I was lucky enough to be invited by Stacey Kennedy as a guest blogger on her site, paranormalromantics. Here is the link, and below is the blog. (as an aside, if are one of the first fifty people to private message me with the correct titles of two of the three books I talk about in this blog, I’ll send you a free copy of The Hunt. 🙂
A few years back, I had a dream about a man with piercing blue eyes. I caught flashes of him, mere glimpses of the curve of his neck, the collar of his shirt, the strong line of his jaw covered in five-o-clock scruff. In the flurried chaos of sleep, I caught a whiff of cologne, clean and masculine and powerful. There was music playing; drifts of notes floated over me. I heard bits from a dance club, the fierce, ominous beat of techno dark wave, and the lonely, deep pulls of a Cello solo. But above it all was the sound of leather soled shoes on pavement. I saw a figure in the fog, tall and broad-shouldered, draped in black.
The images haunted me, coming closer and then slipping away. I awoke with a pounding headache and an aching need to know more. But dreams are fickle, and the shadow-killing rays of the sun are ruthless. Night slips away, sleep evaporates, and the sounds, sights and smells of our reveries are more often than not lost.
But the man with the blue eyes came back. The following night, he not only returned to my dream realm – he declared himself king. Before my mind’s eye, a story unraveled, playing itself out to breathless, erotic perfection. The man had a name. And when I awoke this time, I wrote his name on paper, using it as the title for the first story I would ever share with the world on a grand scale.
As I said, that was several years ago. Since then, I’ve had many dreams, both waking and not. In one, a man’s stark green eyes followed me across the TGB while he directed his men to block every one of my exits and cage me in. I wrote his story under the spell of his perfect, mesmerizing voice and am enraptured by it still. In another, the rumble of a motorcycle vibrated my soul and the smell of leather followed me back into the real world, seducing me to pick up the pen once more.
It’s an enormous gift to be a writer – to be able to take these temporary obsessions and share them with the world in such a way that my obsession is effectively passed on to some other unsuspecting soul. To know that I am not the only one who falls in love with my characters is truly amazing. I have been hypnotized by the men of my other realms, seduced by them, held prisoner by their every undeniably charismatic attribute. But lucky for me, I don’t have to suffer this captivity alone. As long as you all continue to open my books and read, I’ll be in good company. 😉