The Change

No, I’m not referring to hot flashes. I’m talking about the moment when a heroine realizes she has room to grow. Perhaps she’s misjudged the hero, or learned that she can handle a gun or roomful of snarky snobs. There comes in every story, a moment when the heroine comes to a life-changing peak in her journey. We read for it. We wait for it. We live for it. Why? Because we can identify. Even if we haven’t gone through the trauma or joy of these moments, we know we might someday.

I think Elizabeth Bennet said it best when she observed, “Until this moment, I never knew myself.” If that doesn’t put a knot in your throat, you’ve never screwed up a relationship or a major chapter of your life. (So the time is probably ripe!)

Falling in love with a heroine is a platonic journey for most of us (grin). We love to read about women we either want to be, or would like to be friends with. Even those we don’t care for initially, we want and almost need for them to change.

A great heroine doesn’t have to be beautiful or have special powers. All we need is for her to conquer, and if that means conquering herself, then all the better. For some of us, empowerment is finding the man of our dreams. For others, it’s grabbing one by the collar and giving him a good shake until he sees straight. No matter how fanciful, the (romance) books we seek out reflect our life experiences or desires. By living through a heroine we can relate to, we may just find the courage to become more than we ever knew we could.

Writing TURTLE SOUP, my new release from Awe-Struck Books, I found myself thinking about my heroine a lot. Sara Hart is just plain average. She isn’t super talented or super hot, and she doesn’t carry the weight of the world on her shoulders. Sara simply enjoys helping people and doing her part to make the world a better place. I found that letting her have her dream--a deli in downtown Atlanta--when the story opened, allowed room for her to grow as a person throughout the story. Since she already had the accomplishment, the question became, how much did she really want it? What would she be willing to sacrifice in order to experience something new and unknown?

Believe it or not, those were questions in my own life I needed to answer.

Reading about a heroine is one thing. Writing, or creating a heroine is quite another. You can’t get mad and throw the book down. I had to journey along with Sara as she came to a critical point in her career, and I ached with her, too. Her courage and success were something we shared together. I was given hope. I was made braver. Heroines give us that. Isn’t it a part of why we love to read?

Both writing and reading TURTLE SOUP gave me something to smile about, but in many ways it meant so much more. I took one more baby step forward in conquering myself. And I couldn’t have done that without a heroine leading the way.

So here’s to your favorite heroine. And here’s to you, simply for having the courage to understand that we all have room and the capacity to change.

~daniellethorne

NEW THIS WEEKEND!!: TURTLE SOUP

http://www.awe-struck.net/


Author’s Website: www.daniellethorne.jimdo.com

Author’s Blog: www.thebalancedwriter.blogspot.com

On Twitter: @DanielleThorne

A Determined Woman

My heroine is intelligent, independent, and somewhat unconventional. Life may do its best to defeat her, but she survives because of iron determination and sheer hard work. She’s a decent woman, nice, but not too nice. No doormats or martyrs need apply

I write Regencies, and many Regency heroines are very young. Not mine. Her few extra years have thrown some troubles her way, but she’s survived on her own terms. She and the hero may disagree, but she doesn’t cave in to unreasonable demands.

And last, but not least, she’s beautiful. She has to match the gorgeous hero. As for a a picture, I think the image on the cover of Lady of the Stars is a good representation.

In many ways, my heroine is a lot like my hero (see A Nice Guy). The same standards apply to them both.

Since I like independent women, why do I write Regencies? In the modern world, we take independence for granted. In an historical, the independence has to show up in more subtle ways.

I supposed I faked it a little in my first book. Lady of the Stars is a time travel, and the heroine, Caroline, is a twenty-first century woman. But, even for a modern woman, time traveling back to 1817 is a shock. In any event, heroine that she is, she adjusts and thrives, with a little help from the hero.

My other stories are set entirely in the past. What do I do now?

In Pumpkinnapper, the heroine, Emily, married at seventeen. Now twenty-four and a widow, she takes care of herself when the pumpkinnapper tries to steal her pumpkins. The hero, Hank, in true hero style, offers to help her, but she refuses. Hank, again in true hero style, still tries to protect her, but she almost shoots him when she mistakes him for the prowler.

In one of my WIPs, the heroine is married off at eighteen. She uses her pin money and widow’s jointure to make a fortune. Another WIP has a mathematician heroine, who creates a code which the enemy can't crack.

And in another WIP, the poor heroine is living at the behest of her rich aunt. Rather than letting her aunt force her into marriage with a man she fears, she decides to earn money with her embroidery. Gracious, working! What a scandalous thing for a lady to do!

I haven’t yet written a story where the heroine goes mano a mano with the villain. But who knows? I like adventure stories, so maybe someday I’ll write one.

Thank you all,

Linda

www.lindabanche.com

Sheriff Kalypso Sun Wing ~ Last Words, Maybe...

Pic from ~ http://psdrockstar.com ~

Carefully, Kalypso unfolded the old, 20th century notebook paper. The pages were stained by time, by her tears and by blood because her fingertips had cracked in the winter cold. Heaving in a breath, she read her opening words.

These are my last words, maybe...

Compelled to read what she’d written during the height of the Conflicts, Kalypso sank down into her favorite sunset-watching chair. Automatically, she opened her arm for Rhiannon. She was always the first one of Kalypso’s dogs to jump up for a cuddle.
“Guess what, gang,” she addressed the seven other doggie faces alertly gazing at her. “I’m now the Sheriff of fair New Atlantis. How that happened, I’m not exactly certain. Except someone has to do the job, right? And I am damn good with weapons.”

Bringing the pages to eye level, Kalypso sighed down to her soul and felt a sharp twist of pain. She’d realized decades ago, the agonies of her life would never leave. They would remain with her for as long as she lived, now much longer than she’d ever anticipated. She’d figured her life was over when the Death Monopoly, as it was called, had announced itself to the world. Like the most ruthless and bloodthirsty mafia they had surfaced and declared rule over the entire planet.

I will not survive for much longer. There are so many ways to die. Diseases ravish populations all over the world. However, I may have the last horrible laugh. I’m sixty plus and my immune system is shot. The designer ebola flus attack the youngest and those who remain the healthiest.
Yep, for a war against the people this is one of the Death Monopoly’s smartest tactics.
I’ve already survived horrors and trials I could never have imagined going through. So many I won’t list them here. It would take too much of my strength.
I have no idea if my sisters, my brother and their children are still alive. Or if these scrawled words will ever reach any of them.
Daniel will yell at me for using one of our few ballpoint pens. I hardly care, except if it is eventually needed for our survival.
I am alone. Inside our cave headquarters. I need to write. I need something to take my mind off whether or not those I love and depend on, are coming back. If they are all coming back alive. I never know. None of us ever knows.
Unless we do because of a premonition, a precognitive dream.
It’s warm enough if I keep several layers of clothing on, despite the brutal winter we’re having. I pray everyday the winter storms continue for our sake. Some say an Ice Age has arrived. Though, the reports over the short wave radio suggest it is a mini Ice Age. For all I care it can snow until hell freezes over. The Fed troops have been slowed or stopped from hunting us.
I believe we have survived because of divine grace only. How can it be any other way? I’ve seen many miracles occur over the course of a lifetime. But they can’t be counted on as I’ve discovered. What it means that we are still alive, that I am still alive, I don’t know. I’m too tired to know and my faith has long since deserted me.
A couple of years ago while foraging we found this system of caves. We are near the monstrous limestone caves once used for commercial storage in the midwest of what was the United States of America. They are now used by the Brown Shirts to dole out meager supplies to those who are trapped in the cities and the camps.
The search for food is endless, every morsel more precious than ammunition now. Daniel made me stay here on the pretext of listening for radio contact. I’m slightly feverish. No worries about it being The Contagion. I would be dead by now.
I’ve prayed for the angel of death, often enough. I’ve laid down to die because I could no longer move from sheer exhaustion. There’s not much of anything anymore that keeps me going. It’s only because I care about the group I’m with... and they can’t cook all that well. Sometimes, I’m able to heal them with touch. But, only sometimes. I dare not say their real names in case this reaches enemy hands.
I think what keeps me going, too, is my rage. I don’t feel it all that often. Just surviving uses up all my energy. Emotions have become a luxury. I just know it’s there, an inner rage so fierce at what the Death Monopoly is doing to all of us human beings on Earth, that I will do anything I can to stay alive. Just in defiance. I’m stubborn that way.
I’ll have to quit now. The ink is running out.

Kalypso lowered the ratty pages, tears flooding her eyes. Making no attempt to suppress them, she reached for the tiny, beaten-up tin box. Re-folding the pages, she stuffed them inside and squeezed the lid down tight.
“A few more tears added, huh?” She gave her doggies a wan smile, then let Rhiannon kiss a few of them away.
~~~~~~

HAPPY END OF SUMMER

~ MAY ALL YOUR READING DREAMS COME TRUE ~

Savanna Kougar

~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~
~~~~~~
~~~ Kalypso & Zryphus invite you to read their love story ~ a match made in intergalactic heaven ~~~

MURDER BY HAIR SPRAY IN GARDENIA, NEW ATLANTIS ~ 2051 suspense futuristic, erotic romance ~ American Title IV finalist ~ One hundred years later Sheriff Kalypso despises relationships. Zryphus has found his one woman. The Battle of the Sexes begins. Rising from Siren-BookStrand ~ the future begins here... ~ IN PRINT ~ http://bookstrand.com/authors/savannakougar ~ ISBN: 1606011472
~~~~~~

THE HEROINE'S BACKSTORY--HOW MUCH DO I TELL?

What has made our heroine into the person she became for the purposes of our story? What occurrences in her life have shaped her personality? And how do we decide on the balance between what we, as the writer know about our heroine vs. what the reader needs to know?

Obviously, we don’t have room to tell the reader all that we, the writer must know about her. Nor would the reader be as enthralled with that deluge of information as we are. It’s not necessary for the reader to know every single thing—yet, as writers, one of the hardest parts of creating believable characters is giving them a past, and knowing how much of that history we need to go into.

In my novel, Fire Eyes, one thing we learn about the heroine, Jessica, is that she married young. She thought she was marrying for love, but as it turned out, she grew to understand that she was not in love with Billy, nor he with her—at least, not in the way she had always dreamed of. This is a huge issue with her after Billy dies. She tells Kaed, “The next time I marry, it will be for love.” This shows how much it means to her, because her existence as a single mother is not easy, and the threat of Fallon is still there.

There are many reasons for her to hold onto that dream so tenaciously, but I didn’t have room to talk about in the novel. Her life before Billy was not easy, and marrying Billy was just the ‘icing on the cake.’ But rather than me tell you about Jessica, how about letting her describe her background to you?

My name was Jessica Lea Beckley. That was before I married Billy Monroe, when I was only seventeen. I thought I was in love with Billy. He was handsome in his own way. I was glad when he started courting me, because he was the only boy my father seemed to like. Once he started coming around, it seemed like word got out we were ‘a couple’—and the other boys quit coming by.

That suited Pa just fine though. I was the only girl in a family of boys—four older brothers and one younger. My ma died when Mitch was born, and somehow, Pa always seemed to blame him for it. I had to come between them many, many times. Pa was always heavy-handed. Mitch was determined to prove to Pa that he was worthy. He ran off when he was sixteen. Said he wanted to be a marshal. We never heard from him again. I missed Mitch more than my other brothers. He was always special to me. But Mitch is dead now, killed by Andrew Fallon’s men.

They killed my husband, Billy, too. I did what I could to save him, but he was just hurt too bad. Most of what I did was just making him comfortable as he slipped away. It took him two long days. Even though I didn’t love him, I was sorry for not being able to save him. Something really sad was this. Billy never wanted to be touched—he wanted to do all the touching—what little of it there was between us. How I would yearn for him to just hold me sometimes! But it wasn’t in him. Still, just before he died, he opened his eyes a little and said, “Jessica, would you please just hold my hand awhile?” Even then, I knew I couldn’t touch him the way I wanted to—just pull him close and hold him. I took his hand in mine, and he smiled. It wasn’t long after that, he passed.

Somebody had to bury him, and there was no one but me to do it. Me, two months gone with our baby. But I lost it, too, when I buried Billy. Nearly died myself, from bleeding, but my good friend Rita, and her husband, Wayne, took me in and cared for me.

In an odd twist of fate, after Rita had her baby girl, she was bitten by a copperhead a few weeks later. Wayne waited too long to come for help, and Rita passed. IF Wayne had come sooner, I might have saved her. I think he knew it, too. Not long after that, he asked me to marry him. It made sense, me with no husband, him with no wife and trying to care for little Lexi. But I didn’t love him, and he didn’t love me. I had to keep true to my promise I made myself, to only marry for love. A few days later, he showed up at my door with the baby, asking me to take her. I felt sorry for Wayne, but I was glad to see him go. Gladder, still, that he left me precious Lexi.

It was good to leave home. Sometimes I think my pa just wanted me there to cook and clean. I wanted my independence, and maybe I saw Billy as my ticket out of there. I’ve never been back, even though it’s less than a day’s ride from here. Pa was a hard man to deal with, and I was glad to see my older brothers marry and leave, one by one, too.

I’ve always felt bad about not saving Rita and Billy. I’m a healer. Had to learn that, being raised as I was with all those boys. They were always getting hurt somehow. I believe things happen for a reason, though. If I hadn’t gone through those hard years of growing up where I did, I wouldn’t have been able to save Kaed Turner when Standing Bear dumped him on my porch. He was hurt worse than Billy, but he had more to live for. I wasn’t enough for Billy, but to Kaed, I was everything.

Remember when I said that I wouldn’t marry again except for love? Kaed’s the best man I’ve ever known. When I look at him, I see love in his eyes—for me—every time. But more than just the love, I see understanding. And that’s just as important, I’ve learned, because, love can be many things to many people. Kaedon Turner knows my soul as well as my heart. We’ve both suffered loss and despair. But now, we have each other. And when he says, “It’ll come out all right,” I know it’s true.

And now, you know what I knew when I created Jessica Monroe Turner. A lot goes into making up a heroine's personality--a lot that the writer must know about her. This knowledge makes the heroine a well-rounded person to the reader, although you, as the writer, might not be able to include everything. Still, snippets of conversation and insights will provide for a deeper look into the heroine's character. What about your heroines? How did you manage to convey their backstory to the reader?

Cheryl

Heroic Womanhood

The German writer, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe once said, "In every man's writings, the character of the writer must lie recorded." That’s certainly true of romance authors. We write from experience and model our characters on ourselves and the people we know. Especially our heroines.

I wrote my Regency-set historical based on experiences with my late husband’s loss of sight to Diabetes. He often misunderstood conversations because he couldn’t see the speaker’s face or body language.

In BLIND FORTUNE, independent and outspoken Lady Fortuna Morley has been blind since birth. She’s convinced the only reason a gentleman will wed her is for her dowry. Fortuna understands that men have complete authority over their wives. She fears a husband will use her blindness as an excuse to lock her away like the heroine in Mary Wollstonecraft’s book, Maria: The Wrongs of Woman.

“How very curious,” Charles retorted dryly. “I’ve never spoken with a female who actually shares that woman’s views.”
“That doesn’t surprise me, my lord.”
Charles ignored her sarcastic remark. “And I certainly never expected a lady in your situation to expound such notions.”
Fortuna bristled. “And just what is that supposed to mean?”
Carefully choosing his words, Charles said, “I believe Miss Wollstonecraft views dependency on males as something akin to slavery.”
Fortuna nodded. “And marriage, as currently practiced in England, a form of prostitution for most women.”
“Forgive my bluntness but I hardly think it possible that a sightless woman can enjoy the kind of self-reliance Miss Wollstonecraft advocates.”
He watched with satisfaction as her green cat’s eyes widened with shock. And something else. Hurt? Inwardly, Charles cursed his sharp tongue.
“Come now, my lady,” he offered in a more conciliatory tone. “You must concede every woman has shortcomings of one form or another that render her incapable of living by her own resources. It’s nature, not man, which dooms a female to depend on my sex for sustenance and protection.”
For several moments, Fortuna gaped as if he’d sprouted horns. Finally she said through thinned lips, “My eyes may not function, sir but the most important organ in my body remains unimpaired. With it, I’m quite capable of ordering my own life.”

Fortuna is at odds with the arrogant marquess over more than their differing philosophies on life. He wishes to marry her young cousin. Fortuna is convinced he’s unsuitable and is determined to thwart the match. In their ensuing battle of wills, however, Charles comes to admire and even foster Fortuna’s independent spirit.

“Don’t you find it irksome, having to rely on the whim of others just to walk about? Balor can provide at least a modicum of independence.”
The idea temporarily robbed Fortuna of breath. Until now, the concept of moving under her own volition seemed an impossible dream. If the wolfhound could be trained to guide her, she’d be foolish not to accept his help.
Fighting her rising excitement, Fortuna said, “Very well, my lord.”
“Take hold of his collar and let’s see what he can do.”
She slid the fingers of her right hand beneath the wide leather band that encircled Balor’s neck. As Fortuna did so, the hound rubbed his muzzle against her hip, knocking her off balance. Granville grasped her elbow, providing support until she had her feet solidly beneath her again. Then he dropped his hold.
“To the house, Balor,” he commanded.
Fortuna stumbled as the dog obediently moved forward. Once the hound’s gait steadied, she straightened and threw back her shoulders.
They skirted the fountain with Lord Granville pacing alongside, snapping occasional instructions to Balor in a low voice. The three of them then climbed the stairs to the Hall’s front door. Only when they stepped into the foyer did the dog’s nails cease clicking beside her.
Fortuna released Balor’s collar. The brute dropped to his rump and leaned against her leg.
“A resounding success, I’d say,” Lord Granville enthused.
“I never conceived of such a thing.” Her mind raced over the possibilities—solitary walks in the garden and down to the lake. She wanted to express her gratitude but was suddenly tongue-tied with shyness.
“For the duration of your visit, Balor is at your service,” the marquess declared. The gruffness in his voice didn’t fool her. He was as excited as she by their modest success. “I’ll have a pallet made up for him in your room.”

Gradually, Fortuna discovers something important.

A deep yearning welled up. Until that instant, Fortuna hadn’t realized how much she longed for a home and children of her own. She’d spent a lifetime suppressing that need, arguing to herself that no man could love her. Now she faced the truth.
She wanted what every woman craved—hearth, babies and a husband to give them to her. Unfortunately, the man her heart had chosen for that position belonged to someone else.

Dare she hope Charles returns that regard?

“You must be mistaken, my lord,” she babbled, slowly putting distance between herself and Charles. “You can’t be seriously interested in me. I’m a poor risk. No gentleman of intelligence would saddle himself with a blind woman.”
“He would if he loved her,” Charles said quietly.
Fortuna shook her head and continued to retreat. “I have no housekeeping skills, or social graces. The best the ton thinks of me, if it deigns to consider me at all, is with scorn. As far as London society is concerned, I am beneath you.”
“The opinion of the ton, one way or the other, is of no consequence.”
She felt him prowl closer and stretched out one hand to ward him off. Abruptly, her hips fetched up against a cast-iron fence.
“Damn it, Forti!” Charles cried. “Do you care for me? Or has all this been an invention of my fevered brain?” He sounded tentative and unsure, nothing like the arrogant nobleman she’d met two months before.
Fortuna lifted her chin and prayed he didn’t detect the tremor in it. “I thought my feelings were apparent.”
“As did I, about my own,” he shot back.
“But you’ve never actually spoken the words before.”
“Neither do I comment about the beating of my heart,” Charles said with exasperation, “yet it’s indispensable to my existence.”

BLIND FORTUNE is about misinterpretation and things left unsaid. When what a lady hears isn’t always the truth. She must learn to see with her heart and trust the rest to fate.

To read more excerpts, go to www.joannawaugh.com

My Heroine

Hola! Yes, that is I, Ricardo Romero, on the cover of my creator’s book, All My Hopes and Dreams. I believe she made a mistake, because my lovely bride would have been more pleasing to the eye—she is una mujer bella, a beautiful woman. She is not only beautiful; she is the perfect lady in all circumstances—very well bred and educated. Some have criticized her haughty manner, but I have learned she acts this way when she is slightly nervous or a little angry. I believe her actions are to cover a feeling of inadequacy or insecurity.


I confess Cynthia is a much better person than I, too. Oh, I’m not a rogue or anything of the sort, just sowed the youthful wild oats, acting out the growing-up stage of a man. I’ve always tried to do my best running my huge ranch out in far West Texas. I will say, the operation is quite successful.


A few readers have wondered why I did not marry the neighbor girl, Starr Hidalgo, stating that she would be a better match for me. Now, I ask you—why would I marry a woman who acts as a man? One who can ride as fast, shoot as well, run a ranch, kill a snake, and spot fine horseflesh a mile off? One who has developed muscles in her arms and legs? That, my friends, would be like marrying myself.


No, I knew the moment I met Miss Cynthia Harrington in Nacogdoches, she might very well be the woman I searched for. Unfortunately, she would have nothing to do with me, as she still had her eye on a local man. Plus, she was hesitant about my Mexican/Comanche heritage. There again, I learned she acted haughty around me because she did not understand me or who I am.
Oddly, enough, she accepted my marriage proposal rather quickly. I did not question her motives, just took her as my bride and we went home. The next several months proved a real trial by fire for Cynthia. At times, I did not pay enough attention to realize just how difficult circumstances were for her. She carved out a life and place of her own in the ranch community, however, using more grit and spunk than I gave her credit for. She surprised me every day. The first year was a learning experience for both of us, and I’ll confess, I learned many lessons along the way.


Now, I realize what a treasure I have, one who is more precious than diamonds or gold, one who will do her very best and even place herself in danger for those she loves.
I did not love this lady at first, because I didn’t know about love at all. I admired her and coveted her for my own, but love? Well, it took a little swim in the crystal clear springs on the ranch to make me fall under her spell. Then, I taught her to kiss and make love, and she taught me about true love.


Ricardo Romero


Celia Yeary
http://www.celiayeary.com/

Not your Mama's Heroine

Do you remember your first heroine? I do. It was Chantelle from Johanna Lindsay's Silver Angel. I pilfered the spellbinding love story from my mother's bookshelf when I was in Jr. High and like a kid on a cookie- I was hooked.

Now, the funny thing about this world is that everything changes- even romance novels. Passionate lovers ceased gracing the covers and torso shots became the ticket. Love scenes morphed into interludes so hot and steamy, I'm surprised my glasses don't fog over. Even the characters have evolved. Heroes are more heroic and heroines are definitely more assertive.

Think back to the Golden Age of Romance (think big hair bands and stone-wash jeans- yep, we're talking the 80's!!) One of my favorite reads is Judith McNaught's Whitney, My Love. Sure the fiery Whitney is saucy and passionate, but she allows the devastating Clayton to walk all over her in ways no heroine of the 2000's would.

Yep, today's heroines are a vast contrast to the Whitney's of the 80's. They're stronger, independent and way less likely to be a victim. And these ladies are definitely not going to sit back and wait for a hero to save them. Think Kate in Lorraine Heath's Just Wicked Enough.

I think learning the ropes of writing romance has made me more aware of the morphing qualities of heroines. I would love to see a study done on what inspired a shift in the way a leading lady in a romance novel is portrayed. Maybe it's because women's roles have changed in the work place and at home. Maybe it's due to women wanting a heroine with some grit. Who knows!

But one thing is for sure, the heroines of today are changing the industry from newbie writers of tomorrow.

When it comes to my own heroines, I love to channel the positive attributes of my favorite characters. A recipe, if you will. A dash of Scarlet's stubborn streak, a hint of Whitney's vivaciousness, a spoonful of Kate's goodwill and let's not forget a huge dose of my quirky humor!

So, tell me- What's your winning recipe?

To learn more about my endeavors to become published- check my blog- http://TheLovestruckNovice.blogspot.com

Thanks, Lindsay!!!
~Sarah Simas~
2009 Golden Gateway Finalist
See What I'm Up To http://thelovestrucknovice.blogspot.com/

Generational Heroines

Grandma was among the first women in America to earn a Master’s degree. Teaching for many years before then, beginning in a one room school house, marrying and moving to a three story school house teaching fifth grade, then again to the next town where she made an incredible mark as first grade teacher, she also raised four children, studying at night after their needs were met. She graduated with her Master’s in Education the same year her oldest child graduated with his Bachelor’s degree.

A strong woman, yes. Not many dared cross her. Yet she had the gentle fun artsy silly side that made her such a wonderful teacher. There is now a memorial tree and marker planted in her honor at her final school, also my grade school.

She has a son and three daughters. I grew surrounded by all of them and their spouses and children. It was a delightful time of noise, wide discussions, gift exchanges, birthday cakes, and little ones running around everywhere. Family was penultimate in my childhood. It was also highly inspirational.

I’m a people watcher. I always have been. I think it could be because there was just so MUCH variety to watch in one house where we all gathered each birthday and holiday. Think of an artist’s colony except with all ages, and you’ll have a feel for it.

The women in my family were always particularly fascinating and each was a heroine in her own right. The styles were different but whatever the style, things seemed to revolve around them individually, more so than with the men. No offense meant to the men but I come from a very long history of strong independent women. Kudos to the heroes who could deal with them long-term. ;-) We have gutsy women who will say whatever they think and those who will hardly admit any feelings; in charge types and followers; women who love to be out and about and on the go and those more like hermits; some have reached what they went after, others are still trying for it or content with what they did accomplish; some went to school to study and some to socialize. Whichever type(s) they are, they have one common characteristic: they  are strong women. Their strength may not be obvious to the casual observer. Sometimes you have to look deep and try to see it the way they do. And they’re family, part of a chain, intertwined.


My heroines always come with family connections, and the way their families affect them comes out in their individual choices and outlooks. They are always strong, but their strength is often quiet and supportive more than feisty and independent. They tend to have highly independent female friends or relatives they admire, and they grow throughout the book, learning to assert their own independence with age and experience.

My heroines stem from reality. We all know that older women are much more likely to appear stronger and more together and less worried about appearances and the shallow things of life. We do grow. So far, all of my heroines begin as young women at that age of emergence, so to speak. Their stories begin at the point they’re truly beginning to come into their own and the reader always sees how they do, what encourages it.

I go a step farther with the concept of growth and family and intertwining in my Rehearsal series. Beginning when Susie is barely twenty, it extends over four books to after she has fully grown and found herself and become comfortable with her place in the chain. It covers more than ten years. Her family is involved throughout, as is her hero’s family and her best friend’s family. Even the minor characters have familial involvement enough to see where they came from and where they’re heading. The sequel to the series is firmly in my head and checks in on the next generation, connecting the effects of Susie’s generation on her daughter’s. Susie is not a highly independent, outgoing type.  Her daughter, however, is fully both. Their stories will mesh, and continue. While Susie’s mother’s story is only touched on in the series, it will likely become its own.

Whether or not the heroine is the strongest and most vivacious character, she is always the center of my stories, even if she has no POV scenes. We don’t need to direct the stage to be pivotal or the main draw, after all. Sometimes it’s simply what we are that steals the show, and what we are is always affected not only by our parents but by the generations of our families.

Do you have a truly inspirational woman in your family who could be a heroine? I’d love to hear about her!

LK Hunsaker
  

Linda Swift: Single Status

Congratulations, Lindsay, on your One Lovely Blog awards. They are justly deserved.

And thank you for choosing a subject that has made me pause and give thought to what deeper motives lurk behind the type of heroes and heroines that I create. I found it easy to define what makes a man a hero. But I find that I am more demanding of the traits that make a woman a heroine.

Her physical appearance must be pleasing. I tend to choose some shade of blond hair, tall, graceful, thin, and of course, young. None of the traits I possess and all of which I covet. She must be beautiful, which doesn't mean pretty. Beautiful women are often plain-featured but have that certain arresting quality that defies description.

I want a heroine to be calm, charming, and courageous with a wry sense of humor. No Nervous Nellies, nitpickers, or doormats need apply. Nor any Poor-little-ole-me types even if they change as the plot develops. And she must be totally lovable in the eyes of the hero. She must be good (not Goodie-Two-Shoes),honest, kind, and loyal. Sounds like a Girl Scout, doesn't she? And I almost forgot to mention intelligent. She may be smarter than the hero but would have the good sense not to show it.

Most important of all, my heroine must have traits that appeal to women. For only if other women would choose her as a friend, can she be the kind of person who is truly self-actualized and worthy to be called a heroine in my book (pun intended)

When I examine my heroines by this standard, they don't always measure up but most of them fit the description fairly well. Take B.J., the heroine in my soon-to-be released book, Single Status. She has all the physical characteristics mentioned above, and all the personality traits listed except for charm. And a former husband who was an insensitive jerk is responsible for her abrasive reactions toward the male species at present. Instead of seeking pity, B.J. takes on a challenge that demands her all. Since this is a romance, I don't need to tell you that she overcomes every obstacle, but I hope you will enjoy reading how she does it.



Title: Single Status

Genre: Contemporary

Winner of Awe-Struck Short Novel Award 2008

Author: Linda Swift

www.lindaswift.net

Publisher: Awe-Struck Publishing

Available: September 25, 2009 E-book and print

Buy Link: http://www.awe-struck.net/


Through a stateside headquarters mix-up, B.J. and Dana are forced to share a villa on a start-up job in a power plant in St. Croix. B.J. is determined to prove herself as capable as the other engineers and wants to be treated like one of the guys. But Dana finds it difficult to follow her wishes.


Excerpt:

Just three more days, B.J. reminded herself with grim determination as she adjusted the straps of her backpack and joined her house-mate for the ride to work. Then their only contact would be at the plant when changing shifts and that would be strictly business.

"My turn mornings," she held out her hand for the keys Dana had already taken from the counter.

"Sorry," he mumbled as he handed them over and picked up his lunch box.

B.J. hadn't carried one since the day she'd found the dead lizard, preferring to manage with whatever food could be kept in her backpack without spoilage rather than giving Dana Thomas a chance to repeat his nasty surprise.

The air in the villa had been frigid the past four evenings in spite of the tropical heat as Dana and B.J., without verbal discussion, had worked out a system of avoidance. He ate dinner while she showered, she moved to the kitchen and he claimed the bath. He watched the evening news while she did her personal laundry, hanging it in her room. She remained there, studying prints spread on her bed, sometimes tempted to ask him to explain something that was unclear but stubbornly resisting the impulse.

One evening he had gone to the pool and images of the night she had lost herself in his arms filled her head. She could still feel his mouth on hers and his body pressed against her. Only fate had prevented them from making a terrible mistake. But to resort to putting a dead lizard in her lunch because she had refused to continue their folly after she'd come to her senses had been pathetic.

She turned the ignition and gunned the car out of the parking space and down the steep hill with a vengeance, then sensibly slowed when she reached the highway. She heard the man beside her give a barely audible sigh of relief and saw his feet, which had been planted firmly on the floorboard, visibly relax.

"Glad you got that, whatever it was, out of your system, Sutherland," he growled.

"The only systems you need concern yourself with at the moment are at ChemCorp, Thomas," she retorted.

"I'll concern myself with the performance of any system that threatens my safety, Sutherland."

"Oh, you're perfectly safe with me, Thomas," she said with exaggerated emphasis.

Her double-entendre was not lost on Dana and he was left with no suitable repartee that would not get him into deeper waters so he remained silent for the remainder of the drive.

From the corner of his eye, Dana watched the obstinate woman behind the wheel. The early morning sun cast a golden glow on her fine-featured face and he felt a sudden urge to reach out and stroke the back of her arched neck--after he wrung it--for doubting his denial of pulling that cruel prank on her. That she thought him capable of doing a thing like that was insulting enough but refusing to accept his word that he had not was the last straw. The past few days had been full of tension and he was looking forward to the time when their evenings playing house together were over. Monday couldn't come too soon.

Linda

A Girl's Best Friend.

‘“Here you go. A slice and some ice, just enough to make that satisfying clink as one gets slowly sozzled.”
“Danny, you’re my hero. Say you’ll marry me.”
“I thought you’d never ask. A church do, naturally.”
“Only if you promise to wear white.”
“And you promise to wear as little as possible.”
“Cheers, you loony.”’

Recognise that sort of exchange? If you’ve got a best friend, then you will! That’s Maggie Lawless, my heroine from A Different Kind of Honesty, and her best friend Danny Chang. I don’t think I could ever write a heroine without writing her best friend too. My heroines aren’t dependent on my heroes – God forbid! – but they’re definitely dependent on their best friend. A girl’s best friend provides the shoulder to cry on, and the metaphorical ankle to kick. He – or she – will set her straight, cheer her on, and point out the error of her ways in the nicest possible way. Well, you knew that! But in terms of writing the story, the Best-Friend-Character is a great tool. The heroine can say things to the best friend that she might never say to the hero, and maybe not even to herself. Having the BFC shows us how the heroine conducts her relationships with other people, and tells us a lot about her loyalty. As a writer, I love writing the heroine’s best friend, because I get to indulge my naughty side. I can tease the heroine, I can stop her taking herself so seriously and let her laugh at the occasional absurdities of her romance with the hero. Here’s another exchange between Maggie and Danny.

'Maggie didn’t even pretend not to watch as Tony walked toward the sliding doors.
Danny folded his arms and tsk-tsk’d.
“Honestly. Put your tongue in, girl, it’s not ladylike. Listen, do you have any idea how much I’ve been dying to get you on your own since the softball game?”
Maggie picked up the hand towel from the counter, making a big deal of shaking it out and hanging it up on its hook. “Have you really?” she said, as lightly as she could manage.
“Just a little! I nearly followed you to the bathroom at one point, but I decided that was a bit too juvenile even for me.”
He hoisted himself up on the counter and swung his feet like a ten-year old. “What happened out there? That was one helluva tackle.”
Maggie tried to keep her expression as serene as possible. “We just crashed and tripped, that’s all.”
“Oh, yes, silly me.” He raised his eyes skyward. “And you just happened to end up underneath him. Gosh, the memories must have come flooding back.”'

In my short story Perfect Strangers, the heroine’s best friend is vital. Marco, Anna’s best friend, has let her use his apartment for a few days – the same apartment where she and the hero spend their one perfect night. We never actually see Marco, and only hear from him once during one short telephone conversation, but I was able to use this BFC to move the story along and tell the reader a bit more about Anna.

'She remembered their phone conversation as if it was yesterday.

“Ciao, bella, come va?”
“Marco! I’m fine, you?”
“Good! But I have a little mystery which I think maybe you can solve for me.”
“A mystery?”
“I have an envelope, addressed to—let me see—’Marco, Director, L’Accademia, Venice.’ That’s all. Inside, a note and another envelope. Cara mia, what have you been up to? I think it’s meant for you.”
“For me? Why?”
“Listen. ‘Dear Marco. Forgive me, but please pass this to the woman who stayed in your apartment last week. I never knew her name.’ It’s not signed.” He paused. “Anna, are you still there, bella? Shall I open it, yes?”
“Yes.”
She held her breath as she listened to the sound of paper tearing, then Marco’s voice back on the line.
“Ah, someone has taste...La Madonna della Sedia. Again, not signed, but there’s something written on the back. Let me make it out...’per sempre’. Dio, Anna! You keep secrets! You know who this is from?”
“I know who it’s from. Thanks, Marco. Please send it to me.”'

Finally, here’s an excerpt from an unpublished work-in-progress, Silver Wings. Amy is a WWII land-girl who helped rescue a Spitfire pilot whose plane crashed in the field she was digging. When he returns to the farm to thank her, her best friend Pixie knows she’ll find out what he said later – but nosy Dot has been listening at the door.

'Dot was hopping from one foot to the other, as if she was desperate to go to the loo, but wouldn’t go till I told her what happened. As if she didn’t know already, with her listening at keyholes. Well, she could pee in her knickers for all I cared; I wasn’t gong to say a word. Pixie was grinning again. She doesn’t need to spy to know what’s going on in my head, and she’d know I’d tell her later anyway. I love Pixie to death, and she knows how to keep a secret. But as for Dot...I couldn’t resist.
“I must talk to Tom about getting the farm cat down here,” I said as I walked past them, all airy. “I’m sure I heard mice in the hall. Or maybe even a rat!”
Pixie laughed her huge laugh, and Dot squealed and rushed off down the garden. I hope she wet herself before she got there.'

I love my heroines, and I love their best friends just as much. Here’s cheers to A Girl’s Best Friend!

From secondary character to not-so-spunky heroine

Secondary characters are easy to love. Often they are my favorite parts of a book. They can be quirky, sly and blunt without repercussions. Their job is to say things that your hero and heroine never would and nudge the story into the tangled hedgerows where conflict thrives.

For example, in ANAM CARA, my heroine, Liza, is too determined to maintain control over everything within her sphere of influence to offer Bran and Aedan a place to sleep for the night. She knows minstrels are uncontrollable and suspects these two are worse than most. So her daughter, Tess, issues the invitation because it's the right thing to do (and because she's already a wee bit curious about the minstrel's younger brother, Aedan).

Tess also provides an outside point-of-view through dialogue to explain what Liza does and why.

When she asks if Liza shares a past with Bran because of the way he looks at her, Liza curtly replies, "I cannot control how a man looks at me, Tess."

Tess gets to reply: "You try. You try with your ugly hair, your constant glare and your sour demeanor, but you got me from somewhere."

There is a wealth of knowledge about Liza in that statement, even if it is filtered through Tess' eyes. But a plain-spoken daughter doesn't necessarily ascend easily to heroine status. Like Aedan, when I sat down to write TIES THAT BIND, I had to not only grow Tess up, but also fully flesh out her character. In the process I discovered something quite challenging: Tess is not her mother.

To understand the steps I needed to take to make Tess her own person, you need to know a little bit about her mother, Liza, and me, the writer.

I don't write spunky heroines. They are strong and stubborn and a little bit harsh. Life has battered the hippie-like optimism that heroines need to be spunky. In fact, my heroines often need to find hope and the gentle side of themselves before they find love (no Freudian analysis, please).

In Liza's case, if there is such a thing as reincarnation, she was Boudica in a former life. She's that determined, unyielding and capable. The downside of those traits? Domineering, stubborn, and controlling. She's a hard woman to befriend, but once you know her, there's no one else you'd want in your corner. The line that introduces her--"Of all the things Liza would miss when dead, being gawked at by strangers was not one of them" sums her up perfectly.

Like everyone else around Liza, Tess learned early the futility of direct confrontation with her mother. Instead of being the defiant rock in the middle of the stream, she's the water that quietly goes around all obstacles. And because she's quieter, more easy-going on the surface, others are quick to remind her that she's "not like" her mother.

And unlike Aedan who spent five years drenched in wine, women and song, Tess spent the intervening years keeping secrets, experiencing loss and living with heartache. Midway through writing the book, I realized quiet, self-possessed, stubborn-but-sad heroines who don't openly stand up for themselves aren't the easiest for readers to identify with. Too often we assume placid is the same as passive.

I tried to do a character make-over on the second draft, but true to form Tess stubbornly remained the same. The fault lay not in the character, but the writer. I needed that outside point-of-view. So I went to the person most likely to notice the changes in her: Aedan.

Here's the passage where we get a sense of Tess:

Mirthless gray-blue eyes inspected her. She had no idea what he sought, but what he found tightened his mouth and his eyes darkened to the dangerous color of lay-grade pewter.

"You are wisp-thin and pale as a cloud."

As close as a linen shroud, his searching energy danced over her skin. Her heart jolted, fiercely hammering against her chest. She should run, push him away and race to wherever it was she would be safe and free of men.

"You barely feel solid."

She closed her eyes and shivered when his fingers touched her neck, skimmed her collarbone, stopped at her ribs. Internal heat followed the trail, and then pooled deep and low, making her feel as if she would boil away if he didn’t stop.

"You feel cordoned-off, nay, hidden." He spoke softly, as if to himself. He bent closer, his breath a whispering invitation against her mouth.

"Nay."

He drew away just far enough to allow her to breathe. His hand fell away, but her skin

still burned where he had touched her. "You do not feel right."

"That is nonsense. You have no idea how I should feel. It has been too long."

And throughout the story, Tess shows herself to be the perfect ballast to Aedan's more mercurial nature, culminating in what is one of my favorite scenes from the book because we see just how strong Tess is.

"Go. There is no gentleness in me this night."

"I need none."

Her declaration scraped against the dead, frostbitten portion of his soul, exposing raw, throbbing emotion. Aedan flattened his palm against the wood, seeing the dried blood splattered across his sleeve. He had washed his face and hands, but that was all. Looking down, he noted his tunic was ruined. "Bran is right, Tess. You should not be here. I am not a good man."

His declaration, perhaps the most honest of his life, fell lifeless at her feet. She ignored it and came to him, standing inches from him, waiting. His lungs clogged at what he saw. Her heart and mind were as clear as a fresh stream. He could sift her like flour in this moment, and she would let him.

Her trust shattered his heart. At the same time, the calmness that always seemed to ride the air around her wrapped him, slowing the torturous whir of his thoughts, quieting the itch to run murderous throughout the keep.

"Say what you came to say and leave."

"I will." Tess pressed her palm against his heart. The trembling tension in his body spiked. Grief swirled through him, catching in his throat and eyes. "Later."

He knew the tone, though he'd never heard it from her before. He'd sooner move the sea than change her mind. With the fluid efficiency of a falchion at close range, she loosened his bloodsoaked tunic and tugged it off.

"Rest," she said, and pushed him onto the bed.

He grabbed her wrist, held her at arm's length. "Tess, you are a grace from heaven that I

do not deserve."

"Does anyone deserve love and grace?"

With that, she stepped inside his guard and curled around him like a wood nymph comforting a freshly hewn tree. She was solid. Real. Warm.

I've come across a few other calm, quiet heroines in my readings, and I have much greater appreciation for them now than I used to. So, if you have a moment, leave a comment and tell me who your favorite not-spunky heroine is.

Deadlier than the male?

There is a good deal of wish-fulfilment in my heroines. Firstly their characters tend to be far braver, more patient, generous and caring than I am. Secondly, in their roles they often 'act out' roles I would love to try myself. My heroines are opera singers, wildlife photographers, healers, scribes, princesses, expert seamstresses, bull-leapers, and metal-smiths. Life may be tough but they are resilient and intelligent. They may doubt and self-question, but I try to make them full of life. Vitality is attractive where rampant self-pity can quickly become tiresome in a character in a story.

I throw challenges in the way of my womenfolk. In my historical romances they may struggle with their position in society - Flavia, in Flavia's Secret is a slave, Sarmatia, in Bronze Lightning is a bull-leaper who is growing old for the dangerous ritual, Sunniva in A Knight's Captive is bullied by her father and brothers and, as a woman in 1066, she has limited options.

That is something I always try to bring out in my historicals: women, even princesses, were more tied by biology than modern women are. In a pre-pill or effective contraception era, then a woman could become pregnant each time she made love. If she earns her living as a tumbler, then if she is pregnant she might starve. Society in many ages has been anti-women: the medieval age saw women as prone to evil and devilish desires.

My women are not super-women. They are normal, with the hopes and yearnings that are theirs. I hope to make them appealing and loveable so my readers with follow them on their hero journey, as they strive to achieve their goals.

One heroine of mine who is a little larger-than-life is Bride, the metal-smith and warrior from my ancient world historical romance, Bronze Lightning. She is tall, strong as a man, skilled in bronze-making and fighting. (She came into my mind many years ago, pre-Xena Warrior Princess, with whom she shares many skills!)

Alyson, my learned, clever heroine from A Knight's Vow, is always curious. Flavia has two deadly secrets, either of which could cost her her life. Lydia needs to escape an impossible situation and a loveless marriage in Escape to Love. Corinna is faced with a terrible choice in my forthcoming Silk and Steel.

Another heroine who is not to be crossed is my golden Egyptian princess from 'Blue Gold'. Here's an excerpt from Blue Gold, showing my amoral heroine - anti-heroine - in action:

Hunting bored Ahhotpe, but since Zoser—the Pyramid, as she’d nicknamed him—had been commanded to attend Sekenenre, she had been obliged to inveigle an invitation for herself. It would be entirely predictable of Zoser to try to advance his position and fix himself firmly in his father’s favor. That she was determined to prevent. She would discredit the Pyramid and his fat cow of a mother forever.

Ahhotpe glanced at the wax manikin before smoothing down the papyrus sheet with her gold burnisher and reaching for her palette. As a pastime she enjoyed writing. The hieratic script, precise and beautiful, flowed from her pen.

“Ahhotpe to her father’s mother, Tetisheri, in life, prosperity and health.” Formal greetings over, Ahhotpe indulged a little gossip. “The Pyramid’s mother is here, of course, waddling into Sekenenre’s tent with a lotus flower stuck behind one ear, like a great white duck in a reed bed. She looks quite a meal for a crocodile.”

Leaving it at that, Ahhotpe passed onto other matters, details concerning the state of her clothes in these humid marshes, and lavish praise of her father’s hunting prowess. She was fond of grandmother, and tried to show the old lady her gentlest side, the side she kept for dependents and servants.

Ahhotpe shot a second glance at the wax figure posted just inside the doorway of her tent. Noon was not the most propitious time for magic, but the midday heat ensured that her people were resting and that consequently she would be unobserved. When she saw the shaft of sun chink through the closed tent flaps and strike the figure, the young woman laid aside her letter.

She had fashioned it well, rolling and mashing the wax between her fingers, infecting it with her hatred, until a startling likeness formed. That same narrow forehead and wide jaw, the bull neck and broad chest, the wider hips and massive legs: the Pyramid in miniature, three fingers high. Ahhotpe smiled as she settled cross-legged before the model. It was, she thought, the closest she might ever come willingly to Zoser. Invoking the proper forms, she thrust the first small copper pin deep into the manikin’s heart.

I had a lot of fun writing Ahhotpe!

Best wishes, Lindsay

The Women-in-Charge in Chelle's novels

A woman can do anything - that was how my parents raised me. They also believed that a woman could be feminine and still not be weak. Society, though, through the years hasn't always agreed.

I try to write my heroines to reflect both my parents' progressive attitude as well as reality in our world.

None of my heroines actually needed a man in their lives - oh of course the passion is a terrific incentive, but each of my gals could make it on their own.
In Bartlett's Rule Paige Andrews was raised in a misogynistic and violent household. Her upbringing caused her to make several wrong decisions, the first being needing a man named Hal to take her away from her parents' abusive home. She traveled a road of self-destruction and hit bottom, that was when she decided to take control of her life and began taking care of herself. When she met Lon Bartlett she tried not to get taken in by his seeming chauvinism, but he proved to be much more understanding than she expected.

Caitlyn Smythe in Forgotten was orphaned at an early age and even though she was raised in a relative's loving home, she thought that the only one she really could depend on was herself. When Brandon Price tries to protect her with secretiveness, she balks. Even totally angry with him when they are both held against their will, it's Caitlyn's calm head that eventually rescues them. Through the ensuing perils they face Brandon comes to realize how much he can depend on her.

Alli Davis is a lawyer in Within the Law and she takes her job seriously. Tom Hughes was her white knight on a dark city street and Alli is drawn to him, but not enough to compromise her responsibility even when she realizes that the man she is defending stole Tom's future from him. When the playing field changes and her client is murdered Alli steps in to defend Tom.

Young Davida Prescott is working her way through college when she meets playboy Adam Sherman in Courage of the Heart. Adam has a past that makes him question his own abilities and it is Davie's inner strength that restores his confidence. Her belief in him gives him the strength to get him past a threat and huge challenge from his former life.

In Final Sin Julie Jennings is a caring and competent paramedic. She meets Deputy Sheriff Jake Carlson at a horrific crime scene and it doesn't take long for the two of them to close the door on the ugliness of their careers and begin a torrid love affair. Julie comes close to the edge when she is stalked by a maniac who invades her privacy, but she refuses to give up on her job and putting herself out there to help others. More than once she finds an inner strength to keep herself going as well as encouraging Jake when his worries and self-doubts as a dad seem insurmountable.

Of all of my heroines so far, I think that Deanna Blair is the strongest in Hostage Heart. After losing a beloved family member to the floods of Katrina and then seeing her parents' home and livelihood destroyed in more hurricanes just a few years later, she takes it upon herself to find a way to help them rebuild. With a fresh high school diploma in hand she leaves her comfort zone where she has lived all of her life to come to New York City and find a job. Deanna meets Ryan Hunter during a bank hold-up and when he gets himself into hot water defending her honor she tries to reciprocate and winds up becoming a victim.

Download a FREE First Chapter Chapbook of Bartlett’s Rule, Forgotten, Within the Law, Courage of the Heart, Final Sin & Hostage Heart

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