A new door has opened on my writing journey with time travel being the glorious package revealed. It's been like Christmas for the past two months around our house as I have spent every waking moment (and many sleeping judging by my dreams) unraveling this package layer-by-layer. I have had the luxury of contemplating such amazing ideas as the following plausible choices (just a few of them listed here) for building a "Time Machine" in 2012, according to some noted physicists and engineers that have spent time pursuing the possibilities:
(1) The most popular choice tends to be traversable wormhole like the one featured in the novel Contact by Carl Sagan. The hardest part—getting your hands on one! It would take a very advanced civilization to pull off the feat of selecting a wormhole out of the quantum foam and enlarging it to classical size. Then, it has to be stabilized with exotic (negative) energy against collapse by "threading" it with the equivalent of converting a planet the size of Jupiter into pure energy! (E=mcˆ2 to be specific.) Then, this is the most important part, if an advanced civilization had created it that civilization would have had to live before the time it was discovered to use in my story to allow backward (to the past) time travel.
(2) An intriguing choice I am also pursuing is Cosmic Strings. Discovered in 1991 by Gott, cosmic strings are thought to have been around since the Big Bang. They stretch the length of our universe and have a diameter millions of times smaller than that of the smallest atom. They too can warp space-time to the extent that closed timelike curves can be created. Perhaps a character can be accidently swept away by a cosmic string like an avalanche sweeps away a mountain climber? But not controllable enough for my story where I need my character to travel back to an exact place and time, a world-line to be specific.
(3) Rotating Cylinders (thanks to Frank Tippler) can create a time machine if we can construct a sufficiently large one that appears infinite at the center. (piece of cake, right!) However, keep in mind that you cannot travel further back than the creation date of the cylinder and it's travel to the past I'm most interested in. (I want to have one of my characters "fix" their past. Sounds easy, right! Well, it's not going to be easy to pull that out of my hat.)
(4) Rotating Black Holes or Kerr Holes has a ring singularity through it which a time traveler can theoretically pass to enter other universes and/or to time travel in ours. Means there are past or future versions of our universe. Now, those portals are the doors into time machines! Okay, there are lots of objections to this idea that a writer has to speak to in their work to show they understand the implications, but then, that is true of any time machine conjecture, this essential need for technical verisimilitude.
And, if that's not enough, here are other issues one needs to delve into and confront in writing a novel that hopefully will stand up to the scrutiny of most intellectuals: paradoxes, world-time lines, slip-time, causality, Einstein's General Theory of Relativity as well as his Special Theory, split universes, time tracks, Quantum Gravity, Quantum Mechanics and the unknown granddaddy of them all, The Theory of Everything!
This has been but a tiny snapshot of the wonders of pursing the concept of time travel.
Thanks for travelling a small part of the way with me.
First in the Forever Series
Monday, January 30, 2012
Friday, January 27, 2012
Face it, we are all writing about ourselves. Those little gems that drop from the mouths of our characters are our opinions, things we wanted to say to someone at a party or during a confrontation but had the discretion not to. The most frequently published writers know how to put their words into their characters’ mouths.
Our characters are either mixes or matches of our friends and family members, whom we have observed with embarrassing scrutiny or they are parts of us. And we do choose the friends who make us feel good about ourselves; of course, most of them agree with us. Conflict must come from discord, opposing views…well…conflict.
Confrontations, scenes were the hardest for me to express on paper. I’m not a confrontational person. Eventually, I was able to vent my feelings though my characters so the scene became exciting and uncomfortable for the reader, not the wimpy way it might have gone for me.
We romance writers frame our love scenes to please our tastes—what we would like to see or feel, or in the case of the recent seduction scene following this brief essay, what we have learned, perhaps the hard way.
First: the seduction scene: Note the difference between these two people. Catherine comes from a simple background, where doors don’t close with a swish and a fine fur coat is a mink to be admired and envied, not a long sable coat in her own closet. Jack has been privileged, in the lap of luxury, protected from his own self-destructive ways by a family that encouraged his enormous ego and run-away ambition
Catherine offers to help sort through the clothes of his recently deceased wife, Mary. Catherine’s in love and he…?
A hush fell over them as they pushed through the door. The lush Oriental rug deadened the sound as it had the night she first saw Mary lying in the double bed. The lined draperies were pushed back, allowing the waning afternoon light to radiate into the room. The bed, its spread matching the curtains, was made up tight. The closets stood open, the rose sachet fragrance gone. Jack had placed packing boxes around the room in anticipation of her agreeing to this chore. Did he know she’d be willing? Catherine approached the largest closet, remembering the night that Mary had offered her the red dress.
“She told me she had small feet.”
“Yes. No point in saving the shoes for you.” He laughed, pointing to the shoe rack below. “Let’s put them into these two boxes first.”
They worked for almost an hour. Catherine took the dresses off the hangers and folded them in tissue paper prepared for the boxes. Jack sealed and marked each box as it filled. Eventually, she came to a cloth bag that held Mary’s heavy fur coat. She unsnapped the top and peered in. Pulling it free, she ran her hand over the luxurious dark sienna and black fur. “A genuine mink. This is gorgeous. You shouldn’t give this to charity unless you plan to auction it for a monetary donation.”
“It’s sable, Catherine. Would you like to have it? It matches your hair.”
“I couldn’t! It’s not proper. Anyway, it would make my other clothes look out of place.”
“Um.” He stood back, his eyes roaming over her, appraising her figure. “I think it’s perfect for you. Try it on.”
Catherine blushed, but slipped the silk brocade-lined fur over her arms and shoulders. She stood, self-conscious as it tickled her knees. It was a perfect fit and enveloped her like cream in a warm bath.
“Mary said it took someone with more color in her face to wear it. She was right.” He licked his lips. “She usually wore the squirrel cape. You must keep that coat.”
Catherine shook her head and began removing it. Jack raced across the room and grabbed her elbows. “Leave it.” He was panting, perhaps from the sprint. She smoothed the sleeves, tears beginning in her eyes. “It’s beautiful,” she breathed, “but I can’t take Mary’s lovely coat.”
He looked down at her. “You deserve it.” He touched her lips with the tips of his fingers, then encircled her waist and pulled her close to him. “You’re a delicious morsel in this coat,” he said hoarsely. “You would be beautiful, in it or out of it.” He slid his moist lips down her neck and kissed his way back up to her lips. Then he took her breasts in his hands, kneading them, making them swell. Her nipples were marbles. She gasped and sagged in his arms. He caught her, lifting her onto the bed. His hands traced the line of her legs; his fingers worked at her garters.
Her back arched.
“This is wrong, Jack. I’m your employee, and you’re out of your mind with grief.”
“I’m out of my mind with... you,” he growled. He lay down close to her and buried his face in the crook of her neck, trembling. “I know it’s wrong.”
She felt his tears soaking through the collar of her blouse.
“I can’t stop,” he said. “I want you.”
She rolled away from him, and slipped off the bed, but he caught her hand, kissing her palm. “Forgive me. It’s just that I’m so dammed lonely.”
She nodded and sat on the edge of the bed, her feet to the floor. She smoothed her blouse and pulled her skirt over her knees. “That’s no excuse,” she said primly.
He sat beside her, his head in his hands. “I’m sorry. I’m lost. My marriage wasn’t real, just a sham for convenience. Mary deserved better. God knows she tried to please me, but my heart strayed, distracted by you. I’m crazy for you. I know it’s too soon.”
Catherine’s heart stopped for a beat before falling over itself. Had she heard correctly? “You... you care for me? You love me?”
“Since I first walked though the factory and saw you bent over your machine, your hair tracing the line of your face, I knew that you were special. You were so intent. The others looked up, put you kept that pretty nose of yours bent to the task, dedicated. I fell for you then and there.”
Catherine took her elbows in her hands and shimmied back on the bed, extending her feet, examining her slender ankles and trying to decide if this was what she wanted. “I don’t know what to say, Jack. We can’t be seen together this soon. It’s not proper. The first time the servants are gone and here I am sitting with you on Mary’s bed... I’m not... It’s not... I’ve never—”
“You’re innocent. Pure.” He kissed her cheek and ran his tongue around her earlobe.
“Then I want to show you what real love is between a man and a woman.”
Catherine felt her will dissolving. Wasn’t this what she had dreamed of, what she had wanted, what her body was telling her? She nodded and looked up at his handsome face. “But not here—not in Mary’s bed,” she said.
He stood and took her hand. “Leave your clothes but bring the coat.”
She shucked her clothes and reached for the fur to follow him downstairs. He flung open the door to the yellow guestroom where Catherine had stacked the coats the night of the party. It was much smaller than the master bedroom. A mixture of Bay Rum and apple blossoms made the room cozy and intimate.
“I’ve been sleeping in here. Mary never came into this room. She didn’t like the color; the yellow striped wallpaper washed her out.” He turned toward Catherine, devouring her with his eyes. “You absolutely glow in it. You belong in this room.”
As a guest, she wondered, or...?
He turned on the radio and pulled the bedspread off, dropping it in a heap on a chair. “Someone to Watch Over Me” played into the room.
Catherine swallowed. “I... I don’t know.”
“You belong with me now.” Jack dropped to his knees and embraced her around the waist, circling her hips and stomach, fingering her waist. “You have the tiniest waist I’ve ever seen.” He massaged her thighs and breathed onto her stomach. Her breasts tensed in the chill room.
“It’s cold in here.”
“We diverted the heat to the other parts of the house. When I’ve finished undressing you put the coat on and lie down on the bed.
Jack’s words sounded like a command. She did as asked, not really sure what he would do next. She slipped on the coat, pulling it around her, crossing the generous folds to cover her nakedness. Her face burned.
He lay down next to her, smothering her with kisses and murmuring, almost singing with the music, one of her favorites. Before she could move, he was inside the coat, pressing into her, warming her body with his rough shirt and hard, muscled skin. His pants had disappeared. She could tell that he was a big man, determined, with his own purpose, bent on making love to her. She gave herself up to her feelings and returned his love. The sharp pain was quickly gone, and a warm glow replaced it as her desire climaxed in tender release.
When he was done, he rolled off and stood. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. You really were... innocent.”
She sat up, tears rolling down her cheeks. “I told you that. Didn’t you believe me?”
“Girls always say that.”
All her ambitions crashed around her. Pieces of her life detached from her plans. Nothing but shame remained. She’d slept with Mary’s husband.
“We’ll just pretend this never happened,” Jack said.
“How can I pretend? I... I love you, Jack. I wouldn’t have let you... if I... hadn’t. What if I get... you know... caught? What if I get a baby?”
“It never happens your first time, Catherine. Don’t even think about it. But there can’t be another time. This was a mistake. We’ll have to stay away from each other, at least for a while. You’re a temptation I can’t afford. I’ll hire another secretary—”
“No! I can work out of the mill office when you’re not there. You can leave me assignments.” She knew that if she had no reason to see him, she’d have no chance with him later.
“I suppose we could arrange that. I don’t want to ruin your life. Are you all right?”
“I guess.” Catherine blew out a long sigh. “You don’t think I’m bad, do you. I just didn’t expect...”
He took her in his arms gently stroking her in the coat. “Shush, my poor Catherine. You’re not a bad girl. You’re still sweet, and innocent in your way. You gave me comfort when I needed it.”
“Is that all you felt? Comfort?”
“Not like that sounds. But it’s natural for two people in love to express themselves together. Don’t question it.” He pulled the coat up under her chin, smiling. “You must keep the coat.”
“I can’t. It would be like payment. I’d feel like a... a kept woman. A prostitute…”
Second: the confrontation. Catherine tells Jack she is pregnant.
“I thought we were engaged. I’ll kill myself before I’ll allow my family to be shamed.” She huddled in her chair shaking.
“Don’t be so bloody dramatic. We can’t marry now. You’re already too far along for a decent wedding. Everyone would know—”
“I could wear a girdle.”
“Don’t be a fool. The newspapers would have a field day. By the time I’m finished with my mourning period, you’ll be huge.”
He might as well have struck her across the face. “But it’s your baby. I’ll be huge with... your child. You and Mary couldn’t have a child, but I can... I am.”
“Don’t talk about Mary.”
“You should want our baby. I thought you’d want... want me and your baby.”
“You women are all alike. Mary and I hadn’t been married a year before she started nagging me for children; my dynasty, she called it.”
That wasn’t the way Mary had described her situation to Catherine: not that her efforts to give Jack children would advance his career. Catherine sat slouched in her chair, shivering in cold fear, waiting for Jack to say something.
“You’ll have to go away. We can be engaged or something if you want, but we can’t marry.”
Catherine stood up and leaned over the desk, hoping to emphasize her point. “That’s not fair. I’ll be disgraced! And you’ll get off scot-free.”
“Sit down and stay calm.”
“I can’t calm down. I’m going to show soon.” She inhaled, heaving and hissing though her teeth. “I’ll be reviled, scorned. Thrown out of my family’s house.” She gulped air. “Hated by them. You said you loved me.” She gulped again. Her head swam. “What are you going to do to help me?” She swayed. Her eyes lost focus, and she fell in a dead faint on top of his desk.
~ * ~
Jack whisked the paper holder into the wastebasket to keep her from impaling herself.
To read more of Tangled Web, find the book on www.bookstrand.com/julie-eberhart-painter/, www.omnilit.com, or at www.champagnebooks.com. Julie’s website will take you there: www.books-jepainter.com
Julie Eberhart Painter
Thursday, January 26, 2012
An interview by Princess Annie ~ Angelica's cat!
Did you always want to become a writer?
A: Was born with a story in my mouth.
Z: Yup, her first words were gagagoba dada... which means... Once upon a diaper change.
What is the most, and the least interesting fact about writing?
Z: Most interesting... although we work in seclusion we're actually on a stage, displaying for the world the strange workings of our minds in the form of stories... all for the sake of entertainment
A: Less interesting... Zi makes great coffee
Z: Ang that has nothing to do with writing.
A: Sure it does... fuels my thoughts... energizes my body... puts me in a good mood
Z: You usually drink tea.
A: Well, there is that.
How did you celebrate your first release? Do you have a special ritual for celebrating a book release?
A: I sent smile-face e-mails to all my closest friends and family, engaging them to atta-girl me, and they do.
Z: The question asked about ritual.
A: It did?
Z: Yup! Ok, here's my ritual. My neighbor has this immense weeping willow tree, and after a book release, I wait for the blackness night in the heaviest rain, strip naked and run helter-skelter through the drooping branches screaming, "Look what I did... Look what I did... Look what I did..." Then I dress and act as if it never happened.
A: (Making a note to avoid the office when it is a heavy rain and the middle of the night)
If you could meet any paranormal creature, who would it be and why?
A: A wyvern... there is so much intrigue in a flying dragon. Could I see myself as the damsel in distress with the valiant hero racing to rescue me. Damn straight I can. But I could also see myself as the heroine rescuing the hunky hero!
Z: I'm kinda liking cupid... kinda short and pudgy, wearing a diaper, running around with a bow and arrow, popping people in the name of love. Is that a gig or what? Now, if he gets a good annual out of it, I can see that as a future job possibility. Though a diaper in my size would require me jumping a fence and measuring the arse end of a cow. But, hell, money and arrows, cool.
If you could change places with one character from any book, who would it be and why?
Z: Killjoy, the clown from Stephen King's IT. To be both humorous and diabolical and to wear a funny nose and wig, wouldn't that be a hoot. Don't make me laugh I just might have to kill you.
A: Ssisapho from our book SNAKE DANCE... She's not the heroine but she is one sassy, sharp, determined shero.
Z: Yeah, a big you know what and is half dressed all the time. I'd change my character to anyone who is near her.
If you could travel through time to visit a special time period or famous person, what or who would it be and why?
Z: I'd visit Ben Franklin during his kite and storm incident and get the poop about the key and the lightning. I don't believe it happened and he has gotten so much pub for something that couldn't have happened but people believe it must have happened. I need his publicist.
A: I want to go into the future when we can to travel to other planets. Imagine playing chess with Zisot from the planet Kilatot.
Z: Future... I saw Demolition Man. I think I might like that mental fornication. What do you think? Put on that little metal helmet, bingo, bango and whoa, whoa, whoa... Then again, chess is nice.
If you could meet your favorite celebrity and spend the day with them, who would you choose and what would you do?
Z: Do you remember Scrooge McDuck with his huge vault of coins? The richest duck in the world. Quote, “Me I’m different, everybody hates me and I hate everybody.” That would be me. He he he... One... two... three... million... he he he... Then we’d golf. And since it’s my fantasy, obviously I’d win every hole by two strokes each. And we were playing a million dollars a hole…
A: Are you done yet?
Z: Maybe… Ok… ok… you’re turn.
A: You took too long… I forgot what I was going to say
We'd love to hear from anyone interested in what we do. Anyone who writes us at firstname.lastname@example.org (Write - Blog - in subject line) and leaves an s-mail address, we will send you a gift and add you to any future mailings.
Angelica Hart and Zi
KILLER DOLLS ~ SNAKE DANCE ~ CHASING YESTERDAY
CHRISTMAS EVE...VIL ~ Christmas 2012
STEEL EMBRACE by Vixen Bright and Zachary Zane
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Dime novels, discernibly the precursor to today’s paperback novels, set the stage for writers to lure audiences into their imagination. Gaining vast popularity from the 1860’s until the 1940’s in America, dime novels were mass marketable stories that shared a counterpart in England known as the penny dreadfuls. These stories were commonly perceived as sensationalized puff pieces, because of their themes and topics being considered unsophisticated, completely lacking any intellectual or social significance.
These serialized stories invited audiences to stay tuned each week to find out what was going to happen to their favorite characters, or going on in their favorite fictional town or planet as the case might be. The dime novels are similarly to today’s televised drama series, actually becoming a forerunner to televised dramas and comedies. Imagine TV shows like “Chuck” or “The Mentalist” featured in daily periodicals instead of shown on television. In their day, dime novels were the television for their time.
Dime novels were generally written by hack writers, meaning the writers received a flat fee for their stories and no royalties from the reprints. Inexpensive periodicals like Scribner’s Monthly and the New York Weekly, and pulp magazines, pulp describing the paper that the stories were written on, like Marvel Tales and Amazing Stories brought new episodes each week starring characters whom the public became enamored of, from super heroes to amateur sleuths and daily life folks.
Some serials described the adventures of figures that have become icons of the twentieth century such as Buffalo Bill, Sinbad, Conan the Barbarian, Tarzan, and Detective Nick Carter. Comic strips remain one of the few remnants of dime novels as episodes of “Superman” and “Batman,” both characters that were initiated in the late 1930’s, continue to be serialized in periodicals.
Where would the world be without dime novels and the publishers of dime novels? Dime novels not only carved out a niche for fiction writers to serialize westerns, mysteries, action adventures, sci-fi suspense, and romances, but they also gave directors a subject to put on film. Now in the age of intelligent technology, the publishing industry continues to adapt to the times turning works of fiction into ebooks, and Champagne Books is a part of that new wave.
About the author:
A graduate of New York University with a BA in Liberal Arts, I have been a freelance writer for several years and have contributed thousands of articles to various e-zines including: Yahoo Voices, Epinions.com, Suite101.com, Jazz Times, Goodreads.com, Authors and Books, Fictiondb.com, LibraryThing.com, TheReadingRoom.com, Newsvine.com, Hybrid Magazine, and Musicdish.com.
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Until I became published, in my novice mind, the process was simple: get accepted, turn the manuscript over and that’s that’s. Yeah, right. Like the iceberg, there’s a massive hulk under the surface that the reader never sees. Forget the promotional activities, forget dealing with the rewrites to satisfy the submission reviewers, forget the Errata reviews, etc. There’s an invisible multiplier to the quality of a finished novel that few would ever understand, unless they’ve had a great Content Editor (CE). I’m one of those lucky authors. I’m smart enough to recognize the quality of a story when I submit it now, and honest enough to admit the contribution made by my CE. It’s not the theme or sub plots. That’s there. It’s the molding, polishing, refining where the true talent of a CE shines through. I will admit; I’ve always had the same editor, Cindy Davis, primarily because I get down on my knees each time and beg my publisher. But I don’t have to work with a dozen different editors to recognize the contribution (and enjoyment) I experience with Cindy. So what does she do? What she does appears simple on the surface, so simple in my first novel I kept hitting myself saying, “Why didn’t you see that, moron.” Then I realized, as an author, seeing the things a CE sees is not a talent I possess. I take pride in the realism of my stories, yet she is able to bring out the hidden possibility that lies beneath the surface. Here are a few examples.
1. Consistency – As an author creating fiction across 300 pages, sometimes you forget that you gave the heroine a black jeep on page 23 and changed it to a red Elantra on page 125, or the hero was born in Maine, then strangely admits he’s never set foot in New England. Yet the CE enforces that consistency across the story.
2. Perspective – What is a story without internal monologue, it’s boring. My CE can ask a simple question, “Did he really forget his wife that fast?” or “Doesn’t she think it’s suspicious that he just happened to have that in his pocket?” Your first response is, “Well sure, the reader knows that,” but when you think about it, no the reader doesn’t. As the author, the images in your mind tell the whole story, but you forget they’re not inside your head. I remember a particular scene in one on my recent novels where the hero is franticly searching for his wife, concerned that some really bad guys have taken her to get to him. In his search, he discovers a possible source by solving a rather obvious puzzle. Well, my CE asked, “Doesn’t he think it’s strange that after everything that’s happened, he was able to stumble upon this answer?” Well of course he does, dah.” Then I realized, she was right. The thoughts, twists, confusion, reluctance, fear that would be going on in his mind were not there and they were damn important to the story. In fact, it lead to an entire new scene I created to convey the hero consciously allowing himself to be trapped because it was the only way to get to the woman he loved. Afterward, both of us stood back and admitted, “damn that’s good” and it was, but it wouldn’t have been without her probing question.
3. Five senses/environment – A simple question to an author - “What was she smelling, what color was it, was there nothing on the walls, did the animal make a sound, etc.” Yes, indeed, such a straight forward question, yet so profound in the reflection of realism in the story. And again you fill like an idiot for not recognizing the void in the first place. Fact is, when your creating the entwined storyline, you forget those special fine brush strokes that really make the story come to life and made the reader become absorbed in the story.
4. POV – Now, this is the killer for me. It’s my mega button above all others and Cindy knows it. She loves to hammer on that button. Out of respect from her insight, I do everything I can to conform to her strict “No POV switches, Mikey” posture. Except in the bedroom. That’s where we fight and argue. You see, I want to be in both the hero and heroine’s head because I am into the sensual elements (I’m a guy, if I’m going to reflect romance, got to be an intimacy side, cause that’s how us guys demonstrate love in our minds). I want to know what’s going on in both their minds, (after all, we boys and girls are such different creatures).. So that’s were our battles occur, over and over again.
5. Fun factor – In 98% of the cases, I truly enjoy the interaction with my CE. She’s witty, smart, has a neat sense of humor, and can take my loving male jests with a fleer. Except for POV. Then I just sigh, shake my head, and attempt to comply in all but a few cases.
All and all, I really feel we work on a project as a team, and I consider myself lucky to have hit the jackpot on the first roll of the dice. I know the stories came out of my warped mind, but by the time we’re done, it’s our story, and I think she feels that way too, otherwise, how could she read it over and over so many times. I also sense that exposure to sure a talented person has allowed me to expand my horizons as an author. I find myself asking, “Given they just tried to kill him, wouldn’t the hero be seeing dragons behind even turn of the road?” Or, “no Mike, you started in Ryan’s head and he wouldn’t be thinking of himself as the young man.” But I also recognize, I have to be careful. Swell a woman’s head too much, and you’ll pay for it in the end.
So this round of brew is to you, Cindy, girl. And remember, you still own me lunch, although I honestly forgot what the bet was, but I didn’t forget I won.
Michael Davis (Davisstories.com)
Author of the Year, (2008 and 2009)
Monday, January 23, 2012
Welcome to RITA BAY'S TASTE OF CHAMPAGNE where each month I will review one of my personal favorites from Champagne and introduce the author who wrote it. My first offering is Proof of Love—a heady vintage, one I knew long before the Regency romance made its way to Champagne. I was privileged to watch it grow scene by scene, chapter by chapter.
Two years ago, Arabella Stokes and I met five other yet-to-be-published writers at an RWA chapter meeting on the Gulf Coast. We found that we had much in common—particularly our ignorance of the publishing industry and a dedication to happily-ever-afters. Although spread across four states and from vastly different backgrounds (Arabella is one of our lawyers), we decided to make our journey toward publication together.
We formed our own critique group, set up an email support system and created the Southern Sizzle Romance Blog. (As an aside, I believe that my historical and cultural perspectives on Heroic Hunks in History on Mondays is far more chic than Arabella’s Wet Wednesdays with photos of ripped, half-naked men who are usually wet.) Anyway, our success surprised us. Six of the Sizzling Sisters have written books that are published or under contract.
Arabella is the Sizzlers’ Regency maven. If not for hygiene issues and limited career choices, she would likely book passage on the first time machine headed for 1800. She uses her knowledge and understanding of the Regency period and its people to craft rich settings for her stories and bring depth and believability to her characters.
In Proof of Love, the Duke of Danesleigh, a dedicated scientist, decides to choose his bride like his horses – using the scientific method. His candidate, Lady Susan Lanier, is suitable, available and likely to be willing. Having lost two fiancés—finding one in the arms of another man, she is unlikely to receive other offers. Neither counts on the sparks that ignite into a raging fire after they marry but their path to happiness is neither easy nor certain. Proof of Love is a delightful read with a fresh approach to Regency romance. In my opinion, Arabella’s debut novel is well worth your time and money.
To buy Proof of Love: http://champagnebooks.com/shop/index.php?route=product/product&path=20_38&product_id=522
To visit Arabella: http://arabellastokes.com/
"Celebrating Romance Across the Ages"
ritabay.com with Rita Bay’s Blog
"Into the Lyon's Den" Champagne Books, August, 2012
Sunday, January 1, 2012
Pure Spec in Edmonton was awesome, as expected. The only damper on the weekend was the frigid cold temperatures that kept most of us in, when we could easily have enjoyed some of the local eateries and pubs.
Met a fan who had the best costume I've seen in a while, a Battlestar Galactica pilot's uniform.
Coming the new year, we've got some changes coming around the website and social networking sites. Instead of having three to manage and maintain, we've joined them together, so that things will be easier for you, the reader, to navigate and find. Our website will remain at the www.champagnebooks.com location, but you'll see the launch page for all three imprints. Links to the appropriate stores will remain the same and will be easily found on the website, but with only one place to add news and stuff, it'll be simpler to take care of. Our Yahoo reader loop has been rebranded to the CBG Readers (Champagne Book Group), so that we can have some really wild conversations there now. Those Carnal Passions erotic authors can mingle freely with the science fiction dudes and the romance authors can make mischief with whomever they please! Also, our Twitter account will be switched around too. The Carnal Passions account, which is relatively small for the moment, has been shut down with followers encouraged to follow the main Champagne account, which again will be rebranded to CBG.
And now that has all been done, I can actually get to the blog more often!
'Til next time,