Set Sail for Romance with Aurelia

My next release, Aurelia, a Sea Swept romance, is coming soon from Trove Books.

Aurelia is a swashbuckling historical adventure of Ria Kingsley, a young woman who enlists the aid of dashing sea captain Chane Bellamy to help her find her grandfather’s pirate treasure. Surrounded by treachery and danger, and mistrustful of each other’s motives, can Ria and Chane unearth the hidden treasure and also unlock their own hidden desires?

I will share more details soon. For now, here is a peek at the cover, designed by Kimberly Killion of The Killion Group, Inc.

Aurelia by Andrea Parnell

Look for Aurelia at your favorite ebook retailer soon.

Best wishes,

Andrea

An Excerpt From Devil Moon

Meet Rhys and Teddy from Devil Moon

Devil Moon by Andrea Parnell (Trove 2013) Inside the Brass Bell Saloon, Teddy Gamble led to a corner table, kicked back a chair and sat.

 “Marc André Rhys Delmar at your service, mademoiselle.” Smiling to full effect, Rhys slid into a second chair and squared himself across the scarred bar table from Teddy Gamble. Her expression was that of a caged cat, one of pent-up energy and barely held-back anger. He stared at her because it was impossible to do otherwise. She was like no woman he’d ever seen. Her face was finely boned. And her hands had tanned a honey-brown from the sun. They were nearly the same color as the fringed buckskin shirt and trousers she wore. Her eyes, all banked with angry fire, were the most striking he’d ever encountered, a glowing green color as remarkable as the stones she wore.

 “It’s plain Teddy, here,” she said. “I don’t need any mademoiselle or mouthful of names to know who I am.”

With a whisk of her hand, she pushed the dusty hat from her head and sailed it into the seat of an empty chair at the table. Rhys had been prepared for a cropped head of straggly hair but was surprised to discover that Teddy Gamble had an abundance of shining tawny locks which had been gathered in a braid and pinned beneath her hat. With some relief he concluded he’d been right to suspect that the woman had at least a tiny element of femininity to her.

 “A thousand pardons, mademoi—Teddy,” he said. “I only intended politeness.”

 “Well don’t tangle yourself up in it,” Teddy snapped. “Just spit out why it is you think you’re part owner of the Gamble Line.”

 Rhys flashed another smile. “It is not what I think. It is what is true.” He fished in his inside coat pocket for the leather packet in which he’d placed the papers given him by Zachary Gamble. “Monsieur Zachary Gamble wagered his share of the company in a game of cards.” With what was, to Teddy, agonizing slowness, he spread the papers on the table for her to view. “He lost.”

 Teddy’s heart faltered a beat. Her Uncle Zack’s exaggerated penmanship was unmistakable. He’d signed his interest in the company over to the Frenchman as a pledge against a gambling loss. And evidently her Uncle Zack had either been unable or unwilling to ante up the cash to buy that interest back.

 But be that as it may, Teddy wasn’t about to accept the fancy man’s claim without a challenge. “Uncle Zack will have to tell me himself that he surrendered his interest to you,” she said coldly. “For all I know you robbed him and forged that signature.”

 Rhys blanched white. He came halfway out of his chair, then thought better of his action and eased himself down again. “Mademoi—” He paused, blew out a long breath then spoke with deliberate slowness to Teddy. “If Monsieur Gamble could tell anyone anything I would not have come halfway across the world to redeem these documents.”

 “What do you mean?” Teddy hissed.

 “Your uncle is dead.”

***

Rhys and Teddy are setting the West on fire in Devil Moon. If you like stagecoaches and lots of sparks, look for Devil Moon at your favorite ebook store.

Available at:

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Happy Reading!

Meet Sunny Harlowe, the bounty hunter heroine of My Only Desire

A beautiful bounty hunter on a mission A handsome scoundrel on the run. When two strong wills and two empty hearts collide, there is bound to be fire and smoldering passion that will not let it die.

My Only Desire is inspired by all the women who after experiencing great personal loss shift their energy and emotion into protecting those at risk and those whose lives were similarly touched by tragedy.

My Only Desire by Andrea ParnellGreat adversity can bring great change in a person.  In My OnlyDesire I explored this premise after noting that many organizations such as MADD, were formed by individuals following devastating personal loss.  I wondered if it could have been much the same in the old west, if a woman who experienced heart-breaking tragedy might transform into an advocate for justice.  A beautiful bounty hunter stepped up.

My Only Desire,  features the gun-toting, no-nonsense Sunny Harlowe.  Like Delilah in Delilah’s Flame and Teddy in Devil Moon, she’s a western woman to contend with.  You won’t find Sunny corseted or coiffed to perfection or consumed with the latest fashion or longing for a beau.  You would do a double take to believe your eyes and by then it would be too late; the shrewdest bounty hunter in Colorado would have you in handcuffs.

Sunny Harlowe is a woman on a mission doing a job she was never meant to hold.  Sunshine, supper on the table, a baby in the cradle, these were her dreams.  All changed to dust in 1873 Colorado, when this darling of the mining camps,  a demure young woman and loving wife, experiences an horrific event.  Her life and hopes for the future shattered, she packs away her calico and lace, straps on six-shooters  and embraces a stunningly different future as a bounty hunter committed to bringing to justice men like those who cost her what she held most dear.

A danger for those committed to a single purpose is that they can lose all of who and what they were before.  All the sweetness, all the dreams young Sunny Harlowe had are fading away until she captures Price Ramsey, a man with a mission of his own and all the charm and persuasion needed to remind Sunny she is a woman with a woman’s heart.

Download a copy at your favorite ebook store.  If you enjoy the story, Sunny, Price and I would appreciate a review.  Happy Reading.

Excerpt from My Only Desire

My Only Desire

A Guns & Garters Western Historical Romance

A man in chains.

A  woman in charge.

Sunny Harlowe is a bounty hunter who always gets her man. But this time she’s captured trouble in Price Ramsey, a scoundrel who always gets his woman.

My Only Desire by Andrea Parnell“Sunny. Do you know what I thought the first time I saw you?”

“Let me guess.” With difficulty, she broke her gaze away from his and swung off the pinto.  “You thought, ‘There’s a woman I haven’t had.’”

Dammit. Nothing was easy with this woman. But he fortified himself for the new assault. “No,” he said tenderly. “I thought, ‘There’s the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen.’ ”

“Hah!” She tossed the stirrup up on the seat of the saddle and unbuckled the girth.

“And the next time,” he continued. “I saw you, and I forgot I was supposed to be shooting at the target Delos tossed for me.”

“You hit it.”

“Barely,” he said. “I tried to find you afterwards.”

Pretending indifference, she unshackled the chains on Price’s handcuffs so he could dismount. “I didn’t want you to find me,” she said.

“No,” he ground out. “But you wanted me, Sunny. I’m not wrong about that. I’m not wrong about what I saw in your eyes before you disappeared.”

“Over there.” She pointed at a thick part of the grove. “Go.”

He obeyed, docile as a lamb while she hooked his shackles around still another tree.

“Sunny?”

“What?”

“Kiss me,” he said softly.

“You’re crazy,” she hissed.

“I know.” His eyes flashed, and his low, husky voice sent a shiver up her spine. “I am. Look at me. I can’t move more than a foot. I can’t hurt you. I can’t do anything to you that wouldn’t leave me in a worse predicament than this. Kiss me. Please. It’s not too much to ask.”

“Yes, it is…”

She said it too slowly, and he knew she was thinking about it. And she was standing so close. A tilt of his head was enough. His lips touched hers, light as a breeze. He didn’t raise his hands. He didn’t want to remind her of his chains.

Sunny moaned softly as his mouth opened and closed hungrily on her lips, tender yet demanding.  The shock, the satisfaction caught her.  She trembled, felt a whirlwind rise and twist within her, felt the spiraling power of it numb her mind and inflame her senses.  Her knees shook and her eyelids slid down as the heart of the storm swept deep in her abdomen then spun up and out, higher and higher.  And then he stepped away…

***

My Only Desire is available now for your favorite e-reader at:

 

Writing Tips: Naming Your Characters

Names are delicious to me.  I love how the sound and meanings of them filter through my mind and how they immediately give an image of the person they fit.  Naming my own children was such a lovely, slow process.  How to pick from all the wonderful choices and the phonetic combinations and to avoid the pitfalls of names easily tuned up with silly associations or nicknames a child might not wish to carry for a lifetime was the challenge.

My children number two, hardly enough to satisfy my desire to use the dozens more names on my list.  Happily, my offspring are satisfied with their monikers and I found another way to satisfy my naming fetish.

I name characters.  Sometimes a dozen or two in a book.  It is great fun and a careful process.  I admit that most of the time my protagonists show up in my head and introduce themselves.  They do, however, willingly submit to name changes, if need be, or the addition of a surname.

Roman, the hero in Dark Splendor and Dark Prelude, needed a surname and a name for his brother.  They became Roman and Morgan Toller, names which seemed appropriate for strong, virile, colonial era men of German descent.

Silvia Bradstreet, heroine of the same books, needed a surname that was not aristocratic and which told of her British heritage.

Amanda Fairfax hints at the sweetness and beauty of the heroine of  Whispers at Midnight, another colonial era romance.

In Whispers At Midnight, hero Ryne Sullivan has a brother named Gardner.  It is easy to tell who is the more steadfast of the two.

Switching to Westerns, I chose Tabor Stanton as the handle for the hero in Delilah’s Flame, an uncommon name for an uncommon man of the west.

Which he had to be to contend with the heroine, Lilah Damon, a soft-hearted woman with a duplicitous nature.  Her alias is Delilah.

There are scores more names in each of my books.  I strive to make each choice distinctive and a good fit for the character and the story and the genre.  Names imply much about personality and station in life for characters.  I rarely use names of my friends and family, but occasionally I sneak one in.

I’m sure most readers would agree the names of characters add a special dimension to a story and a carefully chosen name can make a character more real and memorable.

For tips on how to choose names for your characters, read “Name That Character”, my guest blog post on Writers Unite.  Thanks to Writers Unite for featuring me and for the terrific support they give writers.

An Excerpt from Delilah’s Flame

 

Delilah’s Flame

Smiling, Delilah invited Tabor to a table and asked Fat Jack to send over the bottle of French wine she’d had delivered to the bar. One thing she had never been able to master was drinking the horrible whiskey these places served. While she waited, she gave Ta­bor, seated beside her, an analytical look. Rugged, he had a trace of arrogance only half-hidden in the gray eyes. That at least didn’t surprise her. His hair was black, a bit too long. Did that mean he couldn’t afford the price of a haircut? At least he was clean and smelled . . . rather nice.

The barkeep came and poured her wine. She eyed her companion more discreetly now: worn boots, gray cord pants, a black shirt and leather vest. The gunbelt and ivory-handled guns were probably the most ex­pensive items of his attire. He didn’t look as if he’d fared as well financially as his former companions. She saw a ray of hope. If Stanton had become just a drifter or cowhand, concocting a quick plan would be easy. She could be done with Tabor Stanton before she left Yuba City.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Won’t you join me?” she asked, signaling the barkeep to wait a moment.

“No, thank you. I’ll stay with whiskey.” Reluctantly the barkeep left, his gaze so intent on Delilah he backed into a customer and got splashed with beer.

Tabor’s eyes hovered on her too. With the grace and refinement of a duchess she sipped her wine. He could easily believe the talk that she was from down-in-the-pocket British aristocracy. As a naval officer he had spent time in England. Only the years of training genteel British girls received in the social arts could account for her elegant manners.

He couldn’t figure Delilah out. That diamond around her throat would keep a good-size estate running a couple of years. That she had so much tied up in the diamonds dispelled the theory she was in need. She was a riddle, all right, a beautiful, tempting one. A grin manifested itself on his lips as he recalled he had always liked a good riddle.

Thank you for stopping by to read an excerpt from Delilah’s Flame, an Historical Western Romance by Andrea Parnell

Purchase Delilah’s Flame at these stores now:

DARK PRELUDE, an excerpt of the prequel to Dark Splendor

Dark Prelude (a prequel to my historical Gothic romance novel Dark Splendor) is free and is available at all major ebook  retailers.

Read Dark Prelude as a free download from Amazon Kindle Store.

Dark Prelude

There is a serpent in thy smile, my dear,
And bitter poison within thy tear.
—Shelley, The Cenci

Chapter 1

Shivering miserably, Silvia Bradstreet, clutched her heavy woolen cloak against the wind, her gloomy thoughts little better than the weather. Had she come to this? That she would freeze to death on the London streets? Winter held a formidable grip on the city, shutting out the sun with murky, grey clouds and the bitter pelting of a late snow that fell to the streets like a shower of brimstone to become dingy slush mottled by tracks of those unfortunate enough to be about in the treacherous weather.

The fierce wind bore a chilling moisture from the sea as it wailed between blackened buildings, sounding like the mournful cry of despairing souls. How foolish she had been not to defy Uncle Hollister. Lately he had grown impossible, his sober days largely outnumbered by the drunken ones. But to send her on a fool’s errand in such weather was demeaning and cruel.

Still, she had little choice.

At times her uncle flew into a scalding rage over the simplest matter and she had begun to fear for her safety. Today his attack of angry words had wounded her pride and brought a flood of tears to her eyes. “Curse me, Missy. I’ll be master of this house ’til my dying day and I’ll not have you trying to run it for me,” he had shouted and kicked a chair across the kitchen. “Left to you we would eat nothing but soup and stew! Now get to the butcher and buy the chops and have a dinner on the table this night that’ll fill a man’s belly! And don’t be forgetting your place again!”

With that he had taken the stewpot from the stove and tossed it into the street. She choked back a lump in her throat. No danger she would forget her place again. She had no place. Her once kindly uncle had turned caustic and she was little more than a maid to him.

She sighed ruefully, then set her jaw and trudged on. Lips, blue from the cold, curved into a deeper frown. She had a more immediate concern than Uncle Hollister’s abominable disposition— getting home before the cold claimed her. Because of her uncle’s poor credit, she had been forced to walk blocks farther to find a butcher they did not owe. Passing the docks, as she made her way home with the bundle, the wind roared colder and stronger, biting and stinging her face like a spray of icy needles.

Behind her a carriage rattled its way along the cobbled street, spinning dirty snow behind its wheels. Before she could jump aside, a splash of filthy wetness splattered her cloak. The carriage swept past while Silvia shook the snow from her garment. Almost instantly a stabbing cold pierced the damp fabric to sap the little remaining warmth in her body.

She could fight the chill no longer and drew into the narrow, secluded entry of a shipping company to escape the angry wind. A lantern mounted beside the door flickered haltingly in the dimness of the winter afternoon.

Silvia folded her arms across her chest. Still she shivered with cold. She thought dejectedly of her situation. There was no reasoning with Uncle Hollister. He would have his way and damn those who tried to deter him. She sighed dispiritedly, longing to reach the warmth of the kitchen. But the numbness of her feet and the thought of the rude welcome she would receive from Uncle Hollister kept her from hurrying back along the street.

Slumping against the wall in despair, Silvia brushed the snow from her lashes with the back of a dusky wool mitten. Her gaze lingered on a notice posted beside a window frame in the entryway. The lines blurred together until her eyes cleared.

Able bodied men and women wanted
Passage paid
Sailing date: the twentieth of March, in the year of our Lord, one thousand and fifty-one.

Dark Splendor, Gothic Historical Romance excerpt

Thank you for viewing an excerpt of Dark Splendor. I hope you enjoy this bit of adventure.

Get the Dark Splendor ebook at these retailers:

Dark Splendor

There is a serpent in thy smile, my dear,

And bitter poison within thy tear.

—Shelley, The Cenci

Chapter One

 March 1751

Silvia Bradstreet stirred only slightly when the wooden door of her cabin creaked as it slowly opened.

She slept the heavy sleep born of exhaustion, and neither the pitching of the ship nor the shouts of deckhands, though loud enough to rattle the masts of the Eastwind, roused her. A hazy light split the darkness of the tiny compartment and disappeared beneath the shadows of two men who quietly entered.

Roman Toller roughly caught his brother by the arm and halted him in mid-step. A lump like a burning chunk of coal lodged in his throat as his eyes roamed over the figure of a young woman sleeping soundly in the bunk.

Her dark hair spilled over the contrasting whiteness of the pillow like tassels of black silk he had seen displayed in stalls in an Eastern market. Beneath the blanket her slender form rose softly with each slow breath. She lay curled like a kitten spent from its play.

“Bloody hell, Morgan,” he muttered. “What is this?”

“God’s pity, man, if you have to ask.” Morgan Toller’s lips curved into a teasing grin. “It’s a woman, plain and simple.”

“That I can see,” he growled. “But why is the wench sleeping in this cabin?” Roman’s lids half-closed and his nostrils flared as his eyes, cold as blue ice, met his brother’s.

Morgan stared at the pleasing curves of the lithe form beneath the blanket. His chest swelled with the fullness of a deep breath he exhaled softly. “The captain said we’d find a surprise below.”

“Aye. That he did,” Roman agreed. The beginnings of a smile quivered on the corners of his lips. “And I’ll admit I thought he meant a bottle of vintage wine.”

“We must be certain to thank Wilhelm for improving the stock on his ships,” Morgan said, looking wryly at Roman. “This trip may prove to be less bleak than I expected,” he added, followed by an easy chuckle.

“The old scoundrel is up to something, I’ll wager. Summoning us to the colonies with no explanation of the urgency.” Roman’s brows raised sardonically. “And this.”

“Let’s consider that he is seeing to our comfort,” Morgan chided lightly. “And this is a flower in the desert. Or on the ocean, as it seems.” He rubbed his hands together and his mouth curved into a half-grin. “The only problem as I see it is there is one woman and two of us.”

“I begin to see your point.” Roman landed a hard but playful blow to Morgan’s jaw. “Pull out a coin. We’ll toss for the first night with her.”

Morgan scowled and rubbed his jaw. “Find another outlet for your bad temper, man,” he railed. Still he reached into his pocket and withdrew a coin. “Call it,” he said jauntily, tossing the goldpiece into the air.

“Heads!” Roman snatched the spinning coin before it landed in Morgan’s waiting hand. “Heads. And you sleep alone,” he jeered, slapping the coin to his forearm and uncovering it for Morgan to see.

“Alone,” Morgan scoffed derisively, opening a silver flask of brandy and raising it to his lips. “Well, I’ll be off to my solitary cabin and misery.” He took a second swig from the flask and ceremoniously replaced the cap. A tight-lipped smile rested uncomfortably on his crestfallen face. “And you with a preference for redheads,” he remarked dryly.

“Aye. But with every moment I begin to like raven-haired beauties.” Roman’s chin jutted out stubbornly as he flashed a triumphant grin.

Morgan smiled. “I’ll leave you to your pleasure, Roman,” he chortled, and there was a taunting gleam in his eyes. “We’ll talk at dinner. If you have the strength.”

The fading ring of the Tollers’ voices, though certainly strong enough to break a normal sleep, were hollow echoes to Silvia, lost in the musing deepness of her dreams. The unwelcome sounds intruded as murky shadows in her slumbering thoughts. Stretched out beneath the verdant leafy awning of a tree, she watched milky white clouds float like fleecy ewes crossing an indigo field, while songbirds chirped a melodious note that lulled her even deeper in sleep.

Roman closed the door quietly behind Morgan and secured it with the bolt.

Silvia stirred faintly at the rasp of the lock catching. A dark intruder entered her dreams, a menacing shadow floating in a peaceful sky. She sighed aloud and curled up tighter.

Pausing when she turned her face toward him, Roman stood quietly, hardly daring to breathe, but her eyes remained shut. The innocence in her face surprised him and for a moment a pang of conscience bit at him. He whispered a curse. What reason did he have for remorse? Wilhelm Schlange solidly calculated every move he made. If the man had placed this woman at his disposal, why should he question that she did not look the part?

His eyes dwelt on the smoothness of her skin, fair and creamy white and with the soft luster of fine satin. Her rosy lips were parted a bit, as if set for a kiss, and the pouty fullness showed to a tempting advantage.

He exhaled slowly, letting the air whistle soundlessly through his teeth. She was beautiful. Her black lashes curled softly and were longer than any he had ever seen.

“A flower at sea,” he whispered, and lowered his frame to the chair near the bed. With growing urgency he removed his boots and stockings and rose to drape his coat and cloak over the back of the chair.

He caught his breath, feeling the thrill of arousal as he anticipated the touch of her tantalizing curves. Recklessly stripping away his silk shirt, he stood beside the bed wearing only his breeches. Feeling a surge of warmth in his flesh as passion flared within him, Roman carefully raised the blanket and silently eased into bed.

She wore only a simple chemise adorned on the bodice by tiny lavender bows. He groaned, and his fingers gently touched the streaming ribbons pressed like violets in the snow against the paleness of her breasts. Her body was warm to his touch and the delicate smoothness of her skin brought a lusting flame to his eyes.

Deep in sleep, Silvia responded with a sigh to the gentle stroking. While lost in her dreams, butterflies fluttered delicate wings about her face and neck. The caress of his lips at her throat and the nimble movements of his fingers in her hair were soft kisses of sunshine. She turned to him, her parted lips trembling beneath the rustle of his warm breath.

As she became aware of a shadowy image through closed eyes, her heavy lids reluctantly flickered open to reveal a face pressed close to her own. Just for a moment, as another lilting sigh sounded in her throat, did she know a trace of alarm. But sleep held her prisoner and his eyes were the blue of the sky in her dreams.

“Wake up, little flower,” he murmured, rolling closer so that the hardness of his chest pressed sensuously against the softness of her breast.

His voice was soothing, rich and deep and sweet to her ears. The face was dreamlike, fetchingly handsome, the nose straight and nostrils flared in passion, the cheekbones high, and the chin squared and strong. His flaxen hair was long and tied at the back of his neck with black cord. He had a provocative twist to his mouth and perhaps it was the small vestige of arrogance she detected there which disturbed her.

A subtle movement wrapped his arm about her shoulders and lifted her to him. With a gentleness that transcended his passion, he softly kissed her eyelids and watched them quiver fully open. Rimmed with the lushness of dark lashes, her eyes were golden like honey before they darkened with a pall of fear.

Her scream rent the stillness of the cabin. Perplexed, Roman cursed and silenced her by clamping his hand across her mouth. He frowned and shook his head as if to assure her his intentions were pleasurable and not painful. Possibly he should have awakened the girl before getting in bed. He had not counted on her shocked reaction.

“Quiet now?” he asked softly.

She shook her head in agreement beneath the pressure of his hands. Her pupils widened and her eyes became almost catlike, glowing yellow and angry.

Thinking her calmed, Roman withdrew his hand, but before he could affect one of the devastating smiles he used so well, she screamed again. He moved his hand as swiftly as a striking snake to cover her mouth, but this time she caught the side of it in her teeth. With all her might, she bit down.

“Bloody hell, woman,” he shouted, rolling roughly across her and jerking his hand away to examine it for signs of broken skin.

“Get off!” Silvia groaned as his weight crushed the breath from her lungs. She squirmed beneath him but his body held her tight. Frantically she pummeled his face and chest with the strongest punches she could inflict. All the same, her rampaging blows were useless in dislodging him. With a gasp, she swung her arm beside the bed and caught the top of her boot, flinging it furiously at his head. The wooden heel struck him in the temple, stunning him enough for her to shove him aside and jump from the bed.

“Swine!” she screamed, racing the few feet to the door. She would have fled the cabin in her chemise, but in such a panicky state, the workings of the bolt proved too much for her.

Dazed, Roman struggled to his feet, rubbing the swell of a knot on his brow.

“Keep your hands away!” she shouted, snatching up her other boot and holding it menacingly in front of her.

“Easy now.” Roman raised a hand defensively in front of him. “You’ve damn near taken my head off already,” he stammered incredulously.

The woman was a demon and he had suffered enough of her fury. A drop of blood trickled from the wound above his eye and ran a crooked path to his cheek. But as he wiped at it with his hand a quick smile ruffled his mouth and a look of consummate disbelief paled his blue eyes.

“Get out of my cabin,” she ordered, her eyes igniting in a wildfire of golden lights. Cautiously backing around the room to allow him passage through the door, she steadied her trembling legs against the wall. “Out,” she sobbed.

Roman backed toward the door, wanting no part of the other boot.

“You’re no flower, but a spiny thistle.” His tone cracked sharply. He had assumed he would be welcome in her bed, so his exasperation was painfully vexing. Roman found himself in the hall barefoot and shirtless and dared not knock for the return of his garments.

His pride gave him no protection from the cold and he faced the option of exposing himself to Morgan’s ridiculing gibes or chancing that Captain Langham’s cabin would be empty.

He stepped two paces away and paused to make a sidelong glance at the door. Irritably he made a small mocking bow toward the portal. As his head dipped in pretentious deferment, the hinges creaked rudely open and his garments flew like rubbish through the air to land in a grudging heap at his feet.

“And a good evening to you,” he called out in his mellow voice. His own ire had succumbed to humor, and with a conciliatory shrug to his broad shoulders, he gathered up his garb and stepped lightly to the captain’s quarters, where he clothed himself. A bottle of wine sat at liberty on the table, and when Langham came below a short time later, Roman had partaken of a good portion of it.

Shivering with a chill of fear, Silvia pushed the chair against the door. As soon as she was calmed and could dress, she would seek Captain Langham’s protection. Surely he would take measures to ensure her safety on the voyage.

Dark Prelude, a prequel to Dark Splendor, is available free at Amazon and other ebook retailers.

How to Write Vivid Characters Using a Character Chart

The first rejection letter I received labeled my characters cardboard. And cardboard they were, so one-dimensional a sigh could have blown them over.  I quickly learned to flesh out characters in the planning stage of a book and to give them far more dimension than would ever appear in the book.

One of my favorite tools for developing characters is the chart I put together for myself a couple of decades ago.  It is simple and flexible and can be used for primary and secondary characters. My completed charts can be five to ten pages each for the hero and heroine and shorter for important secondary characters.

One of the bonuses of using my chart or a similar one is that once completed, you have the internal and external conflicts established and the goals and motivations for the major characters. With so much of the background determined, it is easy to get busy writing the action.

There are many variations of the character chart and they can be tweaked to fit the type of book you are writing. I generally add a few lines of dialogue to show the manner of speaking each character will use.  If you aren’t working with a character chart, give it a try. Be specific  and thorough on each point, start to develop the mood and tone of the book at this stage, add some descriptive lines you will use later. Your characters will live and you will know them better than your best friend.

If you find this chart helpful, let me know.  If you have some tips to share or have a particular challenge in developing characters, please post your comments.  Let’s stamp out cardboard characters.

Character Chart

1. Name

2. Age

3. Height

4. Weight

5. Birth date

6. Birthplace

7. Hair – color

8. Eye – color

9. Unique mannerisms, gestures, expressions, sound of voice.

10. Scars or handicaps (physical, mental or emotional)

11. Educational background.

12. Work background.

13. Best friend; other friends, men/women.

14. Enemies and why.

15. Parents/siblings & relationship.

16. Present problem or crisis.

17. Complications

18. Strongest and weakest character traits.

19. Self image.

20. As seen by others.

21. Sense of humor and kind.

22. Basic nature.

23. Ambitions

24. Philosophy of life.

25. Hobbies

26. Music, art and reading material preferred.

27. Dress

28. Favorite colors.

29. Pastimes

30. Description of home (physical, mental and emotional atmosphere).

31. Most important thing to know about character.

32. What trait will make character live and why?

33. Why is character worth writing about?

34. Why is he/she different from other (similar) characters?

35. Why do I like/dislike this character?

36. Why will readers like/dislike this character?

37. Why will this character be remembered?

38. What does he/she admire in women/men?

39. What quality does hero/heroine react to most?

40. How does character react in extreme circumstances? (guilt, rage,fear,doubt,pride)

41. How does character sees his/her own faults?

42. How character grows.

43. How faults change.

44. Is character self-contained or influenced by outside forces?

45. How character has been educated in worldly things.

46. Character’s experience with men/women.

47. Financial status.

48. Feelings about wealth or lack of it.

49. If not major character, how does he/she advance the plot?

50. One line description.

Guest Blog At Pink Fuzzy Slipper Writers

My guest blog, interview style, on the Pink Fuzzy Slipper Writers site proved to be a fun event. The Fuzzies welcomed me with a warm pink glow and had me feeling special all day and beyond. They have been blogging for several years and I am just rounding the learning curve. I loved seeing what they have been doing and learning who is e-pubbing as well.

They posed some interesting interview questions. I’ll list the questions here — stop by and read my interview and meet the Pink Fuzzies for my answers.

  • What would you like our readers to know about you?
  • How did you get started writing and why?
  • Are you a reader? Who are your favorite authors?
  • What themes run through your books?
  • Who was your favorite character of all you’ve written and why?
  • What genre is your favorite to read?
  • What genre is your favorite to write?
  • Do you have a current work-in-progress and can you tell us a little about it?
  • How many books have you published through conventional publishing?
  • How did you come to the decision to indie publish your backlist?
  • How difficult were the format requirements?
  • Did you do the formatting or did someone help you to get your backlist uploaded?
  • How did you decide which indie publisher was right for your books?
  • Can you tell us a little about the process of preparing and uploading previously published books?
  • Where are your books available?
  • Which venue is most successful at this point?

Theirs is a great blog to follow and has posts for every mood and interest. A big thanks to them for hosting me and to Scarlet Pumpernickel for the invitation. I loved doing it!