Brenda Hiatt

Brenda Hiatt is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of nearly twenty novels (so far), including traditional Regency romance, time travel romance, historical romance, and humorous mystery. She is as excited about her new young adult science fiction STARSTRUCK series as she's ever been about any of her books. In addition to writing, Brenda is passionate about embracing life to the fullest, to include scuba diving, Taekwondo, hiking, traveling, and reading, of course! For the past dozen years, Brenda has collected data on writers' earnings, which she shares at her website, http://brendahiatt.com.

 Welcome to Book Blather, Brenda. Ready...Set...Blather!

Let me just say upfront that I LOVE young adult books! Not only as a reader but as a writer, because after 15+ books for adults (mostly historical romance) I was pretty burned out—and starting a YA series I’d had in the back of my mind TOTALLY rejuvenated my joy in writing! This month I’m excited because I’ve just released Starbound, the third book in my new Starstruck series. To celebrate this momentous event, I’ve decided to offer the first book, Starstruck, for just 99 cents for the whole month of June!

To give you an idea of how strongly I identify with my nerdy heroine, Marsha (M to her tiny handful of friends), I thought I’d share a story about my own teen years…

                                                             

Do you remember your first real “crush”? How about your first huge embarrassing moment? Were the two linked in any way? Mine were! I was 13 years old, a freshman in high school, and totally infatuated by the cutest guy in the whole world (to my 13-year-old sensibilities, anyway). I mean, I obsessed about this boy! He had these dreamy blue eyes and wavy blond hair… I was sure the Carpenters’ song “Close To You” was written just about him! I went as stalker as a girl without a driver’s license could go, even convincing my mom to drive past his house once or twice (since he didn’t live within biking distance). When I discovered that he went to the gym to shoot hoops near the end of his lunch period most days, I started sneaking down that hallway every day and peeking through the window in the gym door to watch him play…in a sleeveless shirt! Oh! Be still my newly-awakened heart! I wove so many fantasies about the two of us, fantasies about how he would suddenly realize I was the one he’d been waiting for all his life. How all the other girls would be jealous when they saw us holding hands. How we’d happily start planning our future together. Okay, maybe he didn’t actually know my name yet, but I was sure it was just a matter of time before he woke up to the fact that we were Destined to be Soul Mates.

One day after lunch I made my customary stop by the gym to spy on him playing basketball…but he wasn’t there. I stood outside the door, disappointed and undecided. I peeked, then peeked again, hoping he might make an appearance after all. Finally, despondent, I gave up and turned away—only to see him coming down the hall toward me! Someone cool would have just nodded, smiled and walked on her way, pretending she had somewhere much more important to be. Alas, I was not even the teensiest bit cool. Instantly assuming he knew exactly why I was there, I was beyond mortified. So mortified that, instead of trying to pass it off as no big deal, I turned away, pressed my face into the corner and quite literally tried to melt into the wall. Yes, really. He walked past me into the gym without a word and I hurried away, never to spy on him again. He never did learn my name, to the best of my knowledge, and none of those wonderful fantasies ever came true, but to this day I still remember my first crush and the horrible embarrassing incident that pretty much ended it. And sometimes I wonder if he even remembers that weird girl who acted so strangely outside the gym that day. I guess I’ll never know! And maybe that’s just as well…

From Starstruck:

 My best friend Bri was in my Honors English next period. So was Rigel. Bri made a beeline for him—not hard to guess why—but I intercepted her.

"C'mon, let's sit by the window."

"But—" Bri looked over her shoulder toward Rigel with intense interest.

"We'll be further from the teacher there," I improvised. Without waiting for her reply, I headed to the opposite side of the room and she reluctantly followed me.

As I sat down, I involuntarily glanced Rigel's way only to find him frowning in my direction. Frantically, I went back over what I'd just said but I was sure I hadn't used his name. Unless he could read my mind, I was safe.

I risked another peek and was relieved to see he had turned away, and was now talking to Trina and Nicole Adams, another cheerleader. He was still frowning slightly, but it obviously had nothing to do with me.

"So, what do you think of our hot new quarterback?" were Bri's predictable next words. "He was in Spanish last period but that humongous flirt, Trina, barely let him look at anyone else—just like now."

It took a surprising amount of effort, but I managed not to look at him again. "Is that all you and Deb can talk about today?"

Bri shrugged, then grinned. "Can you think of anything more interesting?"

I absolutely couldn't, but I wasn't going to admit that. “It's not like any of us have a shot, with Trina all over him."

"Yeah, well, a girl can dream." Bri gave me a sly grin and waggled her eyebrows. "You used to be really good at that."

"Shh!" I glanced around to make sure no one had heard her. I kept my flights of fancy to myself these days, but I did not want anyone reminded of the ridiculous stuff I'd made up back in elementary school.

Other kids might have had imaginary friends, but I'd invented a whole imaginary life. I'd told everyone in second grade that I was really a Martian princess whose parents would one day fly me back to their beautiful palace in the stars. No doubt it was my way of dealing with the fact I was adopted and knew nothing about my birth parents. I'd told other outlandish stories, too, but that one had been my favorite—and I got teased mercilessly for it.

I did wise up enough to stop talking about it by third grade, but the teasing went on for years. "Marsha the Martian" was a nickname I never wanted to hear again. In fact, it was the main reason I tried to make people call me M instead of Marsha. Bri and Deb cooperated, but nobody else did.

"Okay," Bri said. "But you've obviously noticed him if you want me to shut up so bad."

"Of course I've noticed him," I whispered. "He sat right in front of me in homeroom. But Trina sat in front of him—Squires, Stuart—so he never even saw me. So I don't see any point in torturing myself over him."

Bri looked over at him again and I gave into temptation and risked a brief glance. He wasn't talking to Trina now. He seemed to be slowly scanning the room, like he was looking for something—or someone. I looked away before he could catch me staring.

I purposely got to my next class late enough that everyone, including Rigel, was seated—only to discover the only empty spot left was at the table in front of him. Trying not to panic, I scanned the room hoping another seat might magically appear, but the class was full. Steeling myself against any kind of reaction, I moved to the empty chair as nonchalantly as I could.

"Hey, Marsh," Will Chesterton said as I sat next to him. He was shorter than me, and nerdy, but not a bad guy. His main fault was thinking he was way cooler than he actually was.

"Hi, Will. Have a good summer?" I tried hard not to be too obsessed by the fact that Rigel was only three feet from my right elbow. There was no way I actually felt a tingling in that elbow! That was just silly.

"Yeah, we went to Indiana Dunes a couple times and spent a week in Saugatuck," Will said, and I had to focus to remember why he was telling me this. "How about you?"

I could hear Rigel murmuring something to Trina, but I couldn't make out the words. "What? Oh, um, we were going to go to Florida for a week, but Uncle Louie couldn't get off work long enough so we just went to the lake for three days instead."

Rigel's voice stopped so abruptly, I wondered if Trina had poked him or something.

Will dragged my attention back from behind me by saying, "Hey, I'm glad you're gonna be sitting here. You can help me out when we get to the space stuff next semester."

"Oh, yeah, sure, no problem," I agreed absently.

Behind me, I heard Trina start to say something, then it sounded like Rigel shushed her. I glanced at the teacher, but he wasn't looking our way. Huh. I wondered what that was about—and how Trina liked being shushed. It was all I could do not to turn around to see her expression.

I was still trying to think of some totally legit reason to look behind me when Mr. Ferguson started calling the roll. None of the other teachers had bothered. They knew everyone by name already, but this was only Mr. Ferguson's second year at Jewel. I started doodling in my notebook, since I'd be one of the last people called.

As he made his way through the alphabet, sketches of constellations appeared under my pencil, inspired by Will's reminder and the star charts above the whiteboard.

Mr. Ferguson was almost done with the roll. "Trina Squires?"

"Here," she responded.

I braced myself for Rigel's voice.

"Rigel Stuart?"

"Here."

It was one word. One word and it still went through me like a rush of adrenaline. What in the world was wrong with me? Even Jimmy Franklin had never affected me like this.

"Marsha Truitt? Are you here?" Mr. Ferguson sounded impatient and I realized I'd missed my own name.

"Oh, um here!" I answered, feeling my cheeks burn.

Then I looked down at my doodling and they burned even hotter. Not only had I drawn the constellation Orion, I'd been drawing circles around Orion's left foot—the star Rigel. I slammed my notebook shut, hoping no one had noticed.

I peeked sideways at Will, but he was watching the teacher, who had finished roll and was writing on the whiteboard. Slightly reassured, I forced myself to do the same.

It was an intense relief when the bell finally rang for lunch. No matter how I tried, I hadn't been able to ignore my awareness of Rigel behind me. If anything, it had increased as the class wore on. I was out of my seat before the bell stopped, eager to get away from his disturbing influence. But as I reached the door, I felt my feet slowing, like I wanted him to catch up.

Disgusted at my weakness, I sped up, practically jogging to the cafeteria. Not till I'd gone through the lunch line did I glance back and sure enough, there was Rigel. Trina was right behind him, wearing a smug smile, clearly hoping everyone was noticing who she was with.

With a snort aimed as much at myself as at Trina, I went to an empty table near the windows and deliberately sat with my back to the room. I was opening my juice box when Bri slipped into the seat across from me. "Hey! You're into window seats today, aren't you?"

I shrugged. "Sunshine is good for my mood."

"Can I have your banana?" she asked as Deb joined us with her tray.

"Sure. That's why I got one." I never ate bananas, as my friends well knew.

"So, how was—" Bri began, when she was interrupted by a hiss from Deb, who was staring over my shoulder.

I nearly turned, but stopped myself. "What?"

"Don't look now," Deb whispered, "but Rigel Stuart is headed Right. Toward. Us." Beside her, Bri nodded, wide-eyed.

"Stop staring!" I held perfectly still, trying to be inconspicuous.

But then it didn't matter because he was standing right next to me, his nearness zinging through me again like an electrical current. I swallowed once, convulsively, and looked up past his lean, muscled chest to find him regarding me with those amazing greenish eyes in that impossibly perfect face.

"Marsha, isn't it?" he said.

Unable to form words, I nodded.

"Hi. I'm Rigel Stuart."

Author Spotlight - Sarah Hegger

I'm delighted to feature author Sarah Hegger on Book Blather. Sarah, like me, is entranced with all things medieval and has done the research to back it up, as evidenced in her debut novel, The Bride Gift, (an excerpt is included in her post.) Readers will look forward to her upcoming release, Sweet Bea, available on September 1st. To read more about the globe-trotting Sarah, be sure to check out her bio titled "A Little About Me." Welcome to Book Blather, Sarah.

One of the first questions I get asked when I tell people about my book (which I’ll do to anyone if they stand still long enough) is Why Medieval.

And it’s not that easy to answer. I started out wanting to be the modern version of Georgette Heyer. After torturing myself, and my critique partner, through one Regency novel (never published, thank God), I realized that I just didn't have what it took and there were so many others doing it so much better.

The attraction to medieval lies mostly in the fantasy element. LadyHawke, The Princess Pride, Camelot – I’ve seen them all HUNDREDS of times. And it’s not that I don’t understand that the reality was so very different – dirtier, grittier and those knights were more thug than hero. But the magic remains for me.

It began with a visit to my favorite castle, Kenilworth. I couldn’t stop imagining the lives that had passed in front of those walls.

In fact, standing just about where this photograph was taken. The castle is nothing more than a ruin now, but it still echoes with the life that passed through it.

And the dresses. Is it shallow to admit I love all those sweeping gowns?

At the start of my research I came across an historian postulating the nature of women of the time. The Bride Gift is set in England, 1153. He said that we tend to think of these women as these wilting flowers, damsels in distress, but the reality had to be different. Times were hard and the women must have been tough to survive them.

That started the magical...

What if we had a woman trying desperately to control her own destiny in a time when she really had little chance of doing so?

What if I snatched it out of her hands and saw what she did to regain control?

What if I put that control in the hands of the sort of man who was her worst nightmare?

This is how it all ended up.

It’s 1153 in the period dubbed ‘The Anarchy’, King Stephen and Empress Maud are not the only ones embroiled in a fierce battle of the sexes.

Determined to control her own destiny, willful Helena of Lystanwold has chosen just the husband to suit her purposes. But, when her banished guardian uncle attempts to secure her future and climbs through her bedroom window with a new husband by a proxy marriage, she understandably balks. Notorious warrior Guy of Helston is everything Helena swore she would never marry; a man who lives by the sword, like the man who murdered her sister.

This marriage finally brings Guy close to his lifetime dream of gaining lands and a title. He is not about to let his feisty bride stand in his way. A master strategist, Guy sets out to woo and conquer his lady.

 Against a backdrop of vengeance, war and betrayal, Guy and Helena must learn to forge a united front or risk losing everything.

The Bride Gift is my debut novel and released on May 14^th. It’s available now on Amazon.

I have a second medieval, Sweet Bea, releasing on September 1^st and it is the first in the series, Sir Arthur’s Legacy.

A little about me:

Born British and raised in South Africa, Sarah Hegger suffers from an incurable case of wanderlust. Her match? A hot Canadian engineer, whose marriage proposal she accepted six short weeks after they first met. Together they’ve made homes in seven different cities across three different continents (and back again once or twice). If only it made her multilingual, but the best she can manage is idiosyncratic English, fluent Afrikaans, conversant Russian, pigeon Portuguese, even worse Zulu and enough French to get herself into trouble.

Mimicking her globe trotting adventures, Sarah’s career path began as a gainfully employed actress, drifted into public relations, settled a moment in advertising, and eventually took root in the fertile soil of her first love, writing. She also moonlights as a wife and mother.

She currently lives in Draper, Utah with her teenage daughters, two Golden Retrievers and aforementioned husband. Part footloose buccaneer, part quixotic observer of life, Sarah’s restless heart is most content when reading or writing books.

She is always delighted to hear from you. Sarah can be reached at any and all of the following places:

Website

Facebook

Twitter

And if you’re still with me, here’s a small taste of The Bride Gift:

Slowly, Helena turned and approached her husband.

His large body barely fit in the wooden tub. He sat with his knees almost to his ears. A slight frown creased his dark brows.

Helena dipped her hand in the soft soap they kept for bathing; more jasmine. She rubbed it between her fingers to create lather. When they next made soap she would need to produce something less feminine for Guy.

From this position, his head was almost on a level with her breasts. A feeling akin to excitement fluttered through her belly.

He watched her face as she leaned forward to soap his head, working it through his cropped hair. The bristly ends tickled her palm.

She reached for a bucket of rinsing water. He closed his eyes as soap and bubbles streamed down the strong planes of his cheeks. Droplets clung to his lashes. They were almost ridiculously long and so incongruous with the rest of him. Probably the only part of him that could be called soft.

He dropped his head forward onto his knees so she could finish rinsing.

Guy presented the broad expanse of his back, and she laid her hands across the sun-darkened skin. He was warm under her fingers and beneath the smooth skin, his muscles bunched slightly as she spread the soap. This might be bearable. When she rubbed her fingers on either side of his spine, he made a soft purr of enjoyment.

Her pulse jumped.

"Soft hands," he said.

Her fingers traced a long, puckered scar running beneath his shoulder blade and disappearing around his side.

"A lance man with poor aim," he murmured.

The skin on his back was firm, but marked by the scars of a lifetime spent wielding a sword. "It appears you really do fight," she commented lightly.

For some reason those accumulated injuries and the pain they had caused angered her as well as rendered her sorry for his suffering. Helena steeled her resolve. It was just these sorts of wounds that made him perfect for her purpose.

She lathered soap across his shoulders and down the thick, corded muscle of each arm. Her belly reacted with another odd little quiver as her fingers slid across his skin like oil poured from a vial.

Guy raised his eyes to her face. A slumberous warmth made them glow nearly silver.

Her breath quickened in her chest as if she had been running; her hands tingled where they touched him.

Author Spotlight - Dyanne Davis

Throughout the summer, I will be featuring a number of writers in an Author Spotlight. Award winning author, Dyanne Davis, is the first. A frequent workshop presenter, Dyanne has written 20 novels and hosts a local cable television show The Art of Writing to help aspiring writers. She also pens a vampire series under the name, F.D. Davis. Dyanne lives in a Chicago suburb with her husband of 43 years, William Sr. 

Welcome to Book Blather, Dyanne. I’m so glad you found time in your busy schedule to drop by.

First and foremost, I want to thank Marilee for her open invitation to authors on the Pan loop.

On Monday May 12th, I participated in a blog tour that a friend asked me to be a part of.  My blog mostly talked about how I promise to do things (like blog) and then worry about what the heck I'm going to talk about.

On Tuesday, May 20th, I saw a post from Marilee on the RWA PAN loop looking for guest bloggers and emailed her before I could stop myself. In my defense, on Monday, I'd had a couple of medical procedures and was more than likely still under the effects of anesthesia.  When Marilee emailed me back, and said, "sure you can blog," I went into an immediate panic and asked if I could send it to her the next day.

This morning I woke and wondered, why, why, why, did you ask to blog? LOL. So I thought about the title of Marilee's blog, Book Blather and I thought to myself, I can totally blather, that's what I do. Besides, I love books and I've been reading since I was four.

And this is what I'm going to blather on about: Writers and the process of writing. For the past eight years I've done a cable TV show, The Art of Writing, in my home town and I've interviewed countless writers, many NYT and USA Today bestselling authors. To name drop a few: L.A. Banks, Jade Lee, Cathie Lintz. Simone Elkeles, Donna Hill, and Elizabeth Hoyt. For several years I also interviewed award winning authors for the Romance Slam Jam blog and for various on-line magazines

Now this is the beauty of writing and writers. In the eight years I've been doing the show there has not been two writers who have ever had the exact same process. They are all as unique as their works. For me there is nothing better (well almost) than listening to a writer tell about the characters.

Even the most shy becomes filled with passion when telling of their characters. That elusive muse that we speak of is real and at times will bring the germ of an idea to a dozen writers at the exact same moment. None of them however will write the same story.

The things I've learned from other writers: Their process change with age and family obligations. They soak up ideas like sponges. Everything their friends and family talk about may one day wind up in a book. They have no idea what their muse will bring them next. And, oh yes, they all hear voices.

I suppose I love listening not only to the process of other writers, but knowing I'm in this huge group of people who hear voices. I hear the voices when I'm in a packed movie theater, or in a group of people having a very pleasant conversation. I have scenes play out in my mind while soaking in the tub and having the answer to a plot hole magically appear. Even in the most intimate of moments characters decide to show up and tell me what they want me to write.

I've been traditionally published for over a decade and for the last three or so years have decided to go the Indie route with the good and the bad. The bad being that I have to force myself to do things I might not want to. The good being that I can finally write about things that my ex-agent wasn't able to sell and that editors didn't want. And the thing of it is that I understand that generally in a trilogy all the books are in the same vein. My aren't.  My muse thought I needed to shake things up with first person, paranormal and the divine.

And that's my segue into the book I'm going to tell you about. One week ago I put Full Circle out for the world to read (wouldn't that be nice if it came true) Full Circle is the last book of a trilogy about reincarnations and psychics.   I'll give you a brief overview without the blather.

The Affair. A married woman, Michelle Powers meets her past life husband, Chance Morgan and begins a torrid affair. Together they meet their son from their past life, famed psychic Blaine Madia.

In the second book, The Gift, Blaine Madia, more famous for being a medium meets a female psychic who's running from a prophecy. He wants to help and they become embroiled in an all out psychic war.

In, Full Circle, Chance has to discover why he and Michelle did not meet in this lifetime before she'd begun a life with Larry. It had always happened before. Chance, a cardiologist goes to India in order to not be so close to Michelle. He has to find out how to get rid of his karmic debt in order to be reunited with his family in the next life.                                                  

                                              

Chance wants to be with Michelle in this life and is ready to ignore that he's already built up karmic debt by having an affair with her. He hates that she uses that word and still thinks of her as his wife.

While an India Chance begins a study of the Runes, a tool that is intuitive in nature and speaks to the spiritual side. Every stone he pulls point him in a direction he does not want to go.

When finally he's regressed by a group of mystics he learns the full scope of his past life debt. It is his fault that he did not find his wife until it was too late. He knows and finally accepts that Michelle can not be with him in this life. And he must wash the sins of the past away in the only way possible, one that he abhors.

More blather

I have to tell you this.  I did a ton of research for this trilogy and worked with a psychic for several years. I interview a dozen people who had experienced past life regression. ( I was too afraid to do it myself)  I personally experienced several seemingly impossible things of a psychic nature. I wrote several things that my critique partners for a decade thought were impossible, things, that I found out had actually happened to others. I was  aware that something, or someone wanted me to write this trilogy. Even knowing that my fan base would more than likely not be interested in the subject, I felt compelled to finish the books. I'm a romance writer, hmm, an award winning romance writer who was now writing things my readers most likely wouldn't read. Whatever was I thinking?

I confess, writers are strange indeed. I count myself lucky to be among that strange group, and to be able to pick the brains of my fellow writers, published and not yet published alike. They are all fascinating. It's a pleasure to find out their unique strangeness. Everyone has a story and I've been fortunate enough to hear a lot of them. Just in case you'd like to watch one of the streaming interviews on line, here's the link.http://www.bct.org on the left hand side click on web videos. When the box pops up scroll down to The Art of Writing. I also have several clips on Youtube. Just put in my name, Dyanne Davis.  One day when I have the time I plan to put a clip from all of the shows on Youtube. 

Thank you again, Marilee for giving me a chance to Blather.

http://www.dyannedavis.com/

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