Guest Blogger: Aleigha Siron

The world is fraught with miscommunication, and that failure of communication plays a central role between the love interests in every romance novel.

The basis for all breakdowns in communication stems from cultural differences, prior relationships, deeply ingrained methods of speaking or phrasing used to gauge another persons position on given topics, and a whole encyclopedia full of psychological issues.

Each party in any conversation sends out nonverbal cues, often without any awareness that they are doing so. It is nearly impossible to imagine the tangled mess two people from completely different time periods would find themselves in when attempting to converse about the simplest matters. Especially when a modern day woman finds herself dumped into a period where women had no rights, possessed no control over their destinies, and were often used as bargaining chips when settling disputes between warring factions.

The following excerpt from Finding My Highlander, is one of many examples where miscommunication reins. Yet in the end, a man and a woman strongly attracted to each other will find a means to connect and resolve their miscommunications.

Oh no, that might spell disaster, just as it does so often in modern day situations!

*****

Excerpt:

“Lass, can I help you?” His voice was softer than the others, his stance relaxed, composed, despite the dirt and blood splattered over his massive arms and clothing. He seemed to be a quiet, gentle man, though physically as imposing as the others.

“You could bring me my bag.”

He moved his hand from behind him and cautiously extended her mother’s old carpetbag. “Do I need to check it for weapons?” A slight crinkle lifted the corner of his mouth. A piece of leather cord tied wavy, light-brown hair at the nape of his neck and tight braids spilled alongside sharp, scruffy cheeks. His eyes were dark and shadowed.

“Thank you…it’s Rabbie, correct?”

“Aye,” he nodded.

Andra granted him a guarded smile. “I’ll pull no further weapons if you promise to be kind.” The slight attempt at humor from both of them eased the tension coiled in her gut.

He swept an arm gracefully in front of him and bowed, “Always, m’lady, as I learned at me mother’s knee.” Then he left her to tend the horses.

She searched her bag for the washcloth, hand towel, and first aid kit she always carried when traveling. The washcloth came to hand first. She dipped it into the cold water and wiped the dried and clotted blood from her face and hair. Then she dunked her head in the pool several more times.

“I seem to be awake,” she whispered, just for the comfort on her own voice. “My surroundings feel solid enough,” she pounded her fist on the dirt, “so it must be real. Accept it, Andra, and decide what to do next.”

She could hear the men speaking Gaelic, hushed yet clearly distraught about the condition of their clansman. They gathered near another pool of water several yards from where she knelt. She watched them over her shoulder for a few minutes struggling to fit the scene into her new reality. A million questions rose in her throat.

“Not now. Patience and observation are what’s required. All will be revealed in time.” What a stupid cliché.

Should she offer her help with their friend; would they accept it? She could not sit here and do nothing when one of them was seriously injured. Besides, anxiety always spurred her to take action. Her father had always said, “Move, keep busy, and don’t let dust gather under your feet.” With her father’s words ringing in her ears, she approached the men cautiously, keeping her eye on the mean one, Struan.

“May I be of assistance?” She stood with her feet firmly planted on the hard-packed, dirt floor, her head held high, one hand pressed flat against her side, the other rested on the cross dangling on her chest. It took an extreme effort to control her trembling body. Her palms moistened with sweat. She steadied her focus on Kendrick. His strong hands moved carefully over his brother’s body. The mean one harrumphed and growled.

A growl? Really?

Kendrick looked up, concern etched on his face. His dark, probing eyes bore through her. “Are you a healer, then?” he asked.

“Not a healer exactly, but I have cared for ill and injured persons and have some training in first aid. I wish to help if you’ll permit me.”

“I dinnae ken your meaning. What’s the first aid of which you speak? As you can see, we give him aid, but if you can do anything to help save my brother’s life, I will gladly accept your offer.”

The mean one growled again. “Don’t trust her, she’s the enemy and will just as soon slit his throat.”

Ignoring the slur, she continued, “Have you determined the extent of his injuries?”

“Aye, his shoulder is dislocated, several fingers broken, which we have straightened and bound as best we’re able. We need to stitch multiple, deep wounds, and he’s lost a lot of blood, though blood no longer flows freely.”

The injured man lay on a plaid, stripped completely naked, his kilt torn away from his battered body. Mud, blood, and all manner of vile debris caked the hard planes of his bronzed chest. Andra couldn’t identify the severity or location of all his injuries. He moaned but appeared unconscious, or so she assumed, since he hadn’t opened his eyes. Clumps of dried blood crusted over wounds on one leg and foot. Dark, matted refuse covered the entire other leg.

His manhood lay flaccid against his thigh, and none of the men seemed concerned about his state of undress in front of a strange female. She stood quietly, waiting for several breaths.

*****

Blurb:

On a windswept cliff above San Francisco Bay in 2013, 27 year-old Andra Cameron, the last member of her family, prepares to scatter her family's ashes to the wind. An earthquake catapults her to the Scottish Highlands in 1705. She wakes, aching and bloody, to the sound of horses thundering through the trees. Terrified and with no other options, Andra accompanies these rugged warriors. She can't deny the undeniable attraction that ignites between herself and the handsome but gruff Kendrick. Will she trust him to provide protection in the harsh reality of 18th century Scotland and with her secret, or will she find a way to return home to the 21st century?

Laird Kendrick MacLean and his men, escaping a recent skirmish with their worst nemeses, clan Cameron and their Sassenach allies, are shocked to find an injured, unprotected female in their path. How could she not know her kin and how had she landed in the middle of the wilderness alone? His men suspect she's a spy or a witch. Still, Kendrick will not abandon an injured woman, even if she speaks unusually accented English, and her name is Cameron. Will he ransom her to others or will their closed hearts open to each other? Although he questions her every utterance, this feisty, outspoken woman inflames his desire like no other.


Buy Links

Amazon us: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B01DFGYURE/ref=as_li_ss_tl

Amazon uk: http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B01DFGYURE

Nook: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/finding-my-highlander-aleigha-siron/1123595128

Apple: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/finding-my-highlander/id1097148126?mt=11

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/625227

Kobo: https://store.kobobooks.com/ebook/finding-my-highlander

*****

Author Bio and Media Links

After more than twenty years writing and delivering management and other training programs for modest-sized to Fortune Five Hundred companies, and ten years developing community crisis-intervention training programs, Aleigha turned her writing efforts to her first loves, fiction, and poetry. Her poetry has appeared in numerous anthologies and university presses over the past few decades. Following a difficult period in her life, she discovered solace in romance novels that inspired her to write in this genre. As she says, "who doesn't desire a guaranteed happy-ever-after scenario?" Always interested in the concept of time-travel, she knew her first few stories would follow that theme.

When not writing, her trusty four-legged companion/helper, Strider, accompanies her on sunset walks along the shore. During these quiet walks under an expansive sky, with the whoosh of waves across the sand and her gaze drifting over the rolling sea, her best glimmers of inspiration come to mind. Following the recent discovery of distant Scottish ancestors, she embarked on a trip to the Highlands. Although she had already developed the characters for Finding My Highlander, her trip to the Highlands enriched the characters and enhanced the story direction. This is her first full-length romance novel. Aleigha is working on a prequel to Finding My Highlander, and another time-travel novel set in a later period.

WWW (Aleigha’s WebPage): http://aleighasiron.com/

Aleigha Siron’s Book page at Tirgearr Publishing: http://www.tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Siron_Aleigha/finding-my-highlander.htm

Tirgearr Publishing Home Page: http://www.tirgearrpublishing.com/index.htm

Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/AleighaSiron

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/people/Aleigha-Siron/


*****

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Guest Blogger: Mary O'Sullivan - The Bottom Line

The best advice I ever received as a writer was to apply the seat of my pants to a chair, pen to paper, and write. That was a long time ago. The technology has changed but the essence of the advice is still the same – stop talking about writing, sit down and do it.

So you get an idea for a novel. You let it stew in your head for a while. It develops characters, plots, begins to nag you into solidifying the idea into words, the words into a story. Eventually the day comes when you sit in front of your computer, open up a blank document and start typing. Enthusiasm will fuel you to begin a novel. The words flow, hours race by as the story clamours to be put on screen. Suddenly you realise you have forgotten to eat lunch. No time to cook, you shove some meat and mayo between two slices of bread , or maybe just pour some cereal into a bowl .You bring the food back to your desk , worried that inspiration will dry up if you leave your work for more than five minutes. You sit again .And eat. And type. And sit.

It has been my experience that the frenetic activity of novel beginnings soon fades away. Three thousand flowing words per writing session becomes three hundred words wrung out with blood sweat and tears. I always start my mornings by editing what I wrote the day before. During this slow phase of novel writing, which I think of as the settling in period, it often happens that I delete two hundred, or even all, of the previous day’s work. This is the stage I know that enthusiasm is not enough. Discipline, that glowering, ram rod straight, lettuce eating, old bore must be brought to bear. Without it, doubtless the story would never be finished. So I dutifully sit and stare as I produce a sentence in one hour , delete it the next, make sandwiches , pour cereal. Sit. And eat. And stare. And sit.

Once the words start to flow again, it’s all guns blazing towards the halfway point. I know every author’s experience is different , but I find I hit a dip at the 70,000 word mark. Treacherous doubt begins to nag. That sinister internal voice begins to whisper that the story is no good. In fact it’s rubbish and it had better be got rid of it before anyone sees it. I would be a laughing stock. My confidence drifts away. I sit and stare at the screen, debating between deletion or reconstructing it entirely from the beginning. Hunger gnaws but I know if I leave the desk long enough to cook a proper meal, I may never go back there again. So I grab a bar of chocolate. Comfort food. I sit. And eat. And draw comfort from the chocolate. And sit.

That phase eventually over, I knock sparks out of the keyboard. The writing hours become even longer. I belt out chapters, afraid to stop in case I lose the flow. In a chocolate, cereal and sandwich fuelled frenzy, me and my characters hurtle towards ‘The End’. I am so tired at the end of each day that it feels as if I have climbed a mountain. But of course I have not. I have been eating. And sitting. And then doing eating and sitting all over again.

Even as I type the magic words, ‘The End’, I know this is just another beginning. I must start again at Chapter One , deleting, correcting, tightening up , sending characters on a different course , realising that blue eyes in chapter two had become green eyes in chapter eleven , that a ‘there’ and a ‘their’ had been mixed up . This self-editing is very demanding. Some of my favourite, and over- used, words have to hit the deck. My mother told me my first word was ‘now’. I still love it and use it all the time. It’s such a versatile word, adaptable to many situations, but it really doesn’t need to be in every second sentence. And so I sit and edit. And grab some quick food. And sit.

Next stage, after two edits, is to print out the story. Strange how different a story reads on screen and on the printed page. I always pick up errors in print I would have missed on screen. Perhaps it has something to do with the speed your eye scans the screen as against the page. Whatever the reason, this is a process I find very necessary before I can finally say I have done my best for my story and my characters. And so I sit , in an arm chair this time , the manuscript on the coffee table beside me , red pen in hand , and trawl through it page by page. I sit and read. And have coffee and cake. And sit.

I have a theory that the story is never ready until you hate it because you have gone through it so often. When that happens, you let it go. Submit it to strangers to be completely ignored, rejected or accepted. As my work goes off to make its own way in the world, I finally stand up. It’s such a surprise to realise I am twice the woman I was when I started on Chapter One. Small wonder , since I have spent the best part of the year sitting at my desk, grabbing quick food every so often and chocolate in times of dire need . I must have known what was happening when I put my jeans away to the back of the wardrobe and began wearing jog pants with elasticated waists instead.

I promise myself that if I ever write another book, I will exercise assiduously and eat properly. But I know for sure, if inspiration comes calling, I will sit at my desk and work my way through from enthusiastic beginning to exhausted end.

Thank you to outrageousgirlrants for hosting me on their blogspot and also to Lucy Felthouse (Writer Marketing Services) for organising my visit here.

*****

Excerpt from Thicker Than Water

Here, in Rainbow Cottage high up over Ballyderg town, Jan had found relaxation. Ever since she could remember, possibly since she had been born, she was driven by an inner spring of energy that constantly bubbled up. She was always on the go. Tasks to be completed, decisions to be made, energy to be burned up. It was these hills, the still and brooding giants with wispy cloud hair, which first soothed her into sometimes slowing down. Changes swirled around them, the seasons, the weather, light and dark, but their core stood firm against outside influence. Eventually she had absorbed that lesson.

From the plate glass window of the lounge she watched a car wind its way up from the valley. She went into the kitchen and switched on the kettle, knowing from experience that the green tea they both enjoyed would be brewed by the time he arrived at the cottage.

Gerard Shannon parked in his usual place ten minutes climb on foot to Jan’s cottage. He stood and inhaled deeply before striding out. He always enjoyed the exercise but today he felt breathless, tormented, an iron band of tension squeezing his chest. If only the success and control he had in his business life applied to his private life also. If only he had been honest all those years ago. If only he could be honest now.

*****

Blurb

When local teenager, Keira Shannon and her father, business man Gerard Shannon, go missing, the town of Ballyderg unites to search for them.

As the search continues rumours of domestic violence, extramarital affairs and criminal behaviour are rife. The crisis causes families and lifelong friends to doubt each other.

The only certainty left is that the town has been visited by evil. Or has it? Could it be the evil one has always lived there sharing history, laughter and tears? And if so, who could it be?

Buy Links

Amazon buy links: http://authl.it/3st

Tirgearr Publishing http://bit.ly/1J6E7ZV

Amazon Author Page: http://amzn.to/1RpGnhf

*****

Author Biography:

Mary worked many years as a Laboratory Technician. Her hobby, her passion, has always been writing. Busy with family and career, she grabbed some moments here and there to write poetry and short stories. She also wrote a general interest column in a local newspaper.

As the demands on her time became more manageable she joined a local creative writing class. It was then, with the encouragement of tutor Vincent McDonald, that the idea of writing a novel took shape. She began to expand on a short story she had written some years previously. It was a shock for her to discover that enthusiasm and imagination are not enough. For the first time she learned that writing can be very hard work.

Mary now has six traditionally published novels, nine eBooks and hopefully more to come, inspiration permitting.

Social Media Links

Please visit my web page at: http://www.maryosullivanauthor.com

Chat to me on Facebook at: http://www.facebook.com/authormaryosullivan

Follow on Twitter at: https://twitter.com/authorosullivan


*****

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Make sure to follow the whole tour—the more posts you visit throughout, the more chances you’ll get to enter the giveaway. The tour dates are here: http://www.writermarketing.co.uk/prpromotion/blog-tours/currently-on-tour/mary-osullivan/

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Guest Post: Spirit Guides by Anna Everett

The subject of spirit guides, and what happens to people once they leave this life, has always fascinated me, which is probably the main reason I decided to feature them in my Spirit of Series.

It is an area that creates some very black and white views, with some people believing there is simply no such thing as ghosts, and others maintaining they are very real and offering some credible stories of their own experiences.

I would love to think that there were people out there, who have passed on from this world, but before reaching their final resting place want to help others who are struggling. 

When I worked on the idea of having spirit guides in my book, I wanted to have a few ‘rules’ of my own.  Obviously it was imperative that no one else could see or interact with them.  When the story begins it could be one of a few people, however as time progresses the interaction with the main characters become perhaps more obviously limited to them alone.  I felt it was also important that, having faced and to an extent still facing adversity the main characters would be unaware that their ‘new friend’ was actually a spirit.

The spirit guide was not just a random soul wandering the worlds between, my spirit guides are always related in some way to another character, and of course they are the reason the spirit wants to intervene and help.  Spirit guides cannot appear to those they knew when they were alive, so have to assist their relatives by aiding indirectly, befriending someone pivotal to their lives.

It was important to the characters that they found a reliable friend who was always in their corner.  Although it is a source of distress when the truth is initially revealed the spirit has of course made sure life is in place to take over.  Happiness is lurking just around the corner, although maybe not always evident. 

Once the initial shock of having been in such a close friendship with someone who is essentially not real, Caragh realises of course, that it was exactly what she needed at that time in her life, and will forever be grateful.  Her spirit guide really did become her Spirit of Christmas Past.

This is of course, true escapism as for now, and maybe forever,  we cannot prove the existence of such wonderful friends but we can live in hope that when we need it most, someone will come to our aid!

Excerpt

In just a few days they would be celebrating their first wedding anniversary, and then their first Christmas Day as husband and wife, under this spectacular backdrop.

The New York skyline flashed passed them, as they both stared intently out the windows trying to take in every small glimpse of the city, before in a flash it was gone and replaced by something new. It was much colder than home, snow ploughs became a common sight and the winter wonderland scene was really beginning to take form, even if some of the snow was greyed with city smog and bustle just as it did back home.

Tucking her brown faux fur coat tightly round her, as the chill of the city dug deep, Caragh looked at James, and with a smile said “I love you Mr Coles, thank you for making my dreams come true”

Reaching over the rather worn black leather seat of the slightly battered workhorse New York taxi, James placed his black gloved hand over her white suede gloved hand and replied “I love you too Mrs Coles, and thank you”

Moments later the cab drew to a halt, and the door was opened by the hotel porter.

“Madam, Sir” said the uniformed man. “Welcome to the Renaissance, if you would like to follow me, your luggage will be brought in directly”

He offered his hand to Caragh, and she took it to steady herself as she stepped out of the cab, gasping at the grand hotel frontage that awaited her.

The shining staircase and massive glass frontage were quite spectacular, she felt like she was arriving at some sort of movie premiere, and half expected to look down and see red carpet, and be distracted by the flashbulbs of the paparazzi.

Even though she had seen the pictures nothing could have prepared her for how grand and radiant it was in real life. She heard James gasp too as he joined her from the cab having hung back to pay the driver.

“Wow!” was all he could manage.

Feeling distinctly VIP and just a little bit giddy at the situation and surroundings they were ushered through the hotel check in and passed from the care of the porter, to the reception staff, and finally led by the bellboy to their suite. It was clearly a smooth well rehearsed process that these polished staff carried out without hitch. They had splashed out on getting the best hotel and suite they could possibly stretch to, and certainly looked as though they were not going to be disappointed.

“Broadway View” announced the corporately dressed bellboy, using the card key lock,and flinging wide the door for them to enter.

“Will that be all?” he queried as their luggage was brought in by another clone style porter, and he placed the card keys on a nearby table.

“Yes, that’s lovely, thank you” said James taking a ten dollar bill from his pocket and passing it discreetly to the young lad as he shook his hand.

(He had seen it done in the movies so many times and longed to have a go... sadly he didn’t feel he pulled off the cool as well as they do, but he had a couple of weeks to practice)

“Sir, Madam” he said with a slight bow, and he retreated from the room closing the door behind him.

They were both silent for the few minutes as they drank in the dazzling setting that was to be their home for the next two weeks.

A grand dark wood kingsize bed dominated one side of the suite, a lounge and desk area taking up space the other side, not that space was an issue the suite could certainly not be described as small. Doors lead off the main room to as yet unknown destinations waiting to be explored.

The setting was wonderfully opulent to say the least, chic and modern, there seemed to have been no cost spared in the aesthetic effect it presented.

“It is beautiful” said Caragh, standing on one spot and turning a full 360 degrees to take it all in.

They took off their coats, gloves and hats, and like a pair of children in a candy store they wandered around, touching furniture, opening doors, stroking the bedding and curtains, gasping in excitement at each new discovery. It was a fantastic setting in which to begin their Christmas adventure.

Caragh disappeared into the bathroom and shrieked excellently, “it’s gorgeous” she exclaimed as James followed her in to see for himself.

A massive corner jacuzzi bath, a television mounted on the wall about. Glass holders to the side, his and hers sinks, and the toilet presented discretely behind a wall and screen.

“It is very expensive” he said with a laugh as he headed back to the main room.

Caragh reappeared and flopped starfish like across the huge bed. “Oh I do like it” she said stretching luxuriously, her long blonde hair spilling around her, a stark contrast on the black bedding the hotel provided

James walked over to the bottle of complimentary champagne resting in a tall silver ice bucket, and lifted it out. Collecting the two glasses also on offer, he made his way to the yellow and cream striped couch sat in the massive floor to ceiling window, positioned perfectly to take in the city lights below.

He motioned to Caragh to join him, and with a pop of the cork opened the fizz. Sitting side by side, glasses in hand they were content for the next few minutes just gazing out on the bustle of the city below.

“I can see Hell’s Kitchen, oh my goodness that is surreal, Oh James, I can’t really believe it’s true” said Caragh “but here we are!”

Blurb and links

When the holiday of a lifetime turns to tragedy, Caragh fears her life will never be the same again. Her beloved James is missing, she has to learn to live all over again. With the help of her nurse Elspeth, and her new friend Callum, slowly she begins to rebuild. However, not everyone is who they seem, and she fears she will be alone forever....until Christmas brings with it some unexpected magic.

Buy it here   http://mybook.to/spiritxmaspast

Bio and social media

Anna is an establish author with 4 books published across 2 genres.  From a background in holistic therapy and freelance writing it is little wonder Anna has an eclectic range of interests and talents to appeal to her readers.  First published as a child, Anna moved from poetry writing to self help.  Her commitment to her clients led her to create two books on meditation.  However as an avid reading in all genres, Anna was drawn to create a series of paranormal romance novellas that offer the reader characters to identify with and root for as they battle adversity in a quest for happiness.  Always looking to learn, Anna has over 20 holistic therapy qualifications to her name and when not writing is often found with her head in a text book.  Aside from writing and therapy her biggest passion are her six tiny dogs, who have inspired a new series of detective novellas due for release in 2016.

Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/Anna-Everett-Author-Motivational-Speaker-436343089879954/?ref=hl

Twitter - annaeauthor

Instagram - Annaewriter

Blog - https://annaewrites.wordpress.com

*****

GIVEAWAY!

Make sure to follow the whole tour—the more posts you visit throughout, the more chances you’ll get to enter the giveaway. The tour dates are here: http://www.writermarketing.co.uk/prpromotion/blog-tours/currently-on-tour/anna-everett/

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