I get asked pretty often what project I’m currently writing. It’s a hard question to answer, because I’m seldom writing just one thing. Whether it’s a good or bad thing, I’ve always got more than project cooking at any given time. When it comes to writing, I’ve realized that I’m polyamorous, and while that means I find it difficult to “commit” to any particular manuscript, it also means that when I hit a roadblock in one story, I can always switch to another one for a while.
Here, then, in no particular order, are some bite-sized samples of all of my “active” projects:
Prohibition Era Romantic Suspense
It just figured that Mitch would be the one to get stuck arguing with a clerk over payment, freezing his fucking ass off to avoid offending a former client, and getting pushed around by a couple of thugs. All while Carter was back here, getting a taste of some damn fine pussy.
A pussy, Mitch pointed out to himself with no small amount of censure, that his partner had no business coming anywhere near, seeing as how she was a client. How was he supposed to maintain a professional distance from the woman after this?
Especially when she panted breathily, “That was amazing.”
“It most certainly was.” Mitch released the door knob and slammed it shut behind him.
Carter’s eyes met his over the redhead’s shoulder, and his lips moved silently. Mitch knew what he said, anyway.
Regency-set erotic novella (m/f/m menage)
As Grace floated back to earth, her limbs weak and tingling with bliss, the only thing she could think was that someone owed her an apology for making her believe ravishment would be a bad thing. If this was being ravished, then she was all in favor of it.
Atticus brushed her curls, which were dampened with perspiration, away from her forehead and smiled down at her, a triumphant sort of joy writ upon his features.
Meanwhile, Colin extracted a kerchief from a pocket and patted her nether curls, which were far more than merely damp, gently to dry them. When he was done, he drew the same kerchief over his mouth and chin.
“Was that sufficient information, my dear?” he asked as he hoisted himself up to sit beside her once again.
Regency-set mainstream novel
A bespectacled woman sat in an armchair in front of the fire blazing in the large stone heart, reading—of all things—a newspaper. Not the scandal sheets, but the London Times. Clad in a plain pale blue frock, her hair covered in a lacy white fichu, she hadn’t seemed to hear him approach. Instead, she ran a finger down the center of the paper, nodding or shaking her head at turns.
Who was she? Surely not a close relative or friend of Lord and Lady Parminter, based on the simplicity of her dress. Since she was staring down at the paper, he couldn’t make out her features, but given the spectacles, he imagined she must be roughly his soon-to-be mother-in-law’s age. Likely a spinster cousin who had passed through her youth with neither dowry nor good looks to recommend her. Although, he had to admit as his gaze swept her figure, she possessed a rather fine pair of breasts for a woman who was getting on in years.
His stomach interrupted his thoughts with an unpleasant, empty roll, and it occurred to him that perhaps she had become so engaged in her study that she had forgotten about breakfast. And if he offered to accompany her to the dining room, he wouldn’t have to make a fool of himself by asking directions.
He cleared his throat, loud enough to ensure she heard him but not so loud as to be vulgar.
She looked up, removing the spectacles as she did so.
For ten full seconds, every one of Robert’s major bodily functions ceased operation. His lungs seized. His heart stopped. His mind went blank. Even his stomach ceased its incessant grumbling.
She definitely wasn’t old. And, God knew, she had more than enough good looks to recommend her, though it was her eyes that arrested him more than any other feature. Dark blue gray, they were the color of clouds before a storm. Fringed with thick, smoky lashes, their depths sparkled with pure intelligence and utter guilelessness. Whether or not it was empirically true, he was looking into the face of the most beautiful woman on earth.
A woman he had to have.
…and for something completely different:
Middle grade paranormal mystery
Brooke Forrester’s thirteenth birthday began like pretty much any other day. Which was to say, crappy.
She overslept, which meant skipping either breakfast or a shower to catch the bus.
Her younger brother, Garrett, who didn’t have to be at school until a full hour after she did, raced into the bathroom ahead of her and slammed the door in her face, then hogged it for a full fifteen minutes.
And when she finally got in to brush her teeth and hair, she found a ginormous zit growing in the middle of her forehead. By lunchtime, it would be the size of a Hummer and just about as environmentally friendly.
No one said “Happy Birthday” to her, not even her mother, who’d only pecked Brooke on the cheek before dashing out the door, muttering about a meeting she couldn’t be late for.
Brooke made it down to the kitchen just in time to grab a bagel and say goodbye to her dog before running to the bus stop.
As usual, the shaggy, brown-and-white mutt was waiting outside the front door for her, wagging his tail. When she walked out onto the front porch, he jumped up, resting his two front paws on her thighs.
Brooke scratched him behind his pointy ears. “At least you still love me, Mr. Pettybones.”
The dog looked up to her with soulful brown eyes and said, “I do love you, but from now on, I want you to call me ‘Jim’.”
So, any favorites from among those options? Which one do you hanker most to read?
Also, I’m going to be up in Yosemite from this afternoon until Tuesday night. I’ve turned off comment moderation while I’m gone, so play nice!
Finally, my interview with author Leigh Court, who is giving away a copy of the Secrets Volune 27 anthology in which her latest novella, THE BET, appears, will be up early Tuesday. I won’t be here to tweet or facebook it, so please be sure to remember to drop by!