Sunday, February 04, 2018

Safari Heat Blog Hop

Hi, y'all! I'm participating in the Safari Heat Blog Hop and contest. I'll be giving away a signed paperback of my novel, ARCANE KISS. 
There are a bunch of us authors blogging and giving away books, so I hope you'll participate. The grand prize of the hop is a Kindle Fire; between that and all the great books, you've got a good chance to win something great. You'll find the rules and details of the contest listed on the Safari Heat site. I've listed a few of the details below.
In the meantime, I want to talk a little about romance in general, along with my upcoming novel, Arcane Heart, the second book in the Talent series.
The world of the Talents is an alternate universe version of Earth where witches and magical shifters try to coexist with mundane humans who distrust them. Trust is, in fact, the book's main theme.
In romance-- both fictional and real life -- the greatest challenge is building trust. You've got to trust the person you're falling in love with -- trust him with your heart, finances, your very life. That's quite a lot to risk. If you make the wrong choice, you can end up heartbroken at best, and at worst in physical danger.
Yet people take that chance anyway, not just for sex, but because humans have an instinctive craving to feel close to others.
Ultimately all romance novels, like all relationships, are about the question: "Can I trust this person?" In my books, the heroines often have really weird reasons to distrust their heroes. The hero may be a vampire, a werewolf, or a sexual dominant with a kinky streak.
I love writing stories about couples who find a way to trust each other despite all the very good reasons they have not to.
I know something about that kind of love in real life, because I've been married for 33 years to a handsome cop. If you look at any of my heroes, you'll find Mike Woodcock in all of them. He may not be a vampire, a werewolf, or a magical shape shifter, but he's there in my heroes' compassion, intelligence, and devotion to the women they love.
My newest hero is Jake Nolan, who, like my husband, is a sheriff's deputy. Unlike my husband, he has a psychic link to a magical African lion which allows him to draw on the lion's powers.  Heroine Erica Harris, another deputy, is a witch who served with Jake during the Caliphate War.
And for the past four years, Erica has struggled to find a balance between her need for Jake and her distrust of him and his unpredictable cat instincts...
Here's a taste of Chapter One...
It was sheer, stupid impulse, and she knew better. But when Deputy Erica Harris’s gaze fell on the Potions sign, she whipped her patrol car into the parking space that had just opened up along the sidewalk. For a moment she sat there, listening to the cooling engine tick and staring at the nighttime crowd hurrying on their way to dinner or drinks. “You really are an idiot.”
Shaking her head, she picked up her radio’s handset mic and clicked the button to radio dispatch. “Laurel County — Alpha 22, going 10-8 at Potions.”
“Ten-four, Alpha 22.” The dispatcher sounded bored. No surprise; it had been a slow night.
So now Jake knows where I am. Question is, will he show up?
Yeah, Potions was Jake Nolan’s favorite restaurant, and she hadn’t heard him go 10-8 — the Laurel County police code “for out of service” -- to take a dinner break. That didn’t mean he could or would take it now just because he knew where she was.
So go for it. Call the man and ask him to meet you
Yeah, no. Much as she wanted to see him again, only a masochistic twit would want another ride on the Nolan merry-go-round. The last time had damn near destroyed her.
Yet here she was, masochistic and twitty, with the need she’d felt for months threatening to overwhelm her sense of self-preservation.
Screw it. If he shows, he shows. If he doesn’t, I’m still hungry. Erica got out, cold March air stinging her cheeks. The Friday evening crowd surged around her, heading in and out of the bars and restaurants along Faraday Square. Her stomach growled, and she headed up the sidewalk toward Potions. She’d been too busy working a traffic accident to grab dinner. It was eight o’clock now, and she craved the greasy goodness of a cheeseburger combo.
Almost as much as contact with Jake Nolan. Two Mideast tours had turned the man into an addiction.
The thought of the war made her automatically check the crowd, though she shouldn’t have to worry about terrorist sorcerers in Laurel County, South Carolina.
Except that just last year, they’d had that polar bear Feral and his murderous witch wife. They did not need another Faraday Square Massacre.
Scanning the crowd, Erica opened her mind to her Talent. Her magical vision was so sensitive she didn’t even need to close her eyes to see the arcane energies surrounding all living things. Suddenly those around her wore glowing overlays of healthy blue and green, though splashes of red here and there indicated pain — headaches, feet hurting from pinching high heels. That poor bastard on the right probably had a bleeding ulcer; that shade of red wasn’t right for cancer.
All pretty standard. She started to close her Talent down…
A block ahead, someone moved out of the way, revealing a tall man. White exploded across his aura like a bomb blast.
Erica froze in mid-step. For an instant she was back in Iraq, watching helplessly as a Caliphate sorcerer detonated his suicide vest, its explosives amplified by intricate spells. The sorcerer’s aura had flared exactly that blinding white just before he’d blown up himself and a dozen innocents.
Too late, too late… Erica braced for the explosion.
It didn’t come.
This isn’t Iraq, dumbass. There’s still time! She lunged toward the man, dodging through the crowd, pushing people aside, ignoring startled shouts and drunken curses. No sign of a weapon blocking the shine of his aura – no black silhouettes of guns, knives, hand grenades, or a suicide vest’s wiring. Nothing but the shadows of zippers and buttons. I can stop him before he does whatever the hell he’s planning.
And he was planning something. Every time she’d ever seen that aural pattern, the person who displayed it tried to commit murder minutes later. The weapon might not be on him now, but it was somewhere nearby.
Erica thumbed the button on her body cam, activating the unit as she plowed ahead. Grabbing her shoulder mic, she keyed it. “Laurel Alpha 22, officer needs assistance in front of Potions on Faraday Square. Possible 10-68A.” Which was the ten-code for mentally ill suspect, possibly violent and armed. “White male, approximately six-three, weight 230 to 240, dark-haired, dressed in jeans and a black trench coat. Out with the subject.”
10-4, Laurel Alpha 22,” the Laurel County dispatcher replied. “Dispatching units.”
Here’s hoping they’re in time to do me any good, Erica thought, slowing to a cautious walk as she moved up behind the man. He had a good six inches on her, along with sixty or seventy pounds. On the other hand, she was good hand-to-hand, and the guy looked a bit chunky, which should slow him down.
Unfortunately, given the way his head was glowing with fifty shades of crazy, she wasn’t confident she’d come out of any fight on top. Not without shooting him, anyway.
She’d rather not shoot the unfortunate batshit bastard. Judging from the furious currents whirling around his head, he was already hip deep in hell. He needed help, not a bullet. She’d kill him if she had to — she’d certainly killed during the Caliphate War. Still, she’d rather avoid it, assuming she could do so without anyone innocent getting shot.
But if she gambled wrong…
Just as Erica was about to reach for him, Burning Man stepped off the sidewalk and started across the street. Meaty shoulders bunched, big hands curled into fists, he headed for the cars parked along the narrow strip of park that occupied the center of Faraday Square.
Weapon must be in his car. Erica’s hand tightened on her own pistol, her thumb on the snap of the retention holster. She didn’t draw the Glock. It would be way too easy to miss and kill an innocent bystander in this crowd.
“Sir!” Erica threw up a hand to stop oncoming traffic, then jogged across the street. “Sir, I need to speak to you.”
He didn’t turn, didn’t appear to hear her at all. The white blaze surrounding his brain intensified. I really don’t like the looks of that aura. It wasn’t just murderous-asshole-white. You could reason with a murderous asshole because he didn’t necessarily want to die.
Burning Man was I’m- going-to-die-and-take-you-all-with-me-white.
Yeah, this isn’t going to end well.
She was right behind him when he reached a battered Honda Civic, parked diagonally in a patch of darkness between the street lamps. As he paused to fish in his pocket for the keys, Erica slapped a hand down on the trunk with a hollow metallic bang. “Sir!”
Burning Man jumped, shying like a startled horse. She had to concentrate hard to see his face through the hectic shine of his aura against the night. His dark hair stood up in sweaty clumps, as if he’d been raking his fingers through it. He smelled of sweat and stale beer, and his round face was stubbled, as if he’d forgotten to shave a couple of days in a row. An intricate tattoo crawled up the side of his neck, something serpentine with wings.
“What?” He rocked back on his heels at the sight of her black Sheriff’s deputy uniform, and his eyes took on a hunted rat gleam. “I didn’t do nothin’!”
Yet. “You were jaywalking.”
He glowered. “You gotta be kidding me!”
“Crosswalk’s back that way. Can I see some ID?” She needed to distract him, derail him long enough for her backup to arrive. At least that murderous white had dimmed around his head, taking on a yellow tinge of fear. Burning Man could still blow, but she’d bought a minute or two.
Cursing, BM dipped in a pocket of his coat. She tensed, but he only pulled out his billfold and fumbled for his driver’s license. Still no sign of a gun.
Still no sign of probable cause either. The Supreme Court had ruled information gained through magical means about non-magical crimes wasn’t admissible in court. She badly wanted to draw on him, but he was unarmed and not visibly violent.
So instead she moved in closer and reached with her magic. Blue tendrils of her aura brushed his roiling energy, curled into it like fingers, trying to slow it down, cool it off.
Burning Man handed over his license with a shaking hand, his aura going a brighter yellow as his emotions shifted away from suicidal determination to the fear of going to jail.
Keeping her voice low and soothing as she wrapped her aura around him, Erica went into a cop’s questioning patter — who was he, where did he live, what was he doing in town. As she spoke, she dared a glance down at his license in the illumination of a nearby streetlamp. Assuming the information was accurate, his name was Richard Carson, twenty-eight, brown and blue, and he lived at 132 Mason Avenue in Cotton Ridge. “This address still correct?”
“Uh, yeah.” Carson fidgeted, rocking from foot to foot, his eyes darting.
“That’s forty-five minutes from here.” Erica said, though most of her attention was still on his aura as she fought to drag him back from the edge of violence. He was a little calmer, but he could still explode. Her head began to ache with the effort; he was too damned close to the edge.
“I was just going to get a beer,” Carson began. “I work at…” He broke off.
She sucked in a gasp as the pressure against her aura grew crushing.
Which was when she realized he was staring at the glee of the gold pentagram pin on her collar. An expression of fury dawned on his face, eyes narrowing, lips pulling off his teeth.
Oh, shit.
“Witch!” Carson’s aura flashed blinding white, detonating like a Molotov cocktail. “Witch!” And he dove at her.
Erica went for her gun…
Too late. All two hundred plus pounds of him plowed into her like a runaway truck. She hit the sidewalk flat on her back hard enough to click her teeth together. Tasting blood, she glimpsed a tattooed fist swinging at her head, threw up both arms in an automatic boxer’s block. Pain blazed up her forearms as his big inked knuckles thudded against them.
“Witch, fucking witch, trying to cast a fucking spell on me, I’m gonna kill you!” Screaming in fury, Carson loomed over her, raining punches at her head, his expression crazed, the whites showing all the way around his irises, lips peeled back from his teeth. She could only ball tighter behind her blocking forearms, pain blasting through bone every time he hit them. Waiting for an opening…
He paused an instant, frustrated at his inability to hit her…
Erica rammed her fist into his mouth hard enough to rock his head back on his shoulders. Wrapping her legs around his hips, she wrenched sideways, trying wrestle him off her. Dragging in a breath, she fought to gather more magic. If all else failed, she’d…
A fist the size of a canned ham powered past her guard. As it slammed into the side of her face, Erica saw stars and tasted blood. Oh, fuck this!
She reared up, slapped her palm against Carson’s forehead and fired a magical blast right into the center of his skull. Though she didn't have the power to knock him cold, she could induce a blinding burst of pain in his cerebral cortex.
With a startled scream, he rocked back on his knees. Erica planted a foot in the center of his chest and kicked him off her. He fell flat as she sprang to her feet, one hand going for her Taser…
The roar echoed off the surrounding buildings — a shattering leonine blast of sound that made them both jump.
Jake Nolan. And he sounded seriously pissed.
Oh, thank you, God. With the Feral in the fight, Carson didn’t have a prayer.
He knew it too. “Shit!” Pale-faced, terrified, the big man scrambled to his feet and ran for his life.
Despite her aching jaw, Erica dashed after him. Something gold and blazing bounded past her with another ear-ringing roar. Bystanders screamed in terror and started to run, fleeing in all directions. Probably remembering the polar bear…
Glowing like a halogen bulb, the magical African lion leaped, knocking Carson on his face and pinning him there with massive golden paws. The man writhed face-down on the pavement as he fought to escape, screaming, his voice cracking with terror. “Get off me! Getoffgetoff! Don’t eat me…!
“I’m not going to eat you, you idiot,” Jake growled back, magic giving his normal baritone an inhuman reverberation. Concentrating, Erica could just make out the familiar broad, muscular body inside the blazing shell of his cat. “But I am going to kick your ass if you don’t quit fighting me!”
“No no no…” With a sob, Carson went limp, his aura burning red with pain, probably from a combination of her blast and getting tackled by a fully manifested Feral. 
None of the red was intense enough to indicate serious injuries, though. Probably just bruised all to hell.
Squeezing his eyes shut, Carson started babbling about demon cats and witches interspersed with fragments of prayer. Waves of terrified yellow rolled across his field’s scarlet background. He really did think Jake was going to eat him.
Erica might have felt sorry for the crazy bastard, if she didn’t suspect he’d been planning mass murder.
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Monday, December 25, 2017

A Sample Lesson from my new class, "Brainstorming to Revision."

In this post, I'm sharing a lesson from my month-long online class "Brainstorming to Revision" at The class starts January 1, and includes 12 lessons posted on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, students are invited to post scenes for critique.
 I wrote this class while actually in the process of writing a 12,000 erotic short romance. The lessons explore how I worked through each step of the writing process, all the way from brainstorming the book, to creating the characters, to plotting and writing it -- all the way through revisions.  Materials will include the planning tools I've created  to plan and plot my books.
Brainstorm to Revision: Writing Short Erotic Paranormal Romances
Lesson 2: Brainstorming the Initial Idea
By Angela Knight
Note: I wrote these lessons a few years ago as I was in the process of working on “Chain of Kisses,” out now. As the lessons progress, you’ll see that my initial ideas changed radically as I developed the story. Often I have a plot in mind, only to realize that it doesn’t work. Then I have to go back and fix the plot holes. That’s just part of the process of writing.
As I became an experienced novelist, it became apparent to me that planning a story in detail saves time because you don’t have to backtrack.
It may seem that the pre-planning is a waste of time, and you should just start writing. But if you end up throwing away whole chapters because you didn’t think it through, you’ve actually wasted time.
When I’m doing something for Changeling or one of the other paranormal e-pub, the first question I ask myself is, “What would be fun (and erotic) to write?”
I already know this piece needs to be pretty short – 50 pages. (Note: at the time I was under contract with Berkley, and my editor wouldn’t have liked it if I did a paranormal novel for anyone else.) Plus, I need to slide this in before starting my novel. If I do ten pages a day, I can have it finished in five days. (I’ve done this recently, so I know it’s possible.)                      
My Mageverse novels are a bit grueling, so for this short story, I want to do something fun, where I can cut loose and have a good time.
If we’re talking 50 pages, I need a publisher that specializes in short and hot.  Changeling Press fits the bill, so I’ll go take a look at their submission guidelines, here:
According to the guidelines, they want: “Paranormal, Dark Fantasy, Urban Fantasy, Sci-Fi, Futuristic, BDSM, and Action/Adventure romantic love stories. All submissions must be targeted for at least one of these genres.
What's a Love Story? While there should be both highly erotic and romantic elements to the book, relationships and endings should be plot driven. We don't demand your characters trot off to get married at the end of the book, though we do ask for a HEA (Happy Ever After) or, in the case of serials, a HFN (Happy For Now).
Please keep in mind, we've only got one heat level. Over-the-top hot! We can handle anything you send us as long as it meets our guidelines! We do not accept simultaneous submissions. We do accept multiple submissions.
Length: We accept outside submissions from 10 to 28K for single titles. Serials from unsigned authors must be submitted as a completed set.”
Does their website get a lot of reader traffic? Do they publish at sites like Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and iTunes? The more traffic a site gets, the better the paycheck is. E-mail some of their authors and see whether they like the publisher and are treated well. Check them out with Preditors and Editors to see how they’re rated, here: That site has listings for both agents and editors.
Note: If you’re offered a contract, read it very carefully and make sure they don’t want to keep your pen name or something. If they do, see if you can strike the clause you don’t like; often they will. Check the details of the contract with a lawyer or agent if possible, or other writers if not. You can easily be screwed otherwise. (I have been, and it wasn’t fun.)
Remember that the lawyer who wrote the contract was working for the publisher, not you. He wrote the contract to give the publisher the advantage. You have to look out for you.
Pay particular attention to how quickly the contract says they’ll publish the book, when, and what percentage of sales you get paid and how often, and what happens to your rights if they go out of business before they publish it. Also, which rights do they want? Those details are the kind of thing that can bite you on the ass, so you need to be careful.
I’ve been writing for Changeling for many years, so I’m comfortable with them. They’re not going to go out of business, and I trust the publisher not to screw me.
Now that we know what market we’re targeting, let’s start brainstorming the book. I like to take a big whiteboard on an easel and just start writing down whatever comes to me, without criticizing the ideas, just letting them come. You can also brainstorm with Post-it notes on corkboard, or software on your computer, or a spiral notebook.  Hell, cocktail napkins. Whatever works.
In my case, I find that writing my ideas on the whiteboard often triggers other ideas, and soon I’m zooming right along. There’s something about those big words and my handy eraser that frees me to play with ideas.
I know I want to do a captor/captive story. I haven’t done one of those in a while, and they’re always fun. The bondage thing Changeling wants is built right in to a C/c, and if you add a big, sexy hero, you’ve got all you need to get my motor running. 
That last bit is really crucial to writing an erotic story. You can’t write something that doesn’t turn you on. For example, I’d never try to do a ponygirl story. Women playing at being horses just doesn’t do a damned thing for me. Not that there’s anything wrong with that -- it just doesn’t hit my buttons.
You need to identify what’s really hot to you, because that’s what you’re going to write best.
You also need to be honest with yourself about whether you can write erotic romance. Some people just don’t want to reveal their deepest sexual desires to utter freaking strangers. Like me telling this list I like bondage. Hey, Angela Knight is KINKY!  (Like you didn’t know that just from reading Jane’s Warlord.)
If writing hot sex makes you squirm and imagine the reaction of your preacher, priest or rabbi, don’t do it. You won’t be able to pull it off. You’ll be happier writing more traditional romances, and you’ll do it more effectively and believably.
Once you have the basic subgenre and conflicts, start with the obvious questions. WHY is she a captive? Why would a hero TAKE her captive? He’s got to have a good, heroic reason, or he’s not going to be sympathetic. And if he’s not sympathetic, the story won’t work. In 50 pages, you don’t have a lot of time to set up the characters. They’ve got to be instantly likeable as well as hot. You don’t have time to do a big growth arc from asshole to good guy. That might work in a novel, but not in 12,000 words.
Sometimes this stuff doesn’t come in a logical progression. As you brainstorm, you may see connections and come up with ways to strengthen the conflicts. Then you’ll have to go back and work those into the plot.
This is what I wrote down as I brainstormed the book last week. The italics are my commentary for this lesson.
Why is she a captive?
Hostage against someone’s behavior?
War prize? He won and demanded her as his payment for not destroying her people?
Why HER? Maybe she is an enemy general/princess.
He is from a culture where men and women take sexual captives and practice dominance. (Note that it’s not just MEN practicing dominance. I wouldn’t want to live in a completely male dominated society, because it would drive me nuts. I just want to play submissive games in the bedroom, so I need to set up a more-or-less believable reason for the hero and heroine to do that. This is, after all, fantasy.)
As the story opens, she is bound and waiting for him to approach. She is aroused but pissed. (I can really FEEL the potential in that scene. Imagine being all tied up as a big, sexy guy strides across the bedroom, his schlong leading the way…. YUM!)
Is this TMI?  Ah, deal with it.
Futuristic.  I like writing futuristics for Changeling, because Berkley limits me to straight contemporary paranormal. When I get to play, I want to do something different. Besides, when you’re doing something like bondage, which has so many explosive political implications, you’re better off setting the story on another planet. Then you can just enjoy the fantasy without worrying about your NOW membership.
He is hyper masculine. His people are very aggressive. They want mates who have proven their intelligence and skill in battle. He became fascinated by her when he fought her, which is why he decided to go after her.
How did he fight her? Hand to hand wouldn’t work; he would have kicked her ass, unless she’s got super powers. He’s a big guy, and he knows how to fight.
Maybe she’s a ship’s captain, and their ships battled in space. Female Captain Kirk type, swashbuckling, has had a string of lovers. (I don’t like virgin heroines when I’m writing a guy that dominant. A meek little virgin just wouldn’t be a proper opponent for him. They must be equals, at least mentally, for a romantic conflict to work. Otherwise he just runs all over her, which means he’ll come off as a bully. A romance between a bully and a rag doll is just no damned fun at all.)
Thing is, I have already done a captor/captive with two ship’s captains before. (“Roarke’s Prisoner” in Secrets 2 for Red Sage, which was my very first published romance.) So I have to find a way to give it a twist.
Maybe they’re royalty. She’s the youngest daughter of the empress on a matriarchal planet. He’s the king of a neighboring empire. At one time, they were engaged, but she called it off because she was unnerved by her strong reaction to his dominance. He was aware of her reaction, and swore to have her anyway. She threatened to leave the empire and become a pirate if they forced her to wed him.
Ehhhh. Not sure that works. He sounds like an asshole, and she’s no better.
Continuing to brainstorm…
They have known each other since childhood, when they visited one another’s palaces during various events. As a child, she had a crush on him. He was older, handsome, dashing. They were engaged when she was two and he was fifteen – one of those royal treaty things. (When you’re doing a story this short, it’s a good idea for the characters to be in love to start with. It’s very hard to get strangers to love in 12,000 words. Giving them a romantic past solves the problem. The story’s conflict is how they overcome whatever has been keeping them apart all these years.)
At 17, he went into his empire’s military, where he got a reputation as a fierce warrior while fighting off an attempted invasion by reptilian invaders.
When she was 17 and he was 30, they were supposed to get married. But she found him so intimidating and dominant, she broke it off and ran. The result caused a rift between their empires. Ten years have gone by. He is now 40 and she’s 27. She’s a mercenary ship’s captain. (I do a lot of mercs, because it’s a good way to involve a hero/heroine in someone else’s war.)
He attacked her ship and defeated her in combat. He then demanded her surrender in return for the safety of her ship’s crew. Under the treaty between their people, he feels he’s still entitled to have her.
Ehhhh. I’m Not Happy. He’s still an asshole, and I don’t like the idea of marrying a 30-year-old to a kid. He ought to understand why someone that young would get unnerved and run, given the kind of Alpha Male he is. What would give him a good reason to take her sexual captive ten years later?
When she was five and he was fifteen (making her older and him younger so the age difference is reduced), her mother, the planetary empress, engaged the heroine to the hero, who is the son of the emperor of a neighboring planet. The mother’s planet was being menaced by an alien race of reptilian warriors who were on the verge of invading and killing everybody. The treaty gave her planet protection against the invaders; the hero’s father, the emperor, declared war on the lizards and drove them back out of his empire. The hero went to war and fought the aliens. He became a war hero and conquered several planets during the next twelve years.
Now it’s a little more understandable. A lot of his people (maybe his best friend?) died protecting hers over that treaty, and she spat on it by chickening out and running away. No wonder he’s pissed. But now she’s the asshole; I have to work on that.
When it’s time for her to get married to him when she’s 17, (which makes him 27, which sounds a little better), her sister, the heiress to the throne, tells the heroine the elder sister wants him. The sister is a bit older and a little slutty. The hero does something (I have to figure out what; maybe the heroine saw him having really dominant sex with someone. Her sister? No, that would be kinda asshole on his part. Somebody else. He doesn’t know she saw them.)
This incident freaked her out. She ran, rationalizing that her sister would marry him and everybody would be happy. But he wanted nothing to do with the sister; he wanted HER. The treaty was salvaged when the sister married his younger brother, but it was a great scandal, and the hero was PISSED.
The heroine assumed a false identity as a spacer, then later became a mercenary captain. He has been hunting her ever since; it’s a matter of honor now.  Too many warriors died for her world and SHE OWES HIM, DAMMIT.
I’m still not happy about her. Running away was cowardly.
The fact that she ran away from him has been eating at her for years. In retrospect, she bitterly wishes she’d married him as she was supposed to. Her cowardice almost resulted in the destruction of her people. Besides, he’s been a subject of her secret fantasies for years. So when he captures her, she’s secretly delighted, though she’s also outraged by his gall and a little frightened about what he intends to do.
Now this is a little more understandable. Most of us have done something when we were kids that we regret, so I think readers will be more inclined to cut her some slack. This is also why I need to keep the age difference. If she were 20 when they were first supposed to marry, it wouldn’t work at all.
So that’s my initial process. I come up with a rough idea, and then start brainstorming reasons for the characters’ actions that the reader can understand and sympathize with. I also rough in the idea for the paranormal world, but not in great detail. I figure out just enough to go on to the next step.
Now I need to nail down the characterization for the hero and heroine before I can brainstorm the plot. So the next lesson will be on creating the hero.
Any questions?
Oh, and I’ll do a crit for the first two people to submit rough plot ideas. First come, first served. 
Angela Knight
Thanks for reading. I hope you'll join me!