Welcome to Fiery Friday!
Today's guest is author Mickie Sherwood. Before I let her take over the show...Readers, make sure you answer Mickie's contest question below. She has a surprise for one lucky person.
Thanks for stopping by Mickie! Tell us about yourself.
Hi Tonya! Thanks for this chance to get your readers excited about my sweet-to-sensual love stories. I like to say that I'm a cruise-loving, people-watching, picture-snapping baby boomer with time on her hands. So, I write sweet and spicy relationship-based mainstream contemporary romantic love stories. I enjoy short walks on hot summer days. I love a cozy fire on cold winter nights. Those descriptions are just a sample of what gets my creative juices flowing. And there's nothing like physical activity of one kind or another to combat writer's block. Take a look at the nightstand I refinished to serve as a plant stand for my country front porch, all because of writer's block. Isn't it lovely?
Ooo, it is. Amazing what we do when writer's block takes over. LOL
Tell us, Mickie. What do you feel is critical to developing a novel that will glue the reader’s ebook device in their hands until the last page?
Connection. There must be an immediate connection between the heroine and the hero that also ensnares the readers. Whether it's a blustery confrontation or emotions evoked through a sweet interaction, readers must feel an instant bond with them.
Women relate to women and, more often than not, we’re left shaking our heads at men. As a woman, how do you write your male characters in their point of view and make them the hot alpha heroes us romance readers fall in love with?
That's easy to answer. I have some pretty impactful family men in my life. As a woman who has observed other women in the company of those males, apparently, they're not at all bad to look at and command quite a bit of attention. One in particular, though, is very close to my heart. So, I use a composite creation to serve as my heroes.
Why romance? Do you believe it exists in the real world?
Romance because I believe you can never have too much romance. Yes, I believe romance still exists in the real world. However, it's not always the fantasy Cinderella version. The obstacles that come into play can be a detriment to any relationship. But, when I think about it, that's exactly when the heart of romance is revealed.
What is your idea of the perfect hero? Heroine?
My perfect hero isn't perfect at all. Of course, he has to have his flaws. Yet, those flaws in no way detract from his appeal. In fact, they are among the qualities that make him desirable to the heroine. He's human with a redeeming nature. Now, my perfect heroine oozes charm and sensuality. Couple that with brains that minimize vulnerability, a visual that challenges and shatters stereotypical depictions of what is beautiful, and you have an alluring embodiment of quasi-perfection. Nobody's perfect, right?
If you had access to a time machine, what year would you travel to and why?
I would fast-forward into the future because I'm curious about whether my romances grow in popularity. I want to know because my sweet-to-sensual romances rely heavily on euphemisms, allowing readers to use their vivid imaginations. Will this feeling of loneliness as a writer of sweet-to-sensual romance dissolve anytime soon?
If you could have dinner with any three people in the world, who would they be and why?
Dinner with any three people in the world? Okay. One: First Lady Michelle Obama because she really is a first. Two: The young man in the Caribbean who demonstrated such an act of kindness to my husband and me some years ago while we were on a cruise. We were able to briefly thank him but not able to spend any time with him to find out his name or anything about him. Three: Audra McDonald because she is not only a beautiful multi-talented artist, she comes across as genuine, in my opinion.
Who is your favorite character that you’ve created and why?
That's a hard question for me to answer. Since I created them, I love them all. But, K.C. Montreaux from Nicked Hearts is, without a doubt, the character that was most fun to write. She has a real zest for life because of her sheltered upbringing due to illness. That zeal both intrigues and frustrates Dr. Nick Hart as he is swept along in her wake.
You wake up one morning and realize you’re suddenly a kid again, but you remember everything about being an adult. What advice would you give yourself?
It's only failure if you don't at least try. Jump in feet first.
Did you have a predetermined plan when you began your writing career and, if so, has that plan changed since your books have been released?
I started writing on a whim after reading an intriguing sweet romance novel. Now, my game plan is to continue telling sweet-to-sensual love stories that tantalize the senses.
Aspiring authors are always eager to hear advice. What would you say to them?
So, you think you have a story to tell. Stop thinking about it. Do it!
Where do you think is the most romantic place on Earth?
Almost anywhere there's a sunset over the water.
You’re writing your latest romance novel when things start heating up. Do you ever get the urge to open the bedroom door and see what’s going on inside?
I wouldn't be human if I didn't. The doors in my novels are open for a while before a foot taps it to a close or a body slams hard against it while the lovers are in the throes of mutual discovery.
You’re sitting at a bar or walking through the grocery store when you spot Mr. Hunk-a-licious. What’s the first thing he can say or do to sweep you off your feet?
A smile works wonders. A smile can say so many different things. It just depends on the expression that accompanies it.
If you could choose any man to sit with by a warm fire on a cold winter night, who would it be and why?
I'm a married woman. Whom do you think? If you haven't had one of those glorious foot rubs while sipping a glass of wine in front of the fireplace, you don't know what you're missing. Now that I re-think question number 1, in front of the fireplace with someone who makes your toes tingle ranks right up there as a pretty romantic place on Earth.
If you knew the world would end tomorrow, how would you spend today?
LOL I probably would to. Great answers! Now I want a sneak peek of your latest book. Please!!!
Like Slow Sweet Molasses
Available at Red Rose Publishing
Teacher Angela Munso has lost control—of her spiraling life. She can control the fallout of recent news from whose loins she sprang as easily as she can her heart’s pitter-patter. To have feelings for a man who is everything she now wants to hate? That’s the last straw!
Lt. Brock "Chance" Alexander’s arrogance baits Angela. And—he knows it. It’s never so obvious to him as when she lobs that insulting phrase at the side of his head. She pushes all of his hot buttons. But, there’s one he dares her to touch—the one that pushes him out of her life.
“Chance, you’re on someone’s APB list! I wouldn’t mind being on that list from the looks of her.” A wave of laughter rolled through the downstairs and up the staircase.
“So everyone keeps calling to tell me.”
Lt. Chance Alexander made his appearance on the second floor stopping dead in his tracks at the sight before him. He was a man of the world. A connoisseur of beauty. Her effervescence sparkled brilliantly in the drab windowless department, the aura spreading his way like slow, sweet molasses. Although presented with her back, for she was in deep conversation with an officer, there wasn’t a doubt she had more lures than the outdoor sportsmen’s shop he sometimes frequented as was obvious when she swayed to a one hipped stance—a good assist when hooking her man.
His growing enchantment had him take in everything about her such as she dressed to kill and effectively succeeded. Overhead lighting bounced off the reddish highlights in her upswept brunette head that balanced on a slender, graceful neck. Her proud carriage accentuated perfect posture, a flattering waistline contouring to rounded hips and the prettiest legs that ever graced a pair of designer footwear. She stood flanked by a leather bound instrument case, a reptile-skin attaché and a staple for this time of year, an umbrella.
Chance’s presence caught the officer’s eyes and he held an index finger to his lips before giving her the keep-it-going sign. He wanted to get a feel for the real person without his presence being an influencing factor.
“Angela Munso: Professional Violist. Music Instructor. Academy School of the Arts.” She read the credentials aloud. “Miss Munso, if there’s a problem, I’m confident I can help.”
She didn’t look like any school marm he ever had growing up and certainly more stunning than any teacher he was acquainted with in today’s school system.
Angela took a deep breath, tired of repeating herself, but, mostly fatigued by the discomfort in her body and said, “Forgive me if I seem stubbornly adamant about this, Officer,” she perused the ID badge, “Smith. Again, it’s personal. No offense intended.”
Watching the background, the officer assured, “None taken.”
“Will you deliver my business card?” A hand clamped down on her shoulder, the injured one and she reacted sharply.
He knew as soon as he did it it was the wrong thing to do for she recoiled and turned all at one time, facing him with Hollywood duckers atop her head. Striking lioness eyes spewed acid between luxurious black lashes. Not the reception he normally received from women.
“I apologize if I’ve overstepped my bounds. I hear you’ve been looking for me.” It was really more of a question than a statement.
The giant with thunder for a voice—the one before her—in her face—gnashing on a yellow toothpick, looked the part of a rakish motorcycle rider rather than an officer of the law. Her stare fused on his beard—short, cropped like a two day’s growth and trimmed to perfection—that blended its way up to the wavy black hair falling carelessly on either side of his prominent forehead, and hung long enough in back to just breathe on the top of his shirt collar—if he wore a shirt with a collar—that is, and locked on the knuckles stroking the whiskers on his chin. What stapled her feet to the flooring were his hypnotic penetrating eyes—a meadowland green squinting at her from under equally dark brows—deep-set and starkly contrasting his God-given bronzed skin. He and his tattooed chiseled biceps towered over her, casting off such male magnetism she found it hard to ignore the way the t-shirt and jeans fit his body. His overbearing persona sucked the oxygen from the room, relegating all present to insignificant masses of matter, utterly of no importance.
He invaded her space but she refused to back down. Her look said as much. “Are you Brock Alexander?”
“Who wants to know?” he queried, looking down his nose as he swung to dispose of the slither of wood in the nearest wastebasket.
“I’m Angela Munso. Your aunt’s neighbor, if you’re he.”
He frowned, his brows furrowing warily and cocked sideways. “Aunt Belle?”
“Bella Thatcher,” she supplied. “The flower lady? Is she your aunt?” He smiled, she believed at her description, the treat lighting up the room like sunshine.
“Yes, she is,” he confirmed.
“What kind of relative are you? She’s an elderly lady.” Angela belittling him, moved closer to stand toe to toe with the Goliath, “who needs you to check on her periodically. You’re a negligent nephew!”
Her get-in-his-face style of conversing turned him off. Before he realized what he did, both of her elbows were entrenched in his huge hands and he bodily toted her generous frame to his private office off to one side of the squad room, to the absolute amazement of the entire audience—and kicked the door shut. “You, lady, are out of control,” he hurled while unceremoniously landing her on her feet.
Shivering in anger, a rosy hue built under her velvety toffee skin alerting him to her ill temper.
“You, Brock…Chance or whatever you’re called—” she said, jumping him with both stilettos gouging at his pride, baited his retaliation before she finished her sentence.
“Don’t let the name fool you, Miss Munso.” His dark head leaned towards her a notch. “They don’t call me Chance around here for meekness sake,” he said, the words lathered in derision.
“—are borderline psycho!” She completed her thought giving no regard to his nose in her face. “How dare you—”
You had better believe Chance dared to answer Angela.
Are you on pins and needles? What do you think he said?
Your answer in the comments section of this post to the question above enters you in a drawing for a PDF copy of my Valentine's romance, Nicked Hearts. Contest ends Saturday at midnight EST and the winner's name will be announced here on Sunday.
Find me at:
Red Rose Publishing - http://redrosepublishing.com/books/index.php?manufacturers_id=255
Mickie's Manor - http://www.mickiesherwood.com
Mickie's Mutterings - http://www.mickiesherwood.com/blog
Blurbs in Bloom - http://www.blurbsinbloom.com
Twitter - http://Twitter.com/MickieSherwood
Goodreads - http://www.goodreads.com/Louisiana_Lady
Allromanceebooks - http://www.allromanceebooks.com/storeSearch.html?searchBy=author&qString=Mickie+Sherwood