Trailers and Books

I thought I’d share some recently created book trailers with you…   Please feel free to share the link to this post with anyone you think might be interested… And stay tuned for the announcement of a total make-over of www.esthermitchell.com

This first one is a series trailer for my Underground series, available from Under The Moon (www.underthemoon.org).  This is a Speculative/Science Ficiton series that’s received quite a bit of praise, including a Recommended Read from Fallen Angels Reviews, several years ago:

If Science Fiction isn’t your thing, and you prefer a Fantasy world, full of swords and sorcery, quests, warriors, and magic… Have a peek at the following trailers, for my Legends of Tirum series, available from Desert Breeze Publishing (www.desertbreezepublishing.com):

And, as always, you can find out more about any of these books, and more, at www.esthermitchell.com

“Calm Before The Storm”: Excerpt from Underground’s TERMINAL HUNTER

   Forged in the fires of a war that forever changed their world, these ten men and women are highly-skilled operators who have taken the rally cry of “Never Again” as their own.  Theirs is a world where the lines between military and civilian have blurred, and the difference between life and death could be as simple as the next breath.

They are Commandos, and they are the last line of defense between peace and chaos, where love has become the greatest strength, and fear, the most devastating weakness.

                                            UNDERGROUND

                                                         Book 3

                                         TERMINAL HUNTER

Commando Tamia Kuan hasn’t had an easy life, but she’s never made excuses for making the best of what she has. Her life is beginning to come together… Until the loss of a friend drives home the one lesson in life she’s been hiding from — no one is invincible. Now, she’s faced with the very real possibility of losing everything she holds dear. Can a dangerous past be unmade, before it brings any hope of a future crashing down around her?

Excerpt from Underground #3: TERMINAL HUNTER

Tamia leaned her head against the cool, tiled wall of the bathroom and let the murmur of Rick’s voice wash over her. He had a very calming voice, and the light flavor of a Boston-born accent made her feel as if she was wrapped up in a warm blanket. She felt better, just knowing Rick was there.

The baby shifted in her womb, and Tamia smiled. She’d told Rick the truth, she was willing to pay any price for the child growing inside of her. Love swelled in her heart. Someday very soon, she’d hold her baby in her arms. It was a dream she hadn’t believed she’d live to see become reality.

“Good morning, Mikey,” she whispered as she stroked her belly gently. She and Rick settled on Michael as the baby’s name after her last appointment with Faulker. Her hand rose to the silvery hololocket around her neck. She didn’t have to open it to know what would appear if she did. A holographic image of the Archangel Michael, watching over a soldier carrying a child in his arms. The image was a special message from Rick to her – the promise of a protector for the defender.

“Sweetheart?” Rick’s hand squeezed her arm gently, and her eyes opened to the worry in his. “Are you okay?”

She nodded. “Michael just said good morning.”

His hand moved to her belly, rubbing gently, as he murmured, “Good morning to you, too.”

Their eyes met, and Tamia smiled softly, blinking away tears. Then she noticed how he was dressed, and uneasiness shot through her. Rick hardly ever wore his uniform, unless… “What’s going on?”

“The Tribunal wants me to testify, at ten. I hate to run off on you, but—”

“Go,” she urged. She knew how important this was, and if the tables were reversed, she’d expect the same understanding. Their jobs didn’t end because they were married. The same responsibilities, and the same dangers, remained.

He dropped a kiss on her forehead. “I’ll be back as soon as I’m done.”

As she heard the door lock’s tone sound a few moments later, Tamia’s stomach clenched in fear, and she aimed for the toilet again as bile rose in her throat. She was frightened of what could happen if the Tribunal quashed the charges, and she was terrified that, by testifying, Rick was putting himself squarely in the cross-hairs of an assassin’s gun.

Like what you read here?  Pick up your copy of TERMINAL HUNTER today, at www.underthemoon.org/terminalhunter.html or check out other Underground books at www.esthermitchell.com

Be sure to join me on Facebook, to participate in a contest that could net you a free book!  Join my fan page at https://www.facebook.com/authoresthermitchell and find out more!

 

Beginning the Countdown to Underground

Underground’s third book, TERMINAL HUNTER (and the last of the re-vamped reprints left over from the Triskelion years) is scheduled for release January 31!

A Flight of Fantasy (or “Why on Earth Did You Write That?”)

I was recently asked what inspired me to write a series set completely in a Fantasy world, when so much of what I do usually takes place in the “real” world (whether present or future).  I figured you all might be interested in my answer to this question, too.  So, let me tell you a story (*grins* Can’t help it… I’m an author!)…

 

Legends of Tirum, you may be surprised to learn, isn’t my first foray into the world of Fantasy.  Most of the time, however, I deal in parallel dimensions to our own Earth, when doing my Fantasy work.  I’m not entirely sure why, myself.  Maybe it’s because I’m truly fascinated by the concept of “What If…”.  I love exploring the possibilities of where our own world could be, or could have been at some point in the past, if things had gone differently (whether minor alterations, or complete world-changers).  I guess that makes most of my Fantasy actually more of a form of Speculative Fiction.

 

Legends of Tirum is a completely different animal.  I actually created not just another world, but another whole solar system, unique constellations, and a completely independent growth, world-wise.  My reason for doing this was to create something so far outside of my “norm” as to be truly unique among my work.  I strive for that, in every series.  Some unique facet, whether a small spark of difference among the contemporarily-set paranormals (for example, there are many such differences between the military-oriented Project Prometheus, which deals solely in parapsychological phenomena, and the mystery/suspense heavy Guardians, Inc., in which paranormal creatures – known as Paras – are a real and involved part of our society), or major leaps of difference, such as seen between the technologically-stagnant Underground and the hyper-technological Section Psi.

 

Legends of Tirum takes it to an all-new level for me, stripping away the technology (or most of it… but I won’t spoil the surprise! …) and replacing it with a nod to the classic Sword-and-Sorcery storyline – with a twist.  After all, it’s not often when the main character is BOTH the sword-toting warrior AND the “sorceress” with an entire arsenal of deadly magical spells at her disposal.  I gave all of my characters unique qualities that set them apart from both each other and from every other character I’ve ever written about.

 

So, if you’re looking for something Fantasy, with a twist or two of Romance thrown in for good measure (and because, without it, my main character would probably be an irritating hard-ass…lol), you can find out more about this series on my website, at http://www.esthermitchell.com/LegendsofTirum.html

Legends of Tirum, Book 3: Spirit Mage

 

“Uncharted Territory” — Legends of Tirum, Book 3: SPIRIT MAGE

When Phoenix Telyn Gwndal returned to Raiador, she intended to bury her heart there, and never love again.  But when the  Elementals guarding the sacred World Forge set her a task that took her beyond the reaches of a mystical forest, Telyn was about to come face-to-face with a secret that would turn everything she believes about life, and death, upside down.

“Uncharted Territory” — Excerpt from SPIRIT MAGE:

The Eleshau was alive. That was what all the stories about this benighted wood said, and after everything she’d seen during her time in the Borderlands, she wasn’t inclined to disagree. Phoenix Telyn Gwndal eyed the trees around her warily as she rode along the undergrowth-covered ancient paths. Not many people ever travelled these trails. Few who did ever returned.

She glanced to her right, certain the trees were whispering, and not in the whimsical, imaginative way. She was far too aware the shadows here harbored monsters capable of killing the body, or stealing the soul.

“I must be mad.”

She had no idea why she was here, but she wasn’t inclined to linger without good reason. Somewhere out there in the trees was  Nacaris’ final resting place. Though she’d searched, she never found his body.  She mourned him the whole way to Raiador, battered and weary to the soul. She’d expected to hide herself away within the World Forge and lick her wounds – both physical and emotional — until she could face the world again.

But the Salamandars had other ideas. No sooner had she arrived, Phoenix Book in tow, than they put her to work memorizing the entire Book. And then, to her shock and horror, they sent her back out here, to the Eleshau. Sala claimed the next step in her journey as one of the Chosen lay beyond this forest.

Telyn swallowed hard. She wasn’t even sure there was anything beyond the Eleshau. Legend told of a land beyond here — a mystical land peopled by beings from the stars, and Majikal creatures few had ever seen. Other stories declared the continent dropped off sharply into the roiling riptides of the ocean, just past the forest. That, storytellers said, was why no one who entered the forest ever returned.

Out of the Dark: Glimpses of My Life, Part 2

A lot of people hear the term “Romance” applied to my books and automatically assume that I write feel-good stories about white-bread people who’ve never even had a passing acquaintance with trouble (or, at very least, who have never done anything that could be construed as deadly, extremely dangerous, or even downright illegal).  Those people would be wrong.

One of my most critically-acclaimed and most-loved series is my SF nod to both Military Fiction and Romance, Underground.  It deals with the hard realities of living in a post-global-war world, still teetering on the edge of another war.  And a lot of the characters, and some of the events, are loosely (and not so loosely, in some cases) based on real people I’ve known, real events I’ve experienced or witnessed.

The childhood terror I revealed in my last segment?  Yeah, it’s there.  Slightly modified, it shows up in the past of the main character, Tamia.  She is my mirror, my foil, sometimes an expression of my turbulent emotions as a child and teenager, and sometimes the focus of conveyance for events that either did happen, or could have been.

It should come as a surprise to no one, then, that I first began working on Underground at the age of twelve.  Incidentally, this was around the same time that my life both spiraled out of control, and began to finally find focus.

Confused? Yeah, I figured as much.  I’ll try to explain, but you’ll have to bear with me through some taboo discussion topics, for a moment.

While I’m not going to talk about it, here (that’s a subject for all its own post, if I decide to get into it), it’s important to note that when I was ten, and just before the events I’m about to discuss started happening, I witnessed a horrible accident and its aftermath that would leave me forever scarred.  But, as I said, that’s a subject for a post all its own.

When I began to hit puberty, at around eleven, I was still struggling daily with the shame, fear, and self-loathing of what happened when I was six.  Puberty isn’t a good time, emotionally, for any kid.  For me, it carried a double-whammy I knew nothing about, and never saw coming.

I began having headaches.  Massive, paralyzing headaches, accompanied by wretched abdominal pain.  Most times, I couldn’t even move, fought to breathe, and yet tried to downplay or hide my symptoms as best I could.  I didn’t know what they were, and I was scared.  Still, I began missing school, which eventually only increased the number of times I had the pain, as I fought to make up homework, classes, etc.  I had blackouts (not memory ones… I remember every moment leading up to and directly after the blackouts) — I ended up in the ER several times, and each time, they hooked me up to an IV of glucose, and monitored me, and I bounced back within several hours, so they’d label it “dehydration” and send me home.

But no one had an explanation for the headaches, or the spiraling depression I was suffering (the latter,  no one knew about mostly because I kept it to myself.  I already felt helpless — I didn’t want to be branded “crazy” as well).  Twice, I ended up in the ER because I attempted to kill myself — only, no one knew, because I never made a peep about what I’d taken.  I wanted to die — why would I help them make me live?  Things happened that I can’t explain here, but I will say that those events both saved my life and changed it.

Then, one day, I met a girl whose philosophy about life would forever change my own.  She already knew she was dying.  She had a blood clotting disorder that was killing her, and she knew she wouldn’t even make it until she graduated high school.  Her life had an expiration date.  And she gave me the best advice anyone has ever given me.  “Life is something grand and too brief already. Throwing it away cheats everyone who wants to live and can’t.”

We became fast friends — me, her, and her brother, who was her legal guardian since their parents died a few years before .  She was the sister that, until that point, I’d never had.  And he was my best friend, and my confidant. I won’t divulge their names here, because they were important enough to me that, even though I’m sure it no longer matters, I will protect their memories with my life.

When I was fourteen, my soul-sister died.  She was just six months older than I, and I mourned her passing with wretched grief that I kept locked away from the rest of the world.  I was convinced that the rest of the world would not allow me that grief — after all, I believed that they hadn’t allowed me my own pain, when I was a child, and I felt abandoned.

But I retreated inside, became quiet and withdrawn.  The only people to whom I would open my heart and soul were the “guys” — a group of friends who stood by me and supported me through everything (and for those who would otherwise make disparraging commentary, NO, they were NOT all men. I just call them “guys” here because I’m not going to make my friends’ lives difficult because of small-minded individuals who might otherwise do them harm) – and my best friend in the world, who was also the first man I ever loved, and the only man to whom I ever gave my whole heart, without reservation.

I know some of you will snarl and find it disgusting that over 10 years separated us in ages, and I was just fourteen at the time.  I really don’t care what you think.  We intended to spend the rest of our lives together, and there was nothing sordid or perverse about our love.  Remember, in many ways, I had never been a child.  I was well-ahead of my peers, emotionally and mentally.  Many people mistook me for much older than I was, physically.  I didn’t even LOOK like a child.  And he gave me a joy and love I haven’t felt since.  He showed me all the respect and tenderness I never felt worthy of before, and made me feel beautiful and beloved at a time in my life when it seemed the rest of the world had nothing but hateful things to say.

Sadly, it wasn’t to last.  Though we were making plans for the future — a time when I would be old enough for us to finally no longer have to hide how we felt for each other — we had no idea what was coming.  A freak accident took him away from me.  I stood on the tarmac and watched the plane he was flying go down in flames, and a large part of me died, that day.

I can’t even describe how it felt.  Every time I try, the numbness just sets in, and I can’t feel, all over again.  I wasn’t allowed to grieve him, not anywhere but in the dark of night, and in the confines of my heart.  Only at night could I cry, my tears muffled by my pillow.  And the stress of that loss, the agony of living like that, sent my health spiraling downhill.  That was something my family couldn’t help but notice.  They took me to doctors, looking for answers that never came.

And, for the second time in my life, I wanted to die.  But something stopped me.  The words of my soul-sister, and the knowledge that ending my own life was something neither she nor the man I loved would EVER want for me.  So, I decided to live — for them. But a part of my heart closed off, and I knew that loving the way I loved him would never happen again.  Not in this lifetime.

That’s not to say I haven’t dated, or loved anyone, since.  In 2004, I got married for the first time.  I love my husband, in my own way, and he knows the story of my first love, and that there are just some parts of my heart he can never have.  I’ve never kept that from him.

So, yes, I know what Romance is.  It’s loving someone so much you hurt inside, but take peace from knowing that, in some ways, they’ll never leave you completely.  It’s having the courage to love again, even if it’s not in the same way.  It’s not about Happily Ever After — it’s about “I love you” meaning more than a fairytale.  It’s about that love giving you the strength to go on, even when life seems impossible to bear.

BEYOND FAIRY TALES: Changing the Face of Romance

During the 1970s and early 80s, Romance gained a stigma that, while at the time deserved, has been hard to shake.  When people who’ve never read a Romance think of the genre, they sadly think of the books jokingly referred to in Romance circles as “bodice rippers” – namely, because the front covers of most of them looked like the heroine was about to rip right out of hers.

These heroines were vapid, empty-headed idiots who believed that the only way to make their lives complete was to snare a man.  And the men they chose were probably about the most unsuitable ideals of masculinity out there.  I’ve read some of those books (in the name of research and curiosity, back when I believed the books couldn’t POSSIBLY be as bad as the covers made them seem – I was wrong!), and I have to say, if that was my first or only exposure to relationships or Romance, I’d be terrified.  As it is, I was appalled by what I read.  Stories of what, in the end, amounts to rape, leading to love?  As a survivor, I will tell you – not happening!

There is nothing manly or heroic about using one’s strength or larger body mass to intimidate someone else into doing what you want. In fact, that’s the textbook definition of a bully.  And yet, in many of the Romances of the 1970s and early 80s, these bullies were somehow the “ideal” man.  All I can say is, thank goodness those days are over!

Romance has evolved (in most cases) beyond the “Purple Prose” Era, and the days of fainting heroines and churlish heroes.  While you still find a die-hard or two who refuse to alter what’s not-so-lovingly referred to as the “formula Romance,” most Romance novelists would rather die than write that drivel.

Today’s Romance is a different breed entirely.  Today’s heroines kick butt all on their own.  They’re smart, savvy, sometimes hardened, and often carry a weapon of their own.  They’re the sword-toting vampire-hunters, the gun-brandishing detectives and spies… They don’t NEED a man to complete them, and they certainly don’t need one to provide for them.

Likewise, today’s Romance hero is a different breed.  He’s still tough.  He’s still a bad-ass (or bad boy), and he still has attitude.  But in today’s Romance, he doesn’t get away with it.  Today’s hero has a softer side, as well.  Where heroines have toughened up without losing their feminine hearts and compassion, heroes have gained another dimension of their own, finding the ability to actually treat women and children with respect.  They’ve learned to help old ladies across the street, and not be threatened by a woman who’s just as tough as they are.  In other words, they’ve finally gained an equal partner, and not a responsibility.

However, though Romance has come out of the shadow of the 1970s and 80s with a new vibe that’s full of energy and sass, there are still some troubling areas.

Romance, as a genre, tends to abhor radical growing pains more than any other genre.  It took nearly a decade for the changes I just mentioned to happen, and  that wasn’t without a struggle from the dinosaurs who stubbornly dug in and said “this is the way Romance is supposed to be.  That new stuff isn’t Romance.”

 

The same stubborn heel-digging still takes place today.  You have your die-hards who believe that EVERY Romance MUST end with a “Happily Ever After” to be qualified as a Romance.  You have your fanatics who claim that a couple can’t already be in a relationship or married at the beginning of a Romance, for it to be a Romance.  And you still have your writers who ar first to stand up and cry “But this is how it’s always been done.  You HAVE to do it this way!”

I’m a rebel, when it comes to Romance.  Not only do I not shy away from truly gritty and terrible pasts for my heroes and heroines (especially the latter – statistically, women face a much greater risk of harm in daily life than men), but I don’t shy away from those aspects in the character’s present, either.  I refuse to sugar-coat life because people believe Romance should be about escapism.  To me, Romance is about finding someone who loves you, warts and all.  It’s about finding that one person who gets you, in a world that’s run mad.  Romance is about two people finding each other, despite overwhelming odds against them.  Without the troubles, terrors, and pains of real life, love loses all its magnificent beauty and awe.

Nor do I believe a Romance needs to end with a “Happily Ever After.”  This isn’t a fairy tale.  If the characters are meant to be real, if the love is meant to be true, then it’s going to face adversity, both before and AFTER the couple gets together.  I tend to write series that focus on the ongoing relationships of the characters – the ups and downs of trying to make a life together work, against the odds.

I also don’t buy the theory that a couple can’t be married or involved before the start of the story.  I’ve dealt with couples torn apart by life, in my work.  I’ve dealt with couples who are already married at the beginning.  I’ve even dealt with couples who’ve been married and divorced (yes, to each other) before the start of the story.  Love doesn’t take place in a vacuum, and I believe in the REALITY of love, not the fairy tale.  Fairy tales lose their shine, eventually.  They may appear so appealing, in the beginning, but when you look beneath the veneer, the traditional modern fairy tale is as vapid and shallow as any 1970s or early 80s Romance.

So, with open arms, I embrace the dawn of another revolution of Romance – an era with no boundaries beyond love.  What else, after all, does a Romance really NEED to be about?

Resurrecting Cinderella: Romance is More Than a Fairy Tale

There’s one question I get asked repeatedly as an author.  Why Romance?

It’s a fair question, given that Romance is the only constant in my writing — I’ve scaled the genre range from Science Fiction to Fantasy, to Paranormal, to legal thriller and military fiction.  But there’s always been that element of Romance.

The answer is a little more complicated.  It’s a story in itself.  One of love, and loss.  One of searching for an elusive feeling that came and went through my life so swiftly that it left me with the understanding that something was missing from every other area of my life.

People have spent a lot of my life judging me, for various reasons.  Very, very early on, I learned that the only way to escape that judgment was to become invisible in my own life.  Only by being invisible would I know when someone truly saw me.

Complicated, huh?  Hang on… I’m getting to the point.

From a very young age, most girls are fascinated by the story of Cinderella.  They want that handsome prince to swoop in and take them away, make all their dreams come true.  Problem is, most of those dreams are shallow and involve lots of glitz, glitter, and material wealth.  They want the castle, the fanfare, and they want a handsome prince who can somehow read their minds and know exactly what they want at all times.

The problem is, that vision of Cinderella doesn’t last.  It has no place in the real world.  And, from as far back as I can remember, the glittery image of Cinderella’s version of “Happily Ever After” was something I knew to be false.  I wanted no part of that rich, glittery image.

To me, Cinderella and her story embodied another whole image — one that had nothing to do with riches, palaces, or pomp and circumstance (really, can anyone see me in a tiara?  I know I can’t!).

Do I identify with Cinderella?  In a word: YES.  I was that invisible girl – the one others rarely saw unless she was being punished for some transgression (whether real or a figment of certain parties’ imaginations).  I was the one to be ridiculed and laughed at, when acknowledged, but mostly to be part of the scenery, and never really allowed to blossom.

From a very young age, I dreamed… Not of being swept away in some whirlwind of riches and self-indulgence, but of actually being SEEN.  To me, the most important element of the Cinderella story was that Prince Charming saw Cinderella — not just the glamorous girl that he danced with at the ball, but something more.  He saw the woman beneath the tattered and ignored cinder girl.  He saw her spirit, her courage, and her grace.  In his eyes, she was no longer invisible.

I found my Prince Charming, once upon a time.  I won’t get into the who, when, how, or where.  From the moment it became apparent to us both that we were more than friends, I knew that no one else would understand.  We were both free and available to be involved, but there were other complications — issues I wasn’t willing to face, or to let him face because of me.

Because of this very special man, I learned that love isn’t an easy thing.  It gives you wings, but like Icarus, you have to be careful about how close you get to the sun.  There are equal parts joy and danger, laughter and tears, in loving someone.  The only thing you can count on, when love is true, is that the person who truly loves you will see YOU… They can find you in a crowded room — not because they read your mind, but because they bother looking for you, in the first place.  To them, you couldn’t be invisible if you tried.  And, to them, you never want to be invisible again.

So, I write Romance because I believe in that feeling.  I believe there really IS a Prince Charming out there.  I believe in Cinderella.  Whatever you make of that, I can’t control your thoughts — I can only tell you what I know.  I write heroines who can rescue themselves, who befriend dragons and tigers, and who aren’t afraid to kick a little ass from time to time.  But no matter how flawed or stoic my heroines are, they never completely lose sight of that little girl who wants nothing more than to really, truly be seen.

I’ll wrap this up with a little piece of advice I learned about love and fairy tales, a long time ago:  True love is a treasure that may only come around once in a lifetime.  And whether your “Prince Charming” is a man or a woman, the only thing you need to do in order to find them is simply believe in the possibility.

Living Love: Romance from an Author’s Perspective

I’m proud to be both and author and reader of Romance. I know it’s something that a majority of people like to turn their nose up at or laugh at.  Some people call it smut, others try to play moral superiority cards like “it’s degrading to women.”

I feel sad for all of those people.  Why?

Because it’s clear that few, if any, of those people have so much as opened a Romance novel, let alone read one cover-to-cover.  If they had, they would realize how much more there is to Romance than the stereotypes proliferated by the attempt to lump an entire fiction experience into the mold of one period or franchise.  You wouldn’t base your opinion of Science Fiction solely on Star Trek, or your viewpoint on fiction as a whole on Dr. Seuss, would you?  I think not.

Romance is a fundamental human need.  I’m not talking hearts and flowers, sappy music, and an overabundance of Pepto-Bismol pink (although, if that’s your thing, *shrugs* more power to you).  What I’m talking about is the basic human need to be loved – to know that someone out there misses us when we’re gone, thinks about us when we’re not near, and shows us affection and the desire to be near us when we’re present.  And the stoics out there can poo-poo this until they’re blue in the face – that doesn’t meant I don’t know that when you’re all alone, you wish someone would care.

Romantic novels are about more than sex.  I think a great many people confuse pure Erotica with Romance.  The first is all about sex, and nothing more.  The kinkier, the better, usually.  But Romance is about something more.  There are plenty of Romance novels that don’t involve anything more intense than a kiss (basically, you can hash your favorite childhood fairytales up to Romance – don’t the hero and heroine always live “happily ever after”?).  Romance is about feeling connected to another human being, feeling important and special in someone else’s eyes.

And, while we’re on the subject of “Happily Ever After”… I personally wish to dispute the role of this type of ending in Romance.  Being a firm realist when it comes to life (I don’t have any choice – I have personal, first-hand experience on how quickly it can disappear), I don’t subscribe to the theory that a Romance HAS to end “Happily Ever After.”  I prefer that it end with a satisfactory resolution to the central plot, but I’m not a stickler for the whole everyone gets married and lives happily ever after.  Life changes us, and everything we experience.  We go through highs and lows.  I prefer my heroes and heroines to be real people, not automatons.  Yes, you’re likely to find a happy wrap-up to my books, but you’ll also be left with the sense that this story is just the BEGINNING of their story, not the end.  I call it “Happily For Now.”

And, for those people who think that Romance is degrading to women… *snorts* I dare you to read any well-written modern Romance novel and find me a weak little wilting flower of a heroine.  The days of vapid, fainting ladies are dead and gone.  Today’s heroine can slay her own monsters, thank you very much, and even rescue the hero a time or two.  Today’s heroine is capable, strong, and the complete equal to her counterpart hero.  Today’s Romantic duo are truly equals.

Yes, I’m proud to be an author and reader of Romance.  Because if there’s one thing I’m most glad to have in my life, it’s the capacity to love, and the hope that I am, in turn, loved.

Weekend Gems: “Gilded Cage”

“No one said this would be easy.” Maltai circled her cage, watched her stalking movements match his stride warily as she pulled against the golden chain and collar that encircled her neck.  “You’re not going to get out of there, no matter what I do, unless you’re ready to quit being so damned noble.”

She loosed a warning growl that rumbled in the air between them as he stepped closer, her bright yellow eyes narrowing as she bared her teeth.  Then, backing off, she shook herself, shedding her feline form in the process.  In the space of a breath, she went from imposing lioness to a lean, proud woman with tawny skin and dark hair, wearing only the short, tattered drape of cloth that denoted her servitude, and the proud, regal tilt of her chin that told him she was far from a broken slave.

“If I compromise my very core, and everything I hold dear, then I might as well stay here and become a slave in truth.  What reason do I have to be free, if I sacrifice my soul self in the process?”

Want to know more?  Stay tuned for details about Legends of Tirum and this book, Mistress of Cats!  Meanwhile, check out Books 1 & 2 at Desert Breeze Publishing