart Cars barreled down the street. Niko shoved her out of the way and she fell, her hands and knees scraping on the asphalt. Brakes screeched and there was a dull thud behind her. She glanced back over her shoulder just as Niko rolled across the hood of a silver car. He never broke stride. “Run, dammit!”

She struggled to get up, her heel caught in the hem of her skirt. Niko set her on her feet again. A delivery truck swerved toward them as if to run them down. In a blur of movement, Niko drew his weapon. He dove and rolled clear of the truck’s path, shooting the driver between the eyes. Glass shattered. Passersby screamed. The truck jumped the curb, striking a tree. Sounds of metal crunching and a tree branch cracking obliterated, for a few horrible seconds, the pedestrians’ reactions.

Still on the move, Niko barked orders at the observers. A man nodded and reached for his cell phone. “Quick. In here. While we’re hidden by the truck.” Niko wrapped his hand around her arm and tugged.

Alyson trembled, the back of her hand covering her mouth and her eyes glued to the man slumped over the steering wheel of the truck not five feet away. Blood flowed from his forehead. Her stomach twisted. She was going to be sick. Niko’s grip on her arm tightened. “Move it, Aly. We’re still being followed.”



You won’t believe this email. I’m sitting in a French safe house, eating caviar and drinking champagne with a handsome government agent, Niko Reynard. He’s wearing nothing but silk pajama bottoms and mega doses of sex appeal. I’m in big trouble, little sister. He’s kissed me several times and given me a foot massage that nearly caused spontaneous combustion. I’m feeling strangely virginal compared to the sexual prowess this thirty-year-old man exudes.

When I came to Paris for a bit of adventure, I never imagined I’d foil a bombing attempt, karate-kick two men, and run from terrorists while wearing a new pair of stilettos. I’ve met a German musician, a gay poet from Australia, and the most delightful older French woman.

Don’t worry. I’m safe–the jury’s still out on yummy Niko, though. The more champagne I drink, the less reserved I feel. What an unforgettable fortieth birthday!


View the Book Trailer:



THE WILD ROSE PRESS (paperback) —

AMAZON (paperback) —

AMAZON (eBook) —



Guest Blogs, Romancing Words

Romancing Words–Lynn Cahoon–Witches, and Fairies, and Cowboys. Oh, My…



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Welcome Lynn Cahoon to the very first Romancing Words.

Witches, and Fairies, and Cowboys. Oh, My…

If you hang around the writing world long enough, at least the romance genre, you’re going to hear Brand Yourself.  (Kind of like the Frost Yourself – Matthew McConaughey uses in How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days…)

So what does it mean?  If you write small town romance, stay in that sub section until you’ve developed a name for yourself.  Don’t write a cowboy book, then a paranormal, then a farmer’s market book, and then a cozy mystery.  Your reader’s will be confused and won’t follow you.  You’ll have to use pen names.  You’ll lose sales.

Maybe they’re right.

So, what did I do?  I sold a cowboy romance (The Bull Rider’s Brother is really more of a small town story), then, three weeks later, I sold A Member of the Council to Lyrical.  AMOTC is a sexy, paranormal witch hunter novella.  Almost two opposite ends of the romance heat meter.  But both stories revolve around the theme of family and friendship.  And of course, love.

I guess I’m not really good at following the rules.  I know that about myself. When I started writing, I wanted to learn what I enjoyed, what I wrote well.  And how do you know what you like to write, unless you try?  So I tried out several genres including cozy mystery, contemporary romance, short story, middle grade, and even paranormal.  And I found out, I like a lot of different styles and formats.  So branding is always going to be an issue for me.  I hope, writing a good story, might pull me through.  Or it might not. Right now, the only one making my decisions is me. And for the first time in my life, I’m doing what I want, not what’s expected of me.

The results?  I’ve sold essays for two Chicken Soup books published this year.  One Women’s World story.- releasing November 15th if you’re in a supermarket that week, my story is The Perfect Mix. I’ve released my debut this June, a follow up book (The Bull Rider’s Manager), and A Member of the Council and it’s follow up story, Return of the Fae. Additionally, I sold a contemporary novella and another contemporary romance, which will release in 2013.

The best part?  I’m learning so much about publishing (digital and print), contracts, editing styles for different houses, and promotion. And I’m learning what I love.

And that’s what life’s all about.  Do what you love, the money will come.  And if it doesn’t?  Who cares, you’re doing what you love!

I hope you take a chance on A Member of The Council.

Tell me, what have you done lately that stretched your comfort zone?  If it’s been a while, what do you want to risk doing?  And when are you going to take that chance?

A Member of the Council

Lyrical Press

A rogue hunter, a clueless witch and a mission to save an unknowing world.

Parris McCall, owner of the dive bar, The Alibi, has finally constructed a life where her
little quirks don’t show or matter to anyone. As for her grandmother’s warnings that she’s
different, well, she’ll cross that bridge if she comes to it. But when Ty walks into her bar, both lives are instantly changed.

Ty Wallace loves his life. How could he not? He’s a powerful human lawyer by day and the Magic Council’s rogue witch hunter by night. But after he agrees to substitute on his secretary’s dart team, all hell breaks loose. Now Ty has to help Parris admit who she is before her long-lost relatives kill her.


“Sally knows how to recruit a substitute.” Parris looked in his brown eyes, juggling her darts. “You’ve never played before?”

Ty shot her a smile designed to melt the coldest of hearts. Yes, he knew what he was doing all right. At least in the flirting department. Parris’ knees felt weak looking at him.

“I swear. I’ve never played league before. Beginners luck.” Ty motioned to the dart machine. “You ready or you want to throw a few practice darts?”

Parris’ eyes narrowed. Ha. He’d said he’d never played league before, not ever played before. Sally had brought in a ringer. Confident, she shook her head. “I’m ready to get this over.”

“Pretty sure of yourself aren’t you?” Ty tilted his head to the side, watching her reaction.

“You don’t have to be cocky when you’re good.”

“And you think you’re good?” Ty pressed. “A natural?”

She frowned, her face crinkling. “I have a lot of free time on my hands here when there’s nothing to do except practice.”

Another couple hours and Ty Wallace would be out of her sight, her bar, and her life. She wished erasing him from her thoughts and dreams would be as easy.


Lynn Cahoon is a contemporary romance author with a love of hot, sexy men, real and imagined. Her alpha heroes range from rogue witch hunters to modern cowboys. And her heroines all have one thing in common, their strong need for independence. Or at least that’s what they think they want.

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