Interview Nancy Thorne Author of Victorian Town
Give a warm welcome to Nancy Thorne, Author of Victorian Town.
Pull up a chair, grab a drink of your choice from the cooler, a Chocolate Chip or Peanut Butter cookie from the plate, and let’s find out a little about Nancy Thorne and her Victorian Town.
Pssst…. don’t miss the Rafflecopter give away at the bottom of this post!
I’ve a few questions for you. Lets start with what inspired you to write?
I’ve held a love for words since grade school: their spelling, meaning and sound. I felt at a young age that I had a better grasp of words than even some of the adults around me.
I looked forward to spelling bees and writing assignments. I honestly have no idea where the inspiration to write came from – it’s always been there. It took me many years to become a serious, full-time writer. But it was an inspiration I couldn’t avoid forever, like a scratch that would never go away.
Did you tell friends and family members you were writing a book?
It definitely took me a long time to disclose to my friends that I was writing a book. Only my family knew I’d begun to write my novel, Victorian Town. Even though I’d had quite a few short stories published before writing the book, it was an endeavor I decided to keep as secret as possible until I knew I could fully turn my dream into a reality. And there was something special about keeping it to myself for a while, like a happy secret you know you’ll reveal one day, but not quite yet. It wasn’t until I had a dinner party that I spoke of my novel, and by then I’d completed the entire first draft.
Where do your story ideas come from? If they come to you in the middle of the night, do you get up and write them all down?
Wow, I love this question. I often have my best ideas right before I fall asleep. I keep a pen and pad of paper beside my bed so I can write down these thoughts. I’ve learned that I don’t remember my pre-sleep ideas, even if they seem unforgettable at the time.
Once, I wrote an entire short story immediately after waking from a dream. I went directly from my bed to my writing room to scribble it all down before sunlight could dissolve it from my brain.
Why do you write what you write?
I believe that I write what I write, which is the Young Adult genre, because a pivotal part of me stayed behind in the past, when I was a teenager. Events of my youth remain clear and easy to recall. Even the smallest details of the emotional struggles, hurts, romance, friendships and excitement of that time remain with me, refusing to fade, So, I believe this is why is seems natural for me to write about, and for, young adults. I love revisiting the past. And with my writing, I can change the way things really did happen!
Wow I love that! Thanks for indulging me and my questions.
Now she must solve a Victorian mystery without getting herself killed, or worse, spend a lifetime trapped in the past, leaving behind everyone she loves and altering their lives forever.
me. As I struggled to think of how best to offer an explanation, he turned to
me. Gently but deliberately, he moved his hand up my arm, stopping at the nape
of my neck beneath the ribbon of the bonnet.
modest pressure of an indecisive act. A warm energy coursed through my body,
but the strangest thing was that everything felt unbelievably familiar, like it
had all been rehearsed before that moment. I held onto this profound feeling,
not wanting it to leave, until Ben removed his lips from mine.
silence felt awkward. It persisted, and I assumed Ben was already regretting
kissing me.
Street: coaches lined the front of the Royal Hotel as travelers zipped in and
out of the main entrance; horse carts delivered goods in dashes of haste; store
merchants hurried beyond their open doors; street sellers sold goods out of
baskets; helpers swept the boardwalk; ladies could be seen purchasing last
minute necessities behind the windows of each shop.
reached the front door. I peered through the window. Martha arranged
long-stemmed flowers in a vase on a table at the side of the ballroom. A young
man placed a candelabra on a table and then another on top of a piano. Ben had
already started back to the street when I turned. He waved. I waved back. Still
a chance he’ll change his mind.
button, on the ledge of the window and took off the ring.
her chin, which now rested on her knuckles. It was obvious it had taken longer
for me to return this time. It made sense to me right then that the ring held
within it a finite amount of energy with which to transport me to the past and
back home, like a battery depleting its energy with each use. And, I had no
idea how to recharge it.
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/39085555-victorian-town
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Posted in Authors' Secrets Blog and tagged Mystery, Nancy Thorne, Paranormal Romance, Time travel, Victorian Town by Tena Stetler with comments disabled.
Avenged by a Highland Laird by Sky Purington
Click on cover to read more or purchase.
A sneak peek between the pages of Avenged by a Highland Laird.
She didn’t miss the flash of disappointment in his eyes before he managed a small nod and held out his hand. “Aye then, lass, step around me.”
Jessie clenched her teeth, disappointed that the small bridge they had built was so swiftly knocked down. That he was so quick to dislike her again. But that wasn’t to be worried about right now.
Well aware time was running out, she carefully turned, so she was facing the wall, took his hand, and began moving. Step by step, she made her way along the ledge to the point where they would have to share a space.
She met his pale golden eyes and tried to ignore the flustered way they made her feel. “Are you ready for me to pass?”
“I am,” he lied.
She could tell by his guarded expression he was nowhere near ready. Not because he was a coward but because he was aware of his effect on her. More so, how much he liked it. His wariness had nothing to do with plummeting to their death but allowing her close enough that she could pass. Feeling the heat of her skin.
So a bridge might have been knocked down, but something else was taking its place. She worked to steady her breathing at the quickly escalating attraction between them. Now was most certainly not the time.
Yet she had known this would likely happen, didn’t she? That it would be unavoidable. At least for her. How else could it be considering the secrets she still kept? Secrets she was foolish enough to have thought she could keep from him for his own safety. But then she had very little real-life practice when it came to attraction. Especially the sort she felt being so close to Bryce. He was the real thing and far more then she anticipated.
However, now definitely wasn’t the time for a chat about deep dark secrets that would only upset him further.
They needed to keep moving.
Though tempted to close her eyes so she didn’t drown in those piercing golden orbs of his again, she kept them open and made her move. With her hand braced on the left side of his waist, she began moving along the front of him. She was halfway across and directly in front of him when he touched the side of her waist, lowered his lips close to her ear and whispered, “Dinnae move, lass.”
His words floated through her mind. “There is a stranger standing across the way.”
“I feel him,” she responded as her eyes rose to his. “He doesn’t see us yet.”
Though she thought it was her breath that caught when they’re eyes met, it might have been his. Alarmed by the impact of being this close, she nearly teetered back, but his arm slipped around and pulled her even closer.
Unable to breathe at all now, she didn’t look away. She couldn’t if she wanted to. “Let me go, and I’ll hide us without him knowing.”
Unmistakable heat gathered in his eyes. Heat and desire he warred to contain, but she saw it…then she felt it as his arm tightened. The pale gold flecks in his thickly lashed eyes only grew brighter with curiosity. While she could tell herself that he simply wondered how she would get them out of this, she knew better. His curiosity was entirely focused on the strong chemistry between them.
Despite the waterfall’s intense spray and the fact an enemy could very well be staring at them right now, she was human enough to get caught up in what was happening between them. How it felt to finally be pressed against his long, hard body.
To finally lay her hands on the physical form of someone she had known for so long.
“No,” she whispered, suddenly frightened as heat swept through her. “Not now. Not yet.” She swallowed hard and shook her head, suddenly lost in memories. No matter how real this might be, she had long trained herself that she couldn’t trust lustful feelings when it came to him. That she should not indulge in them. “Let me go. Please.”
Though her response could simply be that of a woman choosing to reject what flared between them, he seemed to sense there was more to it. His arousal turned to protectiveness as his brow furrowed in determination and his grip tightened ever so slightly. She couldn’t help but wonder if he was inherently responding to her past. To those moments he was so much a part of without ever knowing.
It was wonderful having you with us today. Please feel free to stop by anytime. Good Luck with Avenged by a Highland Laird!
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Posted in Authors' Secrets Blog and tagged Avenged by a Highland Laird, fantasy, MacLonain Series, Romance, Sky Purington, Time travel by Tena Stetler with comments disabled.
Interview with Casey Wyatt, Author of Dead Girls Don’t Sing!
Pull up a chair, grab a drink of your choice from the cooler, a Chocolate Chip or Peanut Butter cookie from the plate, and let’s find out a little about Casey Wyatt and Dead GIrls Don’t Sing. I’ve got to check this one out!
What inspired this particular story, Casey? My main character, Cherry Cordial aka Charity Belmont is a former vampire stripper who ends up living on Mars (see Dead Girls Don’t Cry). In the first book, Cherry finds her true love, Ian and they settle an undead colony on Mars. I don’t want to say more (spoilers!) but, while that adventure ended, Cherry’s past was an unexplored treasure. I had so many unanswered questions about Cherry’s family. I knew Jonathan (her maker and first husband) had to be holding things back. Did her brother and her sisters go on to live quiet, mortal lives? And who were the visitors that appeared at the end of book one? I needed answers!! And so, Dead Girls Don’t Sing was born. I may have answered those questions, but there are more for Dead Girls Don’t Lose.
What do you want your readers to take away from your books? I want my readers to have fun and to go on an exciting adventure. I write the kinds of books that I like to read too. My eyes gloss over if a book is “important” or has dense walls of descriptions because I’m the kind of person who gets impatient reading long greeting card prose. I’m all about dialogue. Banter is the best, and so is a story that makes me stay up half the night wondering how it’s going to end.
What do you like to do when you are not writing? I love to read but my favorite activity is to go to museums with my younger son (and sometimes my older son too). We enjoy museums so much that I created a website, Museum Maniacs (museummaniacs.com) and a Facebook page too (https://www.facebook.com/MuseumManiacs/). At the moment, the website is bare bones (the day job and writing consume most of my day) but the Facebook page sees more action. I’m also a crafter (knit, crochet, embroidery, cross stitch) and I’m a lapsed artist. I grew up drawing and painting mostly from life and now I’m learning Manga/Anime styles. I recently bought a HUION Kamvas digital drawing tablet and CLIP Studio Paint to “help” me learn. Yup. That’s my story and I’m sticking with it J.
You’ve got a time machine, a cloak of invisibility, and one hour. Where would you go, and what eavesdropping would you do? First off, you’d never get the time machine or the cloak of invisibility back. Because seriously, I’d want to see everything. The past, the future, even the present (I’d probably sneak onto movies sets and Doctor Who). I totally get why Doctor Who stole the TARDIS. I have a degree in anthropology and I have no idea where I’d start first. So many choices!! But if I have to choose, I’d visit Heron of Alexandria (and that famous library).
Thank you so much for hosting me today. I love to chat so if anyone has any questions or comments, fire away! My social media contacts are listed toward the bottom of the page.
Click on the cover to read more or buy!
A peek between the pages of Dead Girls Don’t Sing!
Tiny pokers stabbed my eyes.
Another body, warm and hard, spooned against my backside.
Ian always felt so good, comforting and real.
His hand wrapped around my waist, cupping the underside of my breast. A cool sheet slid off my bare shoulder.
I was naked and in bed. A snippet of memory interrupted my appreciation of my husband’s hand.
Wasn’t I running from something . . .?
Fingers trailed along my spine, heading south. The touch was wrong, unfamiliar and rough.
Hold on. That wasn’t Ian. I shouldn’t feel the warmth of sun against my skin either. We lived on Mars, where it was colder than a witch’s tit.
If not Ian, then who was touching my inner thigh?
My eyelids snapped open like a shade on a spring. Bolting upright, I bared my fangs and grabbed the man’s wrist.
Oh, holy hell. I was in bed with another man. I rolled away and slammed into a different body. Shit, make that two other men. Two eye-poppingly gorgeous men.
Hey, I might be dead, but I’m not dead dead.
“Mistress? Have I displeased you?” said the man whose wrist I was about to shatter. Stunning blue-gray eyes. Dark stubble lined his chiseled jawline. His dark hair was mussed and complimented his swarthy skin tone. Dried blood smeared his neck. A red trail led to puncture marks.
The other man’s brown muscled chest rose and fell in rhythmic sleep. His body was fully exposed on the white sheet. Puncture marks lined his neck, his groin and his very erect penis.
My cheeks heated like a furnace. Clearly, we’d had a good time.
“No. Leave me. Both of you go to your rooms.” I dropped his wrist. The man woke his drowsing companion, and they left as I’d commanded.
Damn. I wished I could get the other men in my life to be so compliant.
Other men? There were other people important to me. Why couldn’t I remember them?
I’d kill Jonathan if he was messing with my mind again.
But yet… that idea didn’t feel right.
Somewhere in a dead corner of my memory, this moment seemed familiar. Jonathan, sensing my unhappiness with our “arrangement,” had spent the early years of our relationship attempting to please me.
This must have been my slut phase, where we’d bring home gorgeous men and I would feast and fuck while he watched. I enjoyed knowing it bothered him that I wouldn’t sleep with him. Only the mortals that we found in gaming dens, brothels, even at society events. The only other thing I would take from Jonathan besides his money was his blood, and only out of necessity.
Fucking hell. Ian’s go-to phrase—I remembered him now—helped resurface the reason why I was reliving this not-so-proud moment in my past.
The plague. The Lost Ship. The time stream. My daughter.
Oh, dear God. I hoped she was safe.
“Good morning, my pet.” Jonathan read a page of the morning newspaper while sipping tea from a dainty cup. He sat on the balcony situated outside my bedroom. From his vantage point, he could view the bed and my doings in Technicolor glory.
My heart lurched at the sight of his arrogant beauty. I had forgotten how full of life he’d been, especially in this time period. And, oh, how handsome he was. His raven hair glossy with blue highlights sparkled in the early morning sunshine. The strong line of his jaw and perfect Roman nose coupled with full lips made it hard not to stare at him. He hadn’t yet acquired the weariness that having a Family would place on him.
In later years, after much bitterness between us, I no longer saw him anymore. The beauty was tarnished, and we became as passionate as two coworkers passing the time until their shift ended. He had become someone I had to endure rather than enjoy. Not that I ever really “enjoyed” him because of the circumstances surrounding our sham marriage.
The horrid image of his death, when he’d knelt, offering Thalia his head, shattered the peaceful moment. With a plaintive look, he commanded that I accept his fate and mine. We both knew that Thalia, the dead queen’s heir apparent, was a vindictive bitch. She blamed me for her mother’s death and Jonathan refused to bow down to her. So, he did what he always did. He protected his Family by sacrificing himself so we could escape. In his last moments, regret had filled his eyes. The wish that we could have been different together had been silenced forever.
Seeing Jonathan again and remembering was worse than reopening a wound and rubbing salt in it with a lemon juice chaser. If only I could apologize to him for how awful I’d been. I hadn’t been blameless in wrecking our relationship. I could have tried harder to accept my fate instead of punishing him at every turn.
The temptation to blurt out the truth bubbled inside, until I had to force myself to look away from him. Would this Jonathan be willing to help me? Or would he use my current predicament to his advantage?
No. I couldn’t, wouldn’t chance it. Not with the entire colony’s lives hanging in the balance.
Would’ve, Could’ve, Should’ve. Sew it on a patch and you’d have my life’s motto.
Yup. Regrets sucked.
Jonathan placed the teacup down and smiled. “Did you enjoy yourself? You seemed a bit surprised when you awoke.”
Surprise didn’t cover how I felt. That word was too puny, too inadequate. After a few seconds, I found my voice again.
“Yes, we had a good time. Thank you.” It sure looked that way.
He acted like finding his wife in bed with other men was no big deal. It wasn’t like I would keep them. To him they were more like pets or meals with legs.
But now, with a century of wisdom tucked under my belt, instead of relishing in his annoyance, I realized something. He was sad. With himself or me, I wasn’t sure. And it didn’t matter. I had a mission to accomplish. A future to save.
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Posted in Authors' Secrets Blog and tagged Casey Wyatt, Dead Girl's Don't Sing, Time travel, Urban Fantasy by Tena Stetler with 8 comments.
S.B.K. Burns Author of Entangled – Ages of Invention
When I was in high school, my science teacher gave me tickets to do my lab research at the Franklin Institute of Science. Back then I knew there was something historic about the place, was in awe of the size of the building, the stairways, and the exhibits, but never investigated further. FLY LIKE AN EAGLE was born at the opening of the Franklin Institute. Growing up in historic Philadelphia, I knew stories were there to be discovered; I just didn’t realize the intrigue of the time.
While Jane Austin wrote PRIDE AND PREDJUDICE under the regent for “crazy” George III, industrialists and government officials, members of the Philadelphia Philosophical Society (including Thomas Jefferson), wanted to honor Benjamin Franklin by opening the Institute. I made my characters in FLY LIKE AN EAGLE, hero and heroine, children of those industrialists: lucky Samantha, daughter of Proper Philadelphia Society and Migizi, treated like a servant, his industrialist father having fallen in love and married a Native American woman, the leader of her Delaware doodem.
The Delaware Native Americans, like other Algonquin speakers, had a word for the power of human consciousness—bimijiwan (The Flow). It just seems that the resurrected future queen of Scotland, Ireland, and Britain, Electress Sophia of the House of Hanover (the ancestor to today’s British Royalty), oversaw the building of a quantum computer all out of crystal lenses. Long Live The Q! With the quantum computer serves as a time machine that focused The Flow of Life into both past and future.
Do you see yourself in your characters?
I always admire writers of memoirs. They have to be gutsy to write all the experiences they had, depending on the way they looked at their lives, their perspectives, and the intimate details they’re willing to reveal. I never found a single thread that I was comfortable with in my own life. I was different than others in that with my scientific curiosity, I was always experimenting. But, I am more the sort to step into the bodies of my characters and playact their parts, rather than exposing all the famous people I was lucky enough to know (and that includes my parents). I always felt uncomfortable about speaking of those who have passed on, because I’ll never know what their true motives were. And that’s what it’s about for my characters. If we don’t know their motives, it’s hard to judge them. And I don’t want to put myself in a place to judge others, or to put those judgments out there. END OF SOAPBOX!
What do you want your readers to take away from your books?
In my life, I have fallen in and out of love. TAKE THAT BACK! I don’t think I’ve ever fallen out of love with anyone I was in love with. But I did learn to move on. As to the themes I enjoy sharing with my books: most deal with diversity. My characters are challenged because of the society they’re born into. Their relationships are taboo. Dawn, in ENTANGLED, is born into the lower class, and Taylor, into the upper class. Samantha, in FLY LIKE AN EAGLE, is forbidden from marrying Native born, Eagle, but encouraged to marry his white industrialist father, many years older than she is.
I like my sci-fi heroes to be artificial intelligence androids that look and operate like humans (maybe even super humans). They’re considered one step down in society and, so, romantically forbidden. In my NANOWRIMO performance this year, I wrote a story I’m excited about: a contemporary romance between a “white” woman, a physician, and a black man, a Navy SEAL and firefighter. He rejects her because she’s white. Though she passes for white, she’s a dark-phase African albino from Tanzania, both her parents black (The albino race introduced in LEGENDS OF THE GOLDENS SERIES.
If writing is your first passion, what is your second?
I’m a scientific generalist with several advanced degrees and lots of courses out the whazoo! On my philosophy website (www.TheUnionOfOpposites.com) I extend the things I’ve learned (about conscious awareness) in my published research and use them to seed the themes in my novels. Sometimes the ideas can be difficult for those not into sci-fi, suspense, thrillers, or adventure (or those who just don’t want too many surprises). For those readers, I take my cue from some of my reviewers who just skip over those few geeky sentences. I don’t write formulaic, meaning that I don’t read another author to find out how their characters make love, how their worlds are run, things like that. In that way, I guess my novels are all my own kind of memoir, pieces of my nerdy life shared with my characters.
finished the second suggestive sentence of her self-regression, she was here in
the misty Lowlands of Scotland, not far outside Edinburgh. As on her previous
trips, she was literally in Lily’s body, experiencing all the woman’s senses
and emotions, but none of her thoughts. So frustrating.
Fly Like An Eagle:
most probably escaped to the house. Migizi (Eagle) would return her shawl,
hoping by the time he caught up to her, she would have put on something a
little less fetching.
been wrong about him. Leaving me alone with Ronaldson’s nubile daughter? Look
at her as a sister? He’d have more success taking flight by jumping off a cliff
and flapping his arms.
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Posted in Authors' Secrets Blog and tagged Paranormal Romance, Sci-Fi, steampunk, Time travel by Tena Stetler with 1 comment.
