Many authors wisely choose a genre and stick with it. Most master a specific time period, such as the Regency romance world, and set up camp there. Not me. Like a restless spirit, I wander about visiting various places, even time travel to land in some of them. Writing would be far easier if I’d stay put, but not, I expect, as much fun. So I write both historical, with varying time periods and settings, and light paranormal romance, generally with a time travel or ghost in the fantasy meld.I follow where my heart leads as new stories beckon.
In Daughter of the Wind, I even ventured into the shape shifting realm with a bearwalking Shawnee warrior. Depending upon whom you consult among the Shawnee, they may not consider this to be ‘fantasy’ but an actual ability some of their people possess, or used to in ages past. Daughter of the Wind also has a magical moonstone necklace which I wish I could have kept, but the novel sucked that prize in and won’t let me have it back. Bummer.
Light paranormal romance Somewhere My Lass was a departure for me in that I also wove kewl sci-fi stuff into this Scottish time travel. My paranormals require the same research I’d do for a historical because there are other time periods to explore, and then the added contemplation involved in otherworldly elements, so they are not easy, but enjoyable in a challenging way. I admit to gleaning inspiration from some of the movies I’ve seen, and a few stories I’ve read, but I do have an occasional original thought, more than I’m sometimes given credit for.
To further explore my latest light paranormal release, here’s the blurb and excerpt from
Somewhere My Lass.
Neil MacKenzie's well ordered life turns to chaos when Mora Campbell shows up claiming he's her fiance from 1602 Scotland. Her avowal that she was chased to the future by clan chieftain, Red MacDonald, is utter nonsense, and Neil must convince her that she is just addled from a blow to her head--or so he believes until the MacDonald himself shows up wanting blood.
“You are a beauty.” His words were a hoarse whisper.
The rise and fall of her chest betrayed a deep inhalation of breath. A flicker of reproach lit her eyes.
“I dinna think ye took heed of me at all.”
He winced at the well-deserved jab. “About before, I’m sorry I left you so suddenly. But there’s no earthly way I could fail to notice you. I’d have to be deaf, dumb, and blind and even then…”
The tension in her face eased and then the hurt returned. “Oh, aye? How could ye forget all ye knew?”
He remained as he was, threading that wealth of hair through his fingers. Again, the rational part of him argued, “Is it possible you’re imagining you knew me before?”
She balked, a mutinous glint in her eyes. “Nae.”
He slid his hand to the finely crafted silver chain at her throat and coaxed the coverlets further down.
A slight gasp escaped her lips. He muted any outward response to the thrill running through him.
The scooped neckline of her nightgown revealed the tops of white breasts sprinkled with freckles. Above this heart-hammering sight hung the crucifix. “I gave this to you?” he managed to ask without betraying the swell of emotion surging inside him.
“At our betrothal.”