Taste of Kiwi

Mr. Munro has worked late for the last few nights, which has meant I’ve had to dine alone. I don’t know about you, but I don’t like cooking for one. When it’s just me for dinner I tend to snack. Tonight I was tempted to make toasted sandwiches, but then I thought no – that’s not healthy.

In the end I went with pasta. The contents of our fridge were pretty sparse, but I managed to find onion and mushrooms. I added frozen corn kernels, part of a fresh tomato and the last quarter of a jar of pasta sauce. Everything was cooked and ready to eat in fifteen minutes. Add a glass of wine and it was fast food at its best.

My pasta meals are different every time. Sometimes I’ll add pesto or blue cheese and nuts – whatever I have in the fridge and pantry at the time usually works with pasta.

Another favorite meal is a baked potato topped with thick Greek yoghurt and a salad, although this takes a bit longer to cook.

Do you like cooking for one? What meals do you tend to have when it’s just you?

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I picked up a copy of The Everything Guide to Writing a Romance Novel by Christie Craig and Faye Hughes the other day and came across a great list of how to make fictional characters lovable.

Thirteen Ways to Make Characters Lovable

1. Make your character an underdog. Give them a handicap and have them refuse to give up.

2. Have your character willing to admit he made a mistake and set out to make amends.

3. Make your character hurt emotionally but remain strong for others in his life.

4. Make your character kind to the underdog, small children, elderly people or animals.

5. Have a character who is self-sacrificing.

6. Have a character who is able to laugh at his or her own mistakes.

7. Have a character who is levelheaded.

8. Have a character make a mistake but for the right reasons.

9. Have a character who is the strong, silent type and means well but is unable to express it.

10. Have a character who takes risks and is willing to pay the price.

11. Have a character who has depth, layers and secrets.

12. Have a character who is able to forgive.

13. Make your character work against the odds to succeed.

Source: The Everything Guide to Writing a Romance Novel: From writing the perfect love scene to finding the right publisher–All you need to fulfill your dreams (Everything Series)

What makes characters lovable for you? Can you think of other reasons to add to the list?

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The other day I told you about the Munro war with Austin, the neighboring cat, and how Austin was winning hands down. Yesterday I had a victory for the home team, and I’m still chuckling about it. I was busy writing when I heard Austin’s bell. I looked up and saw him wander past the sliding door in front of where I was sitting. He’s a curious kitty and was sniffing in the flower garden. Then he noticed our water feature, which is a witch’s cauldron. He stood up on his hind legs to peer inside and that was when I snuck up behind him. I opened the window and made a loud barking sound. Poor Austin almost jumped out of his ginger stripes he got such a fright. He scuttled off under our hedge with me hot on his tail. I barked again and he jumped over the fence into a neighboring property.

Chuckling, I returned to my writing. Heck, I was so pleased I would have wagged my tail if I’d had one. About ten minutes later, I heard Austin’s bell again. I ran outside, making noise and Austin ran along the top of the fence in a real panic. He leapt into his own section and I haven’t seen him since. Honestly, I probably shouldn’t feel so pleased with my victory over a cat, but it made my day.

We are going to put down some chili powder as some of you suggested, but haven’t yet because it’s rained so much.

Janice Seagraves presented me with a blogging award yesterday. Thanks so much, Janice!

I’m meant to present the award to fifteen people. I could probably do that easily enough but I think I’d like to present the award to all of my visitors today. You’re probably a regular visitor anyway.

Enjoy the award and thanks for visiting me.

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The other night Mr. Munro and I were watching Psych on television. A new character appeared in the scene and we both said, “Who is that?” I recognized both the face and the distinctive voice.

Neither of us could remember which show we’d seen the actor in before.

“It’s a detective show,” I said.

Hubby just nodded. “It’s gonna bug me.”

And it did bug us—both of us to the extent that we were discussing the actor rather than watching the excellent plot.

“The Closer,” I said. “I think he’s on The Closer.”

“Yeah,” hubby said. “He’s the father.”

We both nodded.

“But that’s not where we know him from,” I said.

We both agreed and went back to being bugged.

At the end of Psych we watched the credits, found the actor’s name, which was Barry Corbin, and Googled him. Thank goodness for the Internet. It certainly solves questions like this quickly.

“One Tree Hill,” I said in triumph. “He was the basketball coach on One Tree Hill.”

Both satisfied, we moved on to the next television show and our cup of tea.

Does it bug you when you can’t recall a name? How are you at remembering names?

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Fear–it’s the gut-wrenching anxiety that strikes us all in moments of extreme stress, when our limbs tremble, our face goes pale, and we scream until we’re hoarse.

Some people dislike flying, Indiana Jones hates snakes, and I fear fairground rides. I’m sure you know the ones I mean—rides where you hurtle down steep hills, turn upside down and spin around against gravity. An adrenaline junkie I’m not!

When I was a child, one of our middle-age aunts visited Disneyland. She loved it and her description of the hair-raising rides and the way she’d said naughty words while screaming her head off made us bug-eyed with astonishment. It was difficult not to laugh at the vision my aunt painted.

Fast forward several years to my visit to Disneyland with my husband and sister.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” my husband asked.

“I’m at Disneyland,” I said firmly. “This is what people do when they come to Disneyland.”

I should have known better. While I was projecting confidence, I should have been crying “Fool! Fool! Stay far, far away. Run!”

So we queued up with everyone else for Splash Mountain. The entire time I laughed and chatted with my husband and sister, told myself I would be fine. No problem. If Aunt X could do this then so could I. We came to our turn and climbed into the hollowed out log. Off we went…

From the moment the ride started, I wanted to get off. My hands didn’t rise jubilantly into the air like everyone else’s—they held the safety bar in a white-knuckle grip. Even now, countless years later, I remember the paralyzing fear that squeezed me when our log went down the final steep incline. While everyone else shrieked with enjoyment, my throat constricted so tight that not a sound emerged. I closed my eyes and hoped for the best. At the bottom, wet but still in one piece, my legs trembled as I scrambled to stand on solid ground again. The contents of my stomach sloshed around uneasily, and I swallowed a lot…you probably get the picture without more graphic descriptions.

I don’t remember any of the rides after Splash Mountain. Actually, I think my mind blocked the horror of it all, but I was determined to try the different rides and get my money’s worth. Yep, it’s the curse of the thrifty farm girl. I had to finish what I started even if it scared me half to death.

Of course, no one is getting me on one of those rides again. I’m older, wiser, and not afraid to state my terror. No, I won’t stop my husband going. I might even go with him, but I’ll be hanging out in the kid’s zone and chatting to Mickey Mouse. Really, no one is talking me into going through that again!

What do you fear?

When Scribbit: a blog about motherhood in Alaska posted details of a contest about Fear, I decided this was the perfect time to confess my greatest fear. If you would like to do a post about Fear it’s not too late to enter the contest, which closes on 21 October. Here’s the link to the details.

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My special guest today is Tracy Cooper-Posey who writes for several publishers including Ellora’s Cave. As you’ll see below, she was born in Australia (I don’t hold that against her…really!!) and she recently won an award at RomantiCon 2009 for “Most Erotic Use of A Chocolate Chip Cookie” in her release, Ningaloo Nights. I don’t know about you, but that definitely made me curious! Over to Tracy…

Kiwis v’s Aussies

I’ve been looking forward to doing this blog for about a month, now. I’m hoping Shelley won’t mind me indulging in a little cultural cliché. For years there has supposedly been this cultural rivalry between Australians and New Zealanders.

I live in Canada these days, and it’s interesting, sometimes, when people notice my accent, and can’t quite pin it down. They wrinkle their foreheads and very delicately say “Australian? Or…New Zealander?” and they wince, waiting for the explosion of indignation to follow.

Never fails to make me smile.

Well, Shelley is from New Zealand, and I’m Australian. And I’m guesting on her blog.

I couldn’t resist using this as the topic, especially as the reason I’m here today is because the book I’m touring, Ningaloo Nights, is set in Australia, and is part of the new Ellora’s Cave themed series, Going Down Under.

I thought I’d even things up a bit, by pointing out that New Zealand can more than hold its own weight when it comes to things cultural these days, which is why I don’t hit the roof over being mistaken for one, even temporarily. After all, it was a New Zealander, Peter Jackson, who conceived, produced and directed the Lord of the Rings movie, which sits at the top of my list of ultimate movies, movie adaptations, and favourite books of all time (oh, the book was written by J.R.R. Tolkein, I should point out!), and Aragorn is in the top five of my favourite heroes of all time.

I have the extended DVD set and every Christmas I sit down with whichever of my grown children will sit still long enough to watch all fifteen or so hours of the movie plus special features. I never fail to come away from viewing the movie inspired to write my best, and to take on the world.

If a little country like New Zealand (sorry Shelley – but I’m talking about geographical square footage and financial reserves now) can produce such an astonishing achievment like Lord of the Rings, none of us has any excuses to do anything less than knock ourselves out and give it our best.

Besides, you look at the natural scenery in that movie — the mountains, rivers, trees and so forth — and get blown away by just how beautiful New Zealand is.

Yeah, New Zealand can hold its own against Australia any day. So when people mistake me as a Kiwi, that’s why I smile.

And I guess I’d better talk a bit about my book, too, huh?

Here’s the blurb:

New York cop Sherry Abandonato cashes in her savings and dashes to Ningaloo in remote north-west Western Australia to find her sister who disappeared ten days ago.

The only one with the skill to guide her to Derremawan is Mason Hayward, once an official guide, and still with a reputation for getting people out of trouble, but now the town’s bad man.

In a searing afternoon of unexpected passion, Mason strikes a bargain: He’ll get her to Derremawan, if she agrees to go there with him unconditionally, on his terms, and his conditions. Sherry is astonished to find herself agreeing to the insane bargain, and worse, responding positively to the idea of three days of Mason Hayward dictating terms out under the Australian sun…

Buy Page for Ningaloo Nights: My website: My blog: Facebook: Twitter:

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I’ve picked my book Wanderlust for the holiday theme today, which is the story of an overland tour through India. A simple tour turns into into more complications than Anna Tietjens, the tour leader is prepared for: her troublesome sister is on the tour, her casual lover turns up and wants a more serious relationship and then there’s the fact that her passengers are dying—one-by-one.

Wanderlust by Shelley Munro

“I can’t wait to see the Taj Mahal up close,” Kathy said sighing dreamily. “It’s such a romantic story.”

I had to agree. I’d visited the monument built by Emperor Shah Jahan for his wife three times so far, but the sight of the white marbled minarets never failed to stir me.

I organized tuk-tuks and soon afterward we were at the entrance. Once I’d purchased the tickets, I handed them out. “Make your own way back to camp. You’re on your own for dinner. We’ll drive to see the Agra Fort tomorrow morning, leaving at nine. I will not chase after you. Anyone not ready to leave at nine, I will go without. Is that clear?” I asked, my gaze settling on my sister. She tossed her head, lifting her pert nose into the air, her mouth tightening. I sighed. It was going to be a long trip.

The passengers entered the grounds and disappeared apart from Sebastian. A camera hung around his neck and dark sunglasses covered his eyes.

“Aren’t you going inside?”

“I’m waiting for you.” Before I could reply, he took my hand and led me in. I didn’t look at him but was very aware of his touch, his scent and most of all his statement of intent. Sebastian wasn’t going to give up.

Just inside the entrance, we paused to study the monument. The sunlight caught the far minarets making them gleam like a lustrous pearl. The fountains were silent, allowing perfect reflections in the ponds. Around us people called to each other and laughed, but it felt as if we were in our own private bubble. I heard the buzz of a bee, felt the gentle kiss of the breeze and smelled Sebastian’s scent along with a touch of incense. His hand squeezed mine and I turned to him, my breath hitching when I caught his gaze. It felt like a punch to the solar plexus. I was in big trouble. I knew instinctively he wasn’t going to leave me alone. He’d made that fairly clear. I wasn’t exactly doing a great job of pushing him away. For every step forward, I seemed to take three or four steps backward. If he’d been openly forceful or bossy, I might have had a chance, but he was wooing me, dammit. And doing an excellent job. My body hummed with desire, thoughts of him intruding at inappropriate times and I craved his touch, his kisses. Maybe we could just spend the time together and walk away afterward? Somehow I didn’t think that would work. I shook off the thought and walked toward the monument. Sebastian fell into step, still holding my hand. We passed my sister and some of the other passengers. Elizabeth stared, her eyes slitting in a manner that made me nervous.

“We shouldn’t be together like this in public.” I attempted to regain possession of my hand, but Sebastian held tightly, refusing to let me go.

He yanked me to an abrupt stop. “Are you ashamed of me?”

“No!” My reply was instant and pulled a grin from him.

“Glad to hear it. I haven’t told anyone about my job. You’re the only one who knows because I trust you. Some of the things I’ve done, the people I deal with aren’t nice. Meeting you at the airport and then spending time together felt like a safety valve. You ground me, Anna. I needed a holiday and I wanted to see you so I came.”

“I don’t know anything about you,” I said, trying not to think about the things he did in the course of his job. “We never talked. It was all about sex.”

“You didn’t seem to mind.” His gaze sharpened, his laughter dropping away. A frisson of danger slipped between us. It made me realize he was dangerous. Maybe unpredictable. My gaze dropped to our linked hands. Those hands had killed, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

“This is different,” I said. “We’re going to spend weeks together rather than one night or a weekend. We can’t spend all our time in bed.” Heck, what if that was the only place that our relationship worked? I squeezed my eyes closed, hardly believing my thoughts. A relationship? Oh boy. I was in big trouble here.

By common consent we continued walking through the gardens and past the ponds. “You haven’t had a holiday before.”

“I wanted to see you, Anna. We haven’t seen each other since the night in Paris six months ago. I take breaks between assignments.”

Confusion hit me and it felt as if I’d thumped into a brick wall. I swallowed the lump in my throat. He had breaks—holidays—but this was the first time he’d sought me out. “Where do you go?”

“Mostly home to England. I help out on my brother’s farm or spend time with friends in Scotland or Wales. Sometimes I spend time at my apartment on the Gold Coast in Australia.”

All news to me. I didn’t even know he had family in England. I wasn’t sure why I was surprised since he was English.

“As I said, I want to spend time with you. Can we do that?”

I nibbled on my bottom lip, trying to decide on the best course of action. Was he asking for too much? Not really, I decided. Of course, work needed to come first. I prided myself on my professionalism. “I guess,” I answered finally.

Sebastian squeezed my hand. He wanted to kiss me, I could tell, but he refrained, tugging me into a quick hug instead. “Let’s go check out this monument. I want to take some photos.”

We stepped into the cool interior of the main Taj structure. It stood on a raised platform and was made of translucent white marble, carved with flowers and inlaid with thousands of semiprecious stones. Sebastian took several photos, some of the inlaid work and some of me. We wandered the gardens, pausing to take photos from different angles and soaking in the pure romance of the place. Sharing the experience with Sebastian made it all new, and I enjoyed playing tourist with him at my side. It struck me then that we were making memories together, we’d have something to discuss when we met in the future. Anxiety slithered through me for an instant before I shoved it away. I’d take this thing between us, whatever it was, one day at a time. If I looked at it in small increments, maybe I’d manage to keep the terror at bay.

Purchase Wanderlust here.

To read more Snippet Saturday excerpts follow the links below:

Jody Wallace
Moira Rogers
Shelley Munro
Vivian Arend
Jaci Burton
TJ Michaels
Lacey Savage
Ashley Ladd
Shelli Stevens
McKenna Jeffries
Anya Bast
Michelle Pillow
Taige Crenshaw
Mandy Roth

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Disaster! Our giant pumpkin seeds haven’t germinated. We’ll have to go back to the Farmers’ market and buy more seeds so we can try again. My father’s seeds have, of course, sprouted and are growing busily. I’ve no idea what went wrong, but all we have are little punnets of dirt.

And even worse, since our little dog died we’ve been over run with cats. Scotty used to enjoy chasing them and they knew not to enter our section. No longer. One particular cat called Austin has taken to doing his business in Mr. Munro’s vegetable garden. Understandably this makes Mr. Munro very cranky. The steps to deter Austin have gradually grown more determined. It’s Austin v Mr. Munro and what Austin lacks in size, he makes up in intelligence.

Hubby’s latest strategy is to cover his garden with netting, and he’s also set up a sprinkler system. I have strict instructions that the moment I see Austin near the garden I’m to creep to the tap and turn it on full force. Luckily Austin wears a bell and my hearing is good. We had our first run in yesterday. I heard Austin’s bell and headed straight for the tap. Unfortunately he wasn’t in the garden so he didn’t get wet with the sprinkler, but I did give him a fright.

Yes–it’s the Munros v Austin. And so far, we’re losing.

Does anyone have any tips to deter an adventurous cat?

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The heroine in my recent release House of the Cat is a jockey so my Thursday Thirteen this week has a horse racing theme.

Thirteen Random Things About Horse Racing

1. All modern racehorses are descended from three Arab sires: the Byerley Turk (a horse owned by Captain Robert Byerley), the Darley Arabian (a horse purchased in Aleppo in 1704 for Mr. James Darley) and the Godolphin Arabian (a horse gifted from the Emperor of Morocco to King Louis XIV).

2. King Henry VIII took little interest in racing, but his daughter Queen Elizabeth I attended races on Salisbury Plan. King James VI and Charles I were also keen racing men.

3. The first race of the Royal Meeting at Ascot commemorates Queen Anne, who played a part in the start of racing there. The first race took place on 13 August 1711.

4. Historians believe that organized racing in America occurred around the early to mid-17th century.

5. One of the world’s greatest handicap races takes place at Flemington in Melbourne, Australia. The Melbourne cup was introduced in 1861 and takes place in early November every year. Many workplaces in Australia and New Zealand run Melbourne Cup sweepstakes each year. Without fail the horse I draw is a duffer. Without fail my sister picks the winner, much to hubby’s disgust.

6. The most famous steeplechase in the world (race with jumps) is the Grand National. It’s held in March or early April each year and began in 1837. The race is 4 ½ miles with 30 fences for the horses to jump.

7. The largest race for the Grand National was in 1929 when 66 took part and the race was won by the 100-1 chance Gregalach. The smallest was the very first running in 1837 when only 6 horses took part.

8. Although racing began as a test between owners to see whose horse was fastest, it undoubtedly was the result of a wager. Betting and horse racing are undeniably linked.

9. In 1903 doping horses was declared illegal by the Stewards of the Jockey Club in response to a campaign by trainer George Lambton.

10. Starting stalls were used for the first time in 1965 on a race course in Great Britain.

11. A two-year-old colt , later named The Green Monkey, was sold for $16 million at the Fasig-Tipton Florida Sale at Calder Race Course. The price is a world record for a horse of any age, sex or breed at public auction.

12. In 1993 the Grand National was abandoned after disruption by animal rights campaigners and two false starts. In 1913 Suffragette Emily Davison attempted to disrupt the Derby by grabbing and bringing down a horse. Anmer, the horse she grabbed was unarmed but Ms. Davison was killed.

13. In House of the Cat the heroine Camryn O’Sullivan must train a hell-horse and attempt to win the inaugural Dowry Derby. Hell-horses are man-eaters and not the same as the horses on Earth. Here’s a short excerpt:

The gates rattled. Suddenly Camryn could see the track stretching out in front of them.

“And they’re off!”

Gabby hesitated. The other horses sprang from the gates. Camryn nudged Gabby, squeezing the barrel of her body with her thighs. The mare jumped from the starting gate finally. Camryn leaned low, urging her on with hands and heels. Over to their left a horse squealed and reared in the gates. Camryn heard a man shout.

A hell-horse appeared beside them, neck extended and teeth barred. Gabby frog-hopped out of the way, the abrupt sideway move throwing Camryn off balance. Only instinct, honed from years of experience, allowed her to stay on Gabby. She kicked her hard, surprising a grunt from the mare. Gabby wasn’t used to vigorous kicks. She leapt forward, thankfully heading in the right direction.

“Run, girl. Run. Come on. Please. We need to find Luke.”

Something crashed into the back of Gabby. Again, experience allowed Camryn to keep her seat. Gabby whirled to attack the hell-horse behind. Bigger than her, it was an aggressive male with a scar-covered hide. Terror gripped Camryn as she hauled on Gabby’s head and wished they’d been able to work out some sort of a bit and bridle to give her more control. This halter wasn’t the best.

“Gabby. Turn!” Camryn applied the signal she’d taught the mare, squeezing her thighs tightly and leaning her weight forward. Too late. The mare had caught the bloodlust of the others. She charged the stallion without a shred of fear or hesitation. The clash almost unseated Camryn. She lurched sideways. With desperation, she grasped Gabby’s mane and clung. If she fell… God!

Source: The Complete Encyclopedia of Horse Racing by Bill Mooney & George Ennor

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When we first married, my husband was a part owner of a thoroughbred race horse. The filly named Paul’s Gold won 13 races and placed in others before being sold as a broodmare. We still have photos hanging in our garage of her winning races.

Racing is an old sport. It’s full of both glamour and despair. Some call it a rich man’s sport. A good horse certainly isn’t cheap to either purchase or train. I remember going to the yearling sales as a child. It was an all day thing and my brother, sister and I went with our parents when they were looking for a horse to purchase. We were told to behave and not to fidget while the auctions took place. I took my parents’ stern warnings to heart and was always afraid to move in case I purchased a horse by mistake. They are beautiful animals, and I decided a while ago that I wanted to find a way of putting horses into a book.

HOUSE OF THE CAT is that book, except I don’t think a trainer from Earth would recognize the horses on the planet Ornum.

My hell-horses are black in color and look more like overgrown hyenas than their Earth counterparts. They’re savage beasts and eat meat as well as vegetation. They’re also very intelligent and are man-killers. Jockey Camryn O’Sullivan has her work cut out for her trying to train a hell-horse to win the Dowry Derby.

Buy your copy of House of the Cat from Ellora’s Cave today.

Have you ever attended the races and did you enjoy them?

NEWSFLASH

I’m blogging over at Access Romance today about ideas and where I find them for my books. Here’s the link.

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