I have been on a sort of cerebral hiatus lately, and have been neglecting you, as has been so delicately pointed out to me by many Quill fans as of late.  And those of you, who gently wondered where my antics have gone, know who you are.   So…thank you for bringing it to my attention. 

Weary from my stressed-induced-padded-room syndrome, I have no words of wisdom this night.   Just gratitude to everyone around me.  For helping me with the little parts of my life when the big parts were daunting.  For listening when I whined (notice I left out the wine while I whined).  For talking me off the ledge…more than once.  For helping me remember what matters.  For coming to my rescue for no other reason than to make things a little easier.  And especially to Ava and Amylynn, for being a constant inspiration to me, and only wanting me to be the best of what I can become. 

So, I will be back soon with more.  Really…

Our purpose on this website is two-fold…to be a resource to every other struggling writer, and to share our literary ups and downs as we work to get published.    In my continuing quest to become a better writer, I sometimes find that some people do know what they are talking about.   One such person is Howard Allen.  He is a local friend to our Romance Writer’s of America chapter, and has spoken to us a couple times on creating dialogue that shows the reader what is happening, instead of narrative that tells the reader what is happening. 

Reader, I must admit that I was hesitant…at first.  The gift that this man has is astounding.  He is able to take random pages of description from any famous author’s novel and turn it into a riveting dialogue that not only keep’s you engaged, but allows you to feel as if you’re standing in the room watching every bodily expression unfold.   This, my friends, is harder than it seems.  SO… in the spirit of putting it all out there, here is my own small attempt.  These are excerpts from my novel, as I tried to make the character’s interior dialogue more impactful and show the reader that her perception was different from that of her family’s:

Original paragraph:  

Avery walked slowly behind her family contemplating the impact of her entrance into society.  With the tragedy now two years old, she hoped for some semblance of normalcy.   She did, however, doubt the existence of any man that would actually marry her.  She had, after all, killed her sister.   And even if her family wouldn’t admit it, she knew that they couldn’t look at her without seeing her twin.

Re-written as dialogue:    

“Do you really think I will make a match this season mama?  I can’t think of anyone that would offer for a girl who killed her sister.”  These words slipped off her tongue as if she had resigned herself to living happily ever after with the guilt, yet she hadn’t.  Why did she say things like this?  Before she could take it back, her mother’s smile faded.

“Sweetheart, how many times do I need to tell you it was an accident?  Really, Avery, you need to move past that.”  As if trying to move past it herself, she stopped Avery and looked into her eyes.  “It was just a horrible, terrible accident,” and with tears gathering and a hard swallow she said, “Please enjoy the life you were spared.  It was not your fault.”  Almost as an affirmation, she leaned forward and hugged Avery tightly.

“I am so sorry Mama, I hadn’t thought of it that way.”  Avery really hadn’t.  It was sometimes so enlightening to talk about her guilt.  She was still surprised that her family didn’t blame her, but felt that maybe her mother was right.  Maybe it is time to move on.

Well, what do you think?  Try it yourself with something that you have written and let me know how it goes!   And please visit Howard Allen’s site, it is in our resource links as Scriptdoctor.com.  Thanks Howard!

Attention all readers!  If you are easily embarrassed, do not read this at your workplace computer!  If you have a Norwegian background and blush easily, do not read at all (that means you, mom).  This is an experiment in bumping up the heat a bit.  It is, in the overall scheme of romance, VERY tame.  I will fill you in on my smut-like plan after you read the following:

He chose her from the room full of people and invited her to his quarters.  It was a short walk; while still in view of the others, she glanced sheepishly over her shoulder to see if they were still watching.  They were.

The room was comfortable, dimly lit and cool.  Tentatively, she stood by the door and bit her lip as she always had done when nervous. 

He met her gaze for a brief moment, and she wondered if he would be her answer.

“Lay down.  On your back”  he ordered, curtly, as he closed the door. 

Without a word, she did.

Without hesitation or preparation, his warm, soft hands sought the reason she had come, and in that moment, she was unsure.  Why was she here?  His breath smelled of coffee; she loved coffee.  She would try to relax and let him do what he needed to do. 

The skin-tingling sensation that started as warmth, rose fast from her flesh and she doubted him no more.  She didn’t know his name, but if she had, she would have said it aloud.  Better not to know, she thought, at least this first time. 

Rescinding the gift of his hands, he mounted the table and positioned himself over her.  She finally got a look at him.  He had a strong jaw, which reflected his intent, but his blue eyes were focused on another part of her.  There was nothing extraordinary about his appearance, and although he was well-muscled, she never would have noticed him in the real world. 

As the totality of his weight shifted above her, she thought he must be close.  With his breath brushing her cheek, he found her aching center and pulled her through until the release finally came. 

When it was over, he simply left.  She combed her fingers through her hair and stood up.  He had been her answer after all, she almost couldn’t believe it.  With new-found confidence, she made seven more appointments before she left.  And, she found out, his name was Marcus. 

SO…this was just a excerpt of my day today,  juiced up and left mysterious.  Wishing you were me?  It was my physical therapy appointment.  AND, an ordinary, run of the mill adjustment that I thought would be fun to experiment with.  And before you all write to ask me the address of the place, the door is left open and we were fully clothed.  And I am monogamously married.  See how easy it can be to take any experience you have and make it romance novel worthy?  Try it!  Let me know how it goes!!  (And if you are by chance Marcus, so sorry.) 

I have been thinking about doorways lately.  Not the simple kind used to get from room to room, but the kind we use subconsciously to get from day to day.  There is the doorway to clarity, which I find in my daughter’s beautiful blue eyes, so easily and gently found everytime I see her.  There is the doorway to unstoppable confidence, which is open to me every time my parents are near.  They never fail to believe in anything I attempt.  There is the doorway to eternal youth, which I experience anytime my husband smiles.  It’s that smile that takes me back to being twenty-three again, meeting him for the first time and getting lost in the beautiful eyes that became my daughter’s birthright.  And looming somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, is the doorway to my past life.  The people in that room are all meaningful to me yet I have struggled to embody all that they’ve taught me.  In the acceptance of myself, I now find peace there in the doorway.  And amazingly, the big, heavy, mahogany door to my real life is opening without any effort from me.  It’s time to go write…

With all the craziness of a schedule nearly impossible to keep, I find myself longing for a mental escape into my book.  I don’t necessarily mean getting lost in the writing; I mean wishing I was one of the characters.  Doesn’t it seem that our heroines have it made?  Back in the time where the aristocracy of 19th Century England had only to worry about what to wear to the next big event, how many weeks they would attend a house party in the country at luxurious estate surrounded by green grass and gardens, having every meal prepared for them and spending countless days dodging the affections of dashing men, titled and dripping with fortunes…ahhh.  These are only a few of the many reasons to escape into  the nearest historical romance novel.  And at this moment, the nearest one seems to be the manuscript sitting on the desktop of this computer.  My characters are beckoning…Avery is stuck in the moral quandry I so rudely thrust upon her.  Dane is as dashing as ever while he tries desperately to make amends for the worst decision he has ever made.  And he is trusting me to resolve his conflicts and craft his Happily Ever After.  It seems I have talked myself into getting lost in the writing after all…

I sometimes find incredible the daily reality that is my life.  If I were truly seeking a book contract, as Amylynn would concur, I should be writing some factual version of the sideways existence I seem to exemplify in simply struggling to be me.  Real life, real people shouldn’t be as bizarre as they truly are when life isn’t looking.  Isn’t it only in those moments stolen from Father Time that we are truly ourselves?  Looking over my shoulder, yelling haha and skipping away like a 5 year old, I think I may see the secret in my peripheral vision…

Welcome to our  blossoming site!    We are a collective of three new writers each busy working on our first historical romance novels.  We have had quite a journey taking the leap from avid readers to dedicated writers.  Now, as writers striving to be authors, we are faced with an entirely new set of challenges and triumphs. 

Join us as we embark on a search for the perfect revision, an agent, a publisher and the realization of our dream of working as professional authors.  Our vision is a place to communicate our experiences as well as learn from you, our readers.  We have many great ideas and hope to be a comprehensive resource to romance writers everywhere!  Please look for ‘Register’ link and do so!