How long have you been writing? About Seven years—with a goal to publish.
What genres do you write besides military romance? Paranormal, science fiction, Young adult, and even some suspense. All romance/erotic romance.
What inspired your main characters? I have this trumpet and bag pipe player that lives near my home in the country. Often at night you can hear him playing. I recently found out he plays for hero’s funerals around the state, and the Taps and bag pipes at night are his way of honoring them. He’s an old Army Chaplain. The second part of my inspiration came from a conversation I had with some of the writers with Decadent. We were talking about military occupations and common heroes and then it turned to the heroes you don’t hear a lot about, like the Color Guard and combat medics. I wanted to write a story about one of them, and my bag pipe player wouldn’t let me forget.
Do you write to music? If so what was the sound track to My Boogie Woogie Bugle Guy? Absolutely. For this story it was all about WWII big band music, like Benny Goodman’s Sing, Sing, Sing. I also listened to In the Mood by the Glenn Miller band, Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy by the Andrews Sisters, and Schubert’s Trumpet Serenade, which is about one of the sexiest trumpet songs you’ll hear. You can listen to it here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nd8O7xXcs0w
How would you like someone to play that on your doorstep?
What is the most you have written in one day? 25k. I kid you not. On a Saturday and I was on fire. I don’t think I could do that again if I wanted to.
What are you currently reading? Army Sniper Training Manuel, Last Request by Arlene Webb.
What is your best guilty pleasure? (By best I mean worst.) Wine in my whirlpool tub. I go in, sometimes I don’t come out for a couple of hours. Give me my books, my music and my booze and I’d hole up for Armageddon in there.
You have to jump out of a plane w/ a holey parachute or edit your 100K MS by hand, what. do. you. do? No guts no glory.
Do you have a specific writing style? I’ve been told I do, but I haven’t a clue what that would be. LOL I just write the story the way I would want to be told.
If you had to choose, which writer would you consider a mentor? Writers. Barbara Elsborg, Arlene Webb and Laurie Green. They’ve been with me the last seven years on my journey to publication. We’ve bounced ideas off each other, bitched and celebrated. They have been my shoulder to cry on and the voice that tells me to knock it off, when I need a kick in the pants.
Are there any new authors that have grasped your interest? Newer. Jessica Subject. It’s always interesting to watch a newly published author bloom. And from her first book to the most recent I see some great stuff and she’s only getting better.
What are your current projects? Hoo-kay, we’re opening up a big can of worms now. I’ll pick three and leave it at that. On Being Prince Charming, a 1NightStand story that follows Cinderella Wore Combat Boots and is about Gunny and his wife Lissa. A story I hope to submit to Ellora’s Cave, with no name yet, but it is considered erotica for men. And I’ve dusted off an older manuscript that needs another 25k and a little clean up and I’m shopping it to agents. It’s a science fiction romance called Legionarii.
Do you see writing as a career? I wouldn’t be doing it, if I didn’t. I would like it to be, therefore that is the way I see it. Even if I have to work the 40 hour job until I can make it a reality.
Coffee/Tea? Coffee, but I’ve cut back. People say I’m too jittery.
BDB/The Order? BDB—to be honest, I don’t know what either of these are. LOL
When Grace Daniels goes to the cemetery to visit the grave of her twin brother, she meets a soldier, there for the same reason, or at least that’s what she believes until he tells her about the blind date her brother arranged before he was killed in combat.
It’s the date of her dreams. Big band, brass and sass, Madame Eve from 1NightStand has set her up for an unforgettable night, a WWII swing dance party. Unfortunately she’s having trouble letting go of her past, and is afraid to take the chance given to her.
Sergeant Frank Winters is an Army trumpet player who travels with the Color Guard, a great dancer and six feet four inches of eye candy that could make her an addict. He’s also a soldier and soldiers can get killed. Grace doesn’t have the heart to lose someone again, but Frank knows a good thing when he sees it, and he’s determined to show her in one night, she’s got more to lose if she walks away.
“For my next number, I’m gonna play something a little more laid back,” a slurry voice rang out over the headstones, echoing through what was supposed to be a closed grave yard. A trumpet began to play. “Dah, dah, dum. Dah, dah, squawk.”
Grace bolted up. “What the hell?” Believing she’d been alone, she’d bared her soul to her brother, and certainly wouldn’t have had the conversation she’d just had if she’d known. She turned around three-hundred and sixty degrees, until her gaze landed on a mausoleum backlit by the moon. There, a man stood on the roof with brass to his lips, butchering Taps. In his other hand, he held a bottle of what was probably in the glass on Geordie’s grave.
Grace swatted the debris from her pants and stomped toward the mausoleum, irritation prickling up the back of her neck. She stopped at the base of the stone structure and glared up. “What are you doing here at three in the morning? The cemetery is closed.”
“Whoa, hot chick in the audience.” He swayed, threatening to fall off the roof. “Feel free to toss your panties up on the stage in appreciation.”
She clicked on her flashlight and cast the beam on him. “I suggest you get down from there before you fall, or I have to arrest you for public intoxication.”
He gave her a shit-eating grin. “You got handcuffs?”
“Oh, God,” she groaned under her breath. “Of course I’ve got handcuffs. I’m the police.”
He rocked and blinked his eyes. “You’re hot for a cop.”
“Thank you, I think. Now get down.”
“Okay.” He jumped, hit the edge of the roof, rolled off and dropped like a stone at her feet, doing it with all the grace of a bag of potatoes. Yet he’d managed to keep hold of the bottle and not spill a drop. He put the horn to his lips and blew, but nothing more than a raspberry came from the mouth piece. “For my next number, I’m going to play….” He looked up at her. “Any requests?”
“Yeah, tell me where you’re staying, so I can take you to your room.”
“Easy, girl. What kind of guy do you think I am?”