Midnight Sisters: Meet the Gentlemen

Twelve noblewomen, two smitten gardeners, and one angry father.

In the Midnight Sisters: Meet the Ladies series, we learned about each of the twelve noblewomen featured in Midnight Sisters. But what about the men? They're just as important as the women they love and fiercely protect. Today Jonas, Braden, and Lord Bromhurst take the spotlight to reveal their secrets. Who's in love, who's a horrible poet, and who is still mourning love lost? Read to find out!

* * *

Jonas

Philip growled at the plant before him.

“Is there something particularly irritating about that rose bush, sir?” I asked.

He let out a hmph, shoved his bangs out of his eyes, and turned his glare on me. “Women.”

I squinted at him. “Women, sir?”

“Yes,” he growled out, stabbing violently at the rose bush with a trowel.

“Anything specific you’d like to impart on the subject?” When I’d first come to his estate, I wouldn’t have dreamed of baiting my master in this way. But I knew the plants would take the brunt of his ill humor.

“A good woman is worth her weight in gold, Jonas.” He pushed his bangs out of his eyes again. “But she will probably never let you forget it.” He jabbed at the plant again. “And neither will her sister.”

I nodded slowly and turned my attention back to weeding. “Enlightening, sir.”

“Two weeks and you’ll be off on a new adventure, Jonas.” He didn’t look up from his work. “Mind you keep your head down and don’t flirt.”

I thought of the new position he’d procured for me in a household so much more grand than his own. “The Earl of Bromhurst’s daughters are said to be very beautiful.”

“Each more beautiful than the last. More reason to keep your nose clean,” he grumbled. “Who needs a hoity toity noblewoman in his life?”

A grin tugged at my lips. “Even if she’s very, very beautiful?”

He scoffed. “Find yourself a willing milkmaid, Jonas.” A sardonic gleam burned in his eye. “And watch out for bossy kitchen wenches.”

* * *

Braden

I wadded up another sheet of paper and tossed it on the growing pile. It just wasn’t right. She was the most perfect woman I’d ever laid eyes on. I couldn’t offer her something less than perfect. 

I began again:

Fairest Lady,

With skin is of purest snow,

Hair of burnished gold,

Whose eyes the brighter glow,

Within such mysteries hold.

If I could let you know

Your hand in mine enfold . . .

Told? Bold? Show? Flow? Blech. I tore the paper down the middle and crumbled it like all the rest.

“Braden!” the voice boomed behind me. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Gregor glared at me from the doorway. I found few things intimidating, but that eyebrow inching upward was certainly one of them.

“Um . . .” I fished for a plausible lie. Another plausible lie. “Just writing my mother, sir.”

He growled. “You should know better than to waste paper, boy. We’re given a strict allowance.” He motioned to the pile of discarded sheets. “That is coming out of your wages.”

I nodded in agreement. “Yes, sir.”

“Clean up this mess and report to your post.”

“Of course, sir.” I offered up what I hoped was an innocent smile. His footsteps retreated and I turned my attention back to penning the perfect love note.

Hours later, I signed my name at the bottom. If she didn’t favor me, I was signing my own dismissal letter. What else could I do? I folded up the single sheet and scrawled her name on the front.

* * *

Lord Bromhurst

Twelve empty beds. At midnight. 

I ran a hand through my hair, wishing I could rip it out by the roots. Katherine’s patient face flitted through my mind. My heart panged, at war with the anger coursing through my veins. She would have had the answer. Katherine would have known what to do with twelve unruly daughters.

“Why did you have to leave me?” I whispered. It was the question that had plagued me for over a decade. I would never know the answer. And day by day, our daughters were becoming more and more willful. The empty beds, all perfectly made with crisp corners and plump pillows, mocked me. Innocent, proper, and completely disconcerting at the same time.

“Your Lordship?” one of the menservants called tentatively from the doorway.

I cocked an eyebrow. “Yes?”

I could tell he wanted to shuffle his feet under my glare but he held himself erect all the same. “What would you like us to do?” 

What would you have done, Katherine? I sent the silent plea heavenward. As usual, the heavens remained silent. I would have to manage on my own. A sigh gushed out of me. “Alert the staff. My daughters are missing. They must be found at once.”

“At once, My Lord.” He offered a small bow before turning to leave.

“And when I find them . . .” My hands clenched at my side. Anger solidified in the pit of my stomach like a rock.

The servant turned back. “Pardon me, My Lord? What was that?”

“Nothing,” I grumbled.

* * *

Author's Secrets: Jonas's scene occurs during the finals scenes of Becoming Beauty. As I prepared Becoming Beauty for publishing, I was already chapters into the first draft of Midnight Sisters. Since Jonas was a gardener, it seemed fitting that he should have a place in Becoming Beauty's rose garden. So yes, you can find a teenage Jonas Selkirk in Becoming Beauty's finale.

Read more about the twelve sisters in the Midnight Sisters: Meet the Ladies series:

Meet the Sisters I (Ariela, Brisella, Canela)

Meet the Sisters II (Daniela, Estella and Frizella)

Meet the Sisters III (Gisella, Hayla, Isella, and Janela)

Meet the Sisters IV (Krisela and Larela)

For the full story, order your own copy of Midnight Sisters or Becoming Beauty on Amazon. Contact me directly if you'd like a signed novel. (FYI a special discount will be offered for anyone ordering both novels through me.)

Happy summer reading! Thanks for dropping by! 

Midnight Sisters: Meet the Ladies III

Women are rarely at a loss for words. The Midnight Sisters certainly never are. 

Join the triplets and Lady Janela as they reveal secrets about themselves and their history. When the triplets are on the scene, someone is bound to be injured and/or maimed. For the first part of Janela's scene, read about her adventure with Daniela in Midnight Sisters: Meet the Sisters II.

* * *

Ladies Gisella, Hayla, & Isella

“It’s mine!” Gisella snatched the toy horse from Hayla and bopped her on the head with it. Hard. Hayla began crying at the top of her lungs.

“Meanie!” Isella screeched, grabbing at the horse. Gisella yanked back. Isella let go of the toy and it smashed into her sister’s cheek. Gisella erupted into tears.

Poor toy horse. Stubby bits hung from its hind end where the tail should be. Did I imagine the pained look on its wooden face?

“Markus!” From the sharp edge in her voice, I could tell it wasn’t the first time Mrs. Jenkins had called my name.

“Yes, Mrs. Jenkins?”

She cradled a blubbering Gisella in her arms. The girl sported a goose egg on her forehead and the beginnings of a nasty bruise on her cheek. The look on Mrs. Jenkins’s face said, When will they hire a proper nanny? “I’m taking Lady Gisella inside to have her seen to. Will you mind the other two, Markus?”

My spine went rigid. The thought of being alone with the miniature monsters terrified me to my core. My wooden lips formed the words anyway, “Of course, Mrs. Jenkins.” 

* * *

Ladies Hayla & Isella

The two small girls blinked up at me, their eyes round and brimming with innocence.

“Ladies,” I nodded down at them, forcing my lips into a smile. I straightened my livery and tucked my hands behind my back. They could probably smell fear.

“Want to play?” Isella shook the toy horse. I could have sworn the horse leered at me.

I swallowed. “Of course, Lady Isella.” I dropped into a squat before her. Isella trotted the horse over my knees, making various snorting noises.

“No!” Hayla snatched the toy from her sister. “Horsey say, ‘niegh, neigh!’” She pranced Horsey in the air to demonstrate.

Rage glimmered in Isella’s eyes and her rosebud mouth tightened into a dot. Dread pooled in my stomach. “He’s mine!” she screamed and grabbed for the toy. Was it just my imagination or did Horsey flinch? Hayla kept a tight hold on the toy. Back and forth Horsey went. Then with a mighty heave, Isella yanked the horse from her sister’s grasp and let out a cry of triumph. 

But it was too soon. She had pulled too hard. The toy arced through the air, flying out of her grasp. It fell impossibly slow.

My first instinct was to protect the girls. I covered each of their heads with an arm. I tipped my head upward.

“Owwwww!” I howled, clapping a hand to my eye. Tears poured down my face. “I can’t see! I can’t see!” Small people scurried off. At the same moment a larger form shuffled up to me. 

Mrs. Jenkins sighed. “Oh, Markus. Will you never learn?” 

* * *

Lady Janela
My younger sisters tootled over. Their matching pink frocks made them look sweet, I thought. But their cranky expressions and smelly diapers did not. Daniela had gone inside, leaving me to clean up the mud pie mess. And deal with the triplets.

“Hello, girls,” I said brightly, trying not to frown at the smell they brought with them.

“Jani?” one of the tiny terrors said. She reached a grubby hand into the mud-caked can and drew forth a brown-speckled palm.

“No!” I grabbed the hand before she popped it in her mouth. I wiped it on my muddy apron.

Her lip quivered and her large eyes filled with tears. Her mouth opened and a loud waaaah came out. The other two girls picked up the cue and began crying too. I clapped my hands to my ears and squeezed my eyes shut. Why did Dani have to leave? I’d have to do something myself.

“Want a tweat, girls?” I pointed toward the pan containing our mud pie. It looked good enough to eat.

“Ooh,” another of the terrors cooed, shuffling over to where the pie sat baking in the sun. The other two left off crying to investigate.

I swiped a finger over the mud pie and popped it into my mouth. “Mmmm . . .” Dirt clung to my tongue. I tried not to choke on it.

The first sister thrust a fat hand into the mixture. One of the other triplets grabbed her by the hair and pulled her backwards. More crying followed as the first sister landed flat on her bottom. The third triplet shoved both of them out of the way to get to the pie. She planted her face in it. The other two attacked, wailing as they dragged at her pink frock to get a taste of pie.

Engrossed in the treat and resulting tussle, they didn’t see me sneak off. Their wailing grew quieter as they gorged themselves on our latest creation. I smothered my grin with one hand. I couldn’t wait to tell Dani. 

* * * 

Learn more about the Midnight Sisters' adventures in Midnight Sisters: Meet the Ladies I, Midnight Sisters: Meet the Ladies II, and Midnight Sisters: Meet the Ladies IV. 

Read the whole story in Midnight Sisters, now available on Amazon. Please contact me directly if you'd like a signed copy!

  

Midnight Sisters: Meet the Ladies II

No matter how long the book may be, there is always more story to tell. Midnight Sisters is no different. 

We've already read about Ari, Bree, and Cinnamon and the romance, sorrow, and high jinks of their past, today Lady Daniela and the twins, Estella and Frizella, take the stage. Whenever the twins are on the scene, mischief is sure to follow, but studious, mild-mannered Daniela may surprise you as well. 

* * *

Lady Daniela

“The recipe says to add more.”

Janela turned wide eyes on me.

“Don’t worry. It will be fine,” I reassured her.

With one dimpled hand, she dropped another handful of powder into the can.

“Now mix until well combined,” I directed.

Janela inserted the long-handled spoon into the can and began to stir. The ingredients clanked disconcertingly against the sides. Janela stopped and peered into the can. Her eyebrows scrunched together. “Mo’ wata?”

I peered into the can. “You’re right, it does need more water.” I dumped a cupful of water into the can.

Janela continued to stir, stopping only occasionally to make sure the mixture was coming together. “Weaves?” she asked.

“Yes, I’ve prepared the leaves,” I said, motioning to the herbs I’ll filched from the kitchen gardens. “Let’s place it in the pan first.”

Janela nodded. She pulled out the tin pan Cook had given us and proceeded to dump the batter into it. The mixture glooped and clunked into the pan. Janela’s nose crinkled up. “Gwoss.”

“It just needs to be smoothed out.” I applied the long-handled spoon to the mixture and worked away at it until no lumps remained. “Better?”

“Yeth,” Janela lisped. At four-years-old, she still hadn’t mastered s. “Weaves now?”

I passed her the leaves. Together we placed them atop the batter in a pleasing pattern. “Now it looks like a proper pie.”

“Bake it?” Janela asked.

I consulted the directions scrawled on the page. “It says, ‘leave in the sun for four days or until firm.’”

Janela nodded again. “Tathte it?”

I shook my head, my own nose crinkling up. “We don’t eat mud pies, Jani, no matter now pretty they are.”

A mischievous look crossed her round face. “The girls?”

“The triplets?” I thought of the tiny menaces in their matching outfits. From the whining, crying, and screaming issued from nearby, someone was pulling someone’s hair and someone else needed a diaper change.

I grinned back at Jani. “I think they’d love a taste.”

Jani’s burbling giggle filled the air, so infectious I had to join in.

* * *

Lady Estella

We bent our heads together. “There has to be one someplace,” I whispered. “This place is too big.” We had been in the manor for one month. One whole month and we still couldn’t find any secret passageways.

“It’s like a fairy tale, Essie.” She patted a well-worn book fondly, her eyes twinkling at me. “Or a mystery.”

“And we love mysteries.” We said together, sharing identical grins.

“If only we had a fairy godmother . . .” I mused.

Fritz spread the handmade map between us. “We’ve looked here.” She pointed at the attic.

“And there.” I motioned toward the servants’ staircase.

“And in the ballroom.”

“Remember how we almost got caught?” Her shoulders shook with silent giggles, just as they had when we ducked behind the curtains before Father strode by.

I clapped a hand over my mouth to muffle my own laughter. 

Fritz’s grin faded as she turned back to the map. “Hmmm . . . maybe in the kitchens?”

“Then we’d have to talk to Cook,” I replied. “She’s no fairy godmother.”

“And we probably couldn’t talk her out of a treat.” She propped her chin on her fist. “It’s not fair. She makes the best cookies.”

“Mmmm . . .” we said in unison. “Cookies.”

I grinned. “The pantry would be the perfect spot for a secret passageway!”

Essie’s eyes grew wide. “Or a cookie jar!”

“Let’s do it!” I rolled up the map and hurried after my sister. Hand in hand, we tiptoed down the servants’ stairs and toward the kitchen. We paused outside to listen and peep in the door. Kitchen girls and servants scuttled in all directions. We waited until they were all distracted. At the same moment, we looked at one another and mouthed, “Now!” Together we crept into the kitchens.

* * *

Lady Frizella

Minutes later we rushed outdoors, our hands full of cookies and our bellies full of laughter. We ran over the grounds and climbed up our favorite tree, the one directly in front of our rooms. We stuffed our mouths with Cook’s delicious cookies and laughed in triumph.

“Cook must have magical powers,” Essie said, licking the crumbs off of her fingertips.

“Maybe. But it’s not enough to keep her treats safe from us,” I replied, stuffing the last cookie in my mouth.

Essie took the map from me, shook off the crumbs, and spread it across her lap. “It just doesn’t make sense. We’ve looked everywhere.”

I looked over at the bank of windows before us, trying to piece the puzzle together. Then I squinted at the map. “Wait a minute . . . does that look wrong to you?”

Essie huffed. “Fritz, you know the map’s not to scale. Father wouldn’t allow us to use his tools. ‘What use would nine-year-olds have with cartography instruments?’”

“It isn’t that,” I hurried to explain. “Look at the outside wall. Doesn’t it seem too . . . wide?”

She followed my gaze. “I never noticed that before. Let’s go investigate!”

We scrambled down the tree and flew over the lawns. The unrolled map flapped behind us. A quick trip up the stairs brought us to our rooms. Luckily all our sisters and maidservants were out.

The air whooshed out of me when I faced the wall. It looked the same as all the rest. “I guess I was wrong, Es.”

“Just a minute.” Essie ran her hands over the wall, then began tapping. She turned wide eyes to me when the sound changed.

“It’s hollow!” we crowed.

I joined my sister, tapping until I found something else. “Essie, it’s colder!” She placed her hand where mine had been, on the place where the outside wall joined the back wall and moved her palms up and down slowly. After a moment, a gentle click sounded. Part of the wall moved, opening outward onto a dim chamber.

Our eyes met. Together we whispered, “The secret passageway!” 

Maybe we had a fairy godmother after all.

* * *

Revisit Lord Bromhurst's eldest daughters in Midnight Sisters: Meet the Ladies I. Also, read about all the rest of the sisters in Midnight Sisters: Meet the Ladies III and Meet the Ladies IV. And as always, you can claim your own copy of Midnight Sisters on Amazon or you can contact me for a signed copy.

Thanks for reading! More sister adventures are on the way!

Midnight Sisters: Meet the Ladies I

Each of Lord Bromhurst's twelve daughters has her own chapter in Midnight Sisters. However, that's barely enough to express who she is or to explain the unique role she fills in her family.

That's why I crafted mini scenes featuring each of the main characters for Midnight Sisters' blog tour. Each scene reveals something new about each of the three of the sisters. Today, Ladies Ariela, Brisella, and Canela are on display.

* * *

Lady Ariela

I clutched her hand between mine and blinked to hold back the tears. She shifted on her pillows, a tiny sigh escaping. The angel smile lit her face but pain nestled in the fine wrinkles about her eyes.

“Ari.” The word was barely more than a breath. “I’m so sorry, my darling. I wish I could stay.”

I bit my lip to hold the sob in. She reached a shaking hand out to tuck an errant lock of hair behind my ear.

“But you are stronger than you think.” She cupped my chin in her palm and stroked a cool finger over my cheek.

A fat tear squeezed out and trickled down my cheek. She wiped it away.

“You are strong enough for your sisters and your father, my dear.”

A deluge of tears poured down my face. I choked out the words, “I can’t do it without you.”

Pain dragged at her features as she leaned forward to place a kiss on my forehead. Her lips were cool against my brow. “You have a strong heart, Ari. Follow its call. It will not lead you amiss.”

She sank back into her pillows and her eyelids flitted shut. The angel expression settled over her face, banishing any hint of pain. The grip on my hand faltered.

“Mother . . .” The word, laced with sorrow, fell from my lips. With Father already grieving her loss and twelve daughters, the youngest still an infant, how would we survive without her?

* * *

Lady Brisella

The carriage drew up the drive, pulling to a stop in front of the entryway. My father’s chest puffed out the way it always did when someone of higher rank appeared. I had seen it before. The “parade of noblemen” as Ari referred to it, had begun in my teenage years. It had been exciting and wonderful to meet gentlemen who’d come with the express purpose of wooing. It took far too long to realize that they hadn’t come to woo me. They wooed my father and the dowry attached to my name. Today would be no different.

The elderly gentlemen stepped out first, a broad smile spanning his round face. At least he seemed friendly.

Father’s voice boomed with pride. “Ladies, the Earl of Gillingham. Lord Gillingham, I present my daughters.”

His voice droned on. My attention snagged on the carriage as the next occupant stepped down. My breath hitched in my throat. Fine clothes hung on an even finer frame. Dark hair. Dark eyes. What was it about deep brown eyes that stripped me down to nothing? I forced all the air out of my lungs to dispel the warmth wrapping fingers around my heart.

“And this is my son, Lord Richard Comstock.” The Earl’s eyes crinkled. His son smiled, the same crinkles ringed his eyes and warmed his expression.

My heart thudded in my chest. Between Ariela, who overflowed with mystery and intellect, and Canela who overflowed with passion and charm, what hope did I have? He would never look at me.

Before I was ready, his hand closed over mine. A zing ran up my arm as he pressed a kiss to my hand. A tiny gasp slipped from my lips. Those brown eyes, reflecting the same surprise I felt, flicked up to my face. For two heartbeats we shared a look.

“A pleasure to meet you, Lady Brisella.” A crooked smile twisted his mouth.

My father hustled him along. Lord Richard watched me from the corner of his eye as he bent over the hand of my sister Canela.

“Are you all right?” Ariela whispered.

I watched Lord Richard’s progress down the line of my sisters. “I hardly know.”

“What happened?”

Nothing. Everything. I shook my head slowly. How could I explain what I didn’t understand?

She squeezed my arm until I looked at her. Her eyes brimmed with excitement. “It's him, isn't it?”

My gaze was drawn back to Lord Richard, who had nearly reached Frizella. He still watched me from the corner of his eye. The word slipped out in a whisper. “Yes.”

* * *

 Lady Canela

“Cinnamon,” my younger sister, Estella, whined. “You cheated! Again!”

I sniffed and tipped my chin upward. “It’s only cheating if you get caught.”

Estella shared a look with Frizella.

“Besides,” I continued, “it’s my game. I make the rules.” I flicked a red lock of hair over my shoulder.

Frizella shared a look with Estella. Together they said, “But you agreed to the bet.”

I pursed my lips. “Then naturally I’d do anything to win.”

“Including flirting with the stable boys,” Frizella accused.

“And bribing our ladies’ maids with sweets,” Estella added.

“It’s not my fault they’ve no loyalty to you.” I replied, examining my nails.

They turned identical glares on me. “You cheated,” they said in unison. “Now you owe us ribbon money.”

I don’t care what anyone said, it was creepy when they did that. “I owe you nothing. Johnny brought me flowers, didn’t he? Just like I said he would. I won the bet fair and square.”

“But he was our boyfriend!” they wailed.

I folded my arms over my chest. “It’s time you learn something, girls. If something belongs to you, you don’t let go of it. Ever.”

The sounds of blubbering began. “Now, if you don’t mind, I believe Johnny is waiting for me in the woods. Good afternoon, girls.”

* * *

Stay tuned to meet the next three sisters! Daniela, Estella, and Frizella are sure to get up to some type of mischief. In the third installment, Janela and the triplets bring the drama, and in the final installment Krisella and Larela learn about first love . . . 

For the whole story, grab your copy of Midnight Sisters on Amazon today. Contact me if you'd like a signed copy! Thanks for dropping by!

Calling All {Book} Bloggers!

I'm pleased to announce the Blog Tour for my second Young Adult novel, Midnight Sisters. a twist on the fairytale classic The Twelve Dancing Princesses.

The blog tour will run from January 9th through the 20th, and will feature each of the main characters. That means all twelve troublesome noblewomen and two rather smitten gardeners will have their moment in the limelight. The blog tour will culminate in the Midnight Sisters book launch at Endless Indulgence of Ogden on January 21st.

In conjunction with the blog tour, Midnight Sisters will be released in paperback and eBook, Becoming Beauty in eBook will be on sale for 99 cents, and I'll hold various giveaways and run other special promotions for both books.

Here's the line up for the Midnight Sisters blog tour:

January 9: R.K. Grow
January 10: Blooming with Books
January 11: Eclectic Alli (Passionate Geek Feature)
January 11: Mel's Shelves
January 12: Adrienne Quintana
January 12: A Backwards Story
January 13: Bookworm Lisa
January 13: Perfect Beginnings
January 14: Cindy C. Bennett
January 15: Inkings and Notions
January 16: Wishful Endings
January 16: Corinne's Garden
January 17: Katie's Clean Book Collection
January 18: Literary Timeout
January 19: The Phantom Paragrapher
January 20: Let It Be & Celebrate

All the amazing bloggers, authors, book reviewers, and writers who participated in Becoming Beauty's blog tour in 2014 have been invited to take part in The Midnight Sisters Blog Tour, but anyone who is interested is encouraged to participate too. If you'd like to claim a date for the blog tour, contact me via email using the buttons on the sidebar, on my Facebook Author Page, via Twitter, or by leaving a comment below.

Also, feel free to peruse the websites and blogs of the tour participants listed above. Who knows? You may find your next favorite read! A huge thanks to all of them for so eagerly coming on board. Also, thanks once again to Cindy Iverson for her gorgeous blog tour banner design.

The Making of a Woman

Misconceptions about womanhood are played out in books and on the big and small screen all the time.  To believe that emphasizing the attractiveness of a woman's face or the firmness of her thighs will have no effect on how men view women or how young women see themselves is a lie.

Writers who perpetuate such misconceptions do a disservice to womankind.

Lately, I've been editing my version of The Twelve Dancing Princesses featuring a dozen distinct female characters. The journey from character sketch to final scene taught me a great deal about what makes a woman.

Let me tell you, it ain't those size 0 jeans. (Especially if the lady in question happens to be fond of chocolate. Or human.)

And it certainly isn't a blemish-free face. We earned those wrinkles with years of laughter and tears, didn't we? 
Could it be the sweet, patient woman who holds her tongue when perturbed? Perhaps.

But it could just as easily be the sharp-tongued lass who gives as good as she gets.

Might it be the glowing wit that leaves a room rolling with laughter? Maybe.

But it might also be she who delivers speeches that inspire, uplift, and move a room to tears and brave acts.

Being a woman may include a heart worn on a sleeve for all to see and abuse. It may include a tough skin built to guard a soft heart from hurt.

True womanhood encompasses a number of human foibles, mistakes and missteps that make a character human, lovable, and more understanding of others.
The women featured in literature should be a reflection of the mothers, grandmothers, sisters, and wonderful aunties in our lives. Good, bad, interesting, bland. Real. And more than a pretty face and an itty bitty dress size or a big bottom and a penchant for donuts.

Because that doesn't define us.

Real women are driven by love, pain, anger, jealousy, protectiveness, loyalty, and a myriad of other things. Shouldn't they have a place in literature? Shouldn't they have a chance to shape the way men think about us or what young women learn to value in themselves?

The more complex, intriguing woman I transform from  fairytales princesses who suck up the abuse only to become trophy wivee into complex, intriguing women, the better I feel. Isn't it time to stand up for real women with saddle bags, rings under their eyes, and no energy? Isn't it time to celebrate motherhood and dirty diapers and potty training? Isn't it time to celebrate women who work their butts off to make a difference in the world?

* * *

Thanks for dropping by! Feel free to leave me a comment and share your tips on crafting female characters. And if you'd love to read more about writing awesome heroes, peruse away!
Develop Sassy Heroes by Being One
Barbie's Dream Boat
Classic Heroines: Anne of Green Gables
The Power of Fairytales
Fairytales & Fancy Footwear
Diva Depressed
Funny Girls: Hostile Makeover

Anti-Heroes

They're the ruthless characters we love to gasp at, wonder what they'll do next, and if it will help or hinder the hero. Bring. It. On.

Long before I knew they were actually anti-heroes, I admired these spunky, obnoxious, slightly dark, self-serving characters. Movies especially make these characters alluring, funny, and real. 

Rumplestiltskin Once Upon A Time has done an amazing job of breathing new life into this traditional mischief-maker. We hate him. We love him. But we have to keep watching because who knows what side he'll be on next.

The Arrow In the first two seasons of the CW's Arrow, Stephen Amell played the perfect anti-hero. Who knew if he'd save your life or kick your...um....well, you get the point. Damaged and slightly unhinged, we only knew we couldn't look away. (Especially when his shirt was off.)

Han Solo Seriously, what girl didn't love Han Solo? Selfish, disheveled, self-centered, and always concerned with what's in it for him, Somehow that didn't make him less attractive. (Really, Luke Skywalker is positively boring next to him.)

Shrek Until Shrek arrived on the scene with his tasteless jokes and questionable motives, I didn't know what true love was. Granted, eventually he becomes the hero we always wanted...but then he just turned back into a flatulant ogre, which is the way we like him anyway.

Snape I spent the first five books hating him only to discover that he's the dark hero of the entire flipping series. Well played, JK Rowling, well played. Harry never would have grown into his own powers without such a fierce protector behind him. (And we judged him on his preference for black and his greasy mop of hair. Tragic, really.)

Sherlock Oh yes, Sherlock Holmes is the ultimate anti-hero who gets in his own way as often as he gets in everyone else's. But why wouldn't we love an ultra-intelligent, handsome, fearless character? (Unless we have to share a flat with him. Poor, poor John. That ego can't be easy to live with.)

Wolverine He's one of my personal favorites. Hunky, moody, foul-mouthed, damaged, and ready for any fight that comes his way. At his core is a nugget of loyalty. He'd make an interesting boyfriend...

Loki The God of Mischief can't be anything but an anti-hero. Every action, whether noble or cowardly, is spurred by a self-serving motive. His admonition to Thor rings true in nearly every instance, Are you ever not going to fall for that?

Anti-heroes are after delightfully human (except Loki) and often more relatable than traditional heroes. I've yet to write an anti-hero into a book, but it's only a matter of time before I sneak one in. After all, my next project is Rumplestiltskin...

Who are your favorite anti-heroes? Leave me a comment, and as always, thanks for dropping in! (Feel free to throw some ladies in there...)

Like to read about more aspects of the writing process?
Give it Heart, New Life, New Breath
Tragically Flawed...Or Not
The Meet-Cute
Breaking the Rules
World Building for the Literary Challenged

Sassy Pants

Everyone talks about crafting strong female characters who possess the perfect blend of strength, weakness, and that special something that makes them jump off the page. Well, I'm here to pass on a little secret. Are you ready? I'll give you an extra second to compose yourselves. Okay. Now? Here we go!

It ain't hard when you have plenty of sass yourself.

When you're the type of girl who naturally makes snarky comments, wears fancy footwear, and falls on Yell Leaders and/or other unsuspecting individuals, you're pretty much set. If natural borne sass is something you struggle with, I'm here to help you. Consider me your Sass Guru.

Being a Sassy Pants in Five Easy Steps:

1) Embrace your awesomeness. You can choose the label you tag onto yourself. Make it adorable, spunky, fun, and yes, awesome. Why not? If you believe it, others will see it. (Incidentally, unless it's your mother, others will not label you accordingly. Don't allow their opinions to flavor your self-perception.)

2) Dress the part. I'm sorry, but Crocks, sweatpants and/or mother jeans are not dressing the part. This isn't a 24-7 gig, but you do need to dress up in order to make an impression. Trust me, there will be time for Netflix and pajama pants in the off-hours.

3) Exude sassiness. Don't confuse sass with crass. Sassiness is a mix of cleverness, teasing, and cuteness that attracts people to you rather than driving them off. It is an invitation to spend more time with you rather than to duck and cover. (Also, in case you pass the line between crass and sass, learn to apologize appropriately.)

4) Stand your ground. You may be adorable, but you don't need to be anyone's doormat. Express yourself respectfully but firmly. (For instance, I will make you cookies in a ruffly, ruffly apron, but I will also tell you to please shush and go away if you're getting on my nerves.)

5) Learn to defend yourself. Whether it means taking a self-defense class or just watching Miss Congeniality repeatedly, learn to take care of yourself. That way if your snarky younger brother decides to kick you in the lady bits at Kmart, you too can deliver a sound jab to the jaw to remind him how to treat a lady.

Once you've uncovered your inner sass, pour it into your characters. Make them as quirky and lovable as you are. Not only will you be the strong female lead in your own life, but your characters will live and breathe.

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Like to devour a bit more? Meet a few of my leading ladies in Woman: The Most Dangerous Plaything, Arguing With Myself, Hostile Makeover, Interlude in the Rose Garden, S'more Smoochin',  Just a Taste. & Dealing With Divas. Enjoy the sass!

Meet My Characters Blog Tour

I was invited to participate in the Meet My Character Blog Tour by fellow writer Nicholas Hughes.  You can learn more about him, his characters, and his current project The Red Dress, on his website. Rachael Ritchey, an adult and YA fantasy author, started the ball rolling on the tour. To learn more about her and her various works in progress, visit her website. 

And here's a little about me:  

Due to a childhood obsession with fairytales, I began creating my own fairly early on. Becoming Beauty, my take on Beauty and the Beast, is the first to see the light of day, but if the clamoring cast of Twelve (The Twelve Dancing Princesses) and Guillermo & Elyse (Rumpelstiltskin) have their way, it won't be the last. Until they earn their moment in the sun, let's get to know Bella, the heroine and unconventional Beauty in Becoming Beauty: 

1. What is the name of your character? Is he/she fictional or a historic person?

Bella is completely fictional.  Any similarity between Bella and myself is purely intentional...I mean accidental. 

2. When and where is the story set?

The clothing and architecture hint toward the mid 1800s when ladies donned rich, full-skirted ball gowns and men's evening wear included elaborately tied neckclothes and shiny knee boots. However, since this is a fairytale spin-off instead of historical fiction, Bella and her supporting cast converse in relatively modern language.

3. What should we know about him/her?

Bella represents Beauty from Beauty and the Beast, which means she's sweet, kind, industrious, unselfish, quick to forgive, and so full of love that she easily sees beyond the Beast to the prince within. 

Or not.

Bella is obsessed with stocking her wardrobe with beautiful, costly items and will go to any length to escape her middle-class life for the luxuries she feels that she deserves. She is a witty, sarcastic, resourceful, and manipulative. 

4. What is the main conflict? What messes up his/her life?

Relationships with Bella's family reach a breaking point when her greed leads to her father's imprisonment and subsequent illness.  Determined that he will suffer no more for her, Cassandra and Aaron (Bella's siblings) demand that Bella pay for her own crimes at the hand of the the Beast.  

5. What is the personal goal of the character?

Bella's personal goals twists and reform as the story unfolds. Initially, marriage to a wealthy nobleman is all Bella dreams of. Manipulating those around her to acquire the clothing and brilliant baubles guaranteed to catch a gentleman's eye puts her one step closer to her goal. However, after losing home, family, and all she treasures, Bella comes face to face with the Beast and his manservant Jack, who are as battered by the past as she. Through these circumstances, she comes to understand  the value of serving well, discovers talents she didn't know she possessed, and turns her attention to bettering the lives of those in her care.

6. Is there a working title for this novel, and can we read more about it?

The story is entitled Becoming Beauty. It's available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, iTunes, and Books & Things. Follow me on my website, Facebook, Twitter, or Instagram for more updates and any specials, and feel free to add it on Goodreads. 

7. When can we expect the book to be published?

Becoming Beauty, published by Cedar Fort Media and Publishing, was released November 11, 2014.

Thank you for stopping in!  Ciara Ballintyne is up next in the Meet My Characters Blog Tour.  She's a fantasy author who will undoubtedly have something interesting to share about her own characters. Enjoy!

Diva Depressed

Even divas have their off days. In fact, being a diva ensures that you'll have some especially bad days. After all, the higher you soar, the further you fall.

When we met diva Vanessa Sumers--connoisseur of fine shoes, handbags, and obedient minions--all was running smoothly in her universe. However, like everyone, she has more than a few skeletons in her closet, including the family she left behind in the pursuit of greatness.

We rejoin her after she has learned of her stepmother's death. Returning to her hometown for the memorial services, she must face demons from her past and reunite with those who will always hold a special place in Vanessa's heart.

Excerpt from Vanessa Stmers:

The pastor gripped her hand in welcome, his face full of condolences as he drew her into the chapel.  Relief washed over Vanessa as she realized he didn’t know her.  She spotted a free section on the back row, and attempting to blend into the crowd, she scanned the room for familiar faces.

                “Nessa!” A voice called out as strong arms pulled her into a tight embrace.  “I can’t believe you’re here!  It’s so good to see you!”  Her stepbrother buried her in a bear hug. 

                Vanessa, surprised, returned his hug somewhat stiffly.

                “Peter,” she attempted a smile, her face tight with the effort.

                Unaffected by her uneasiness, Peter grinned.  Shadows of the little boy were evident in the man’s face; the same bright blue eyes that had charmed and incited mischief in his youth, and the ever-boyish grin. He’d become quite handsome.

                “It’s good to see you too,” Vanessa managed at last.

                “You look amazing, sis,” he said, squeezing her arm in a friendly way.  “You always were a stunner.  And we always knew you’d make it big.  Definitely got all the brains in the family,” he declared.  

                “Thanks, Peter,” she said, feeling awkward. She opened her mouth to force a more congenial reply but Peter’s gaze was drawn to the front of the chapel. 

                “Sorry, Nessa. Gotta run.  Looks like they’re about to begin.  You want to come sit with Dad?”

                She shook her head in response; she certainly wasn’t ready for that. 

                He patted her arm, treating her to a sad smile before turning away.

Still taken aback from the run-in with her estranged younger brother, Vanessa made her way down the row and took a seat by the wall.  The services began as someone settled into the seat beside her.         

Vanessa’s gaze was fixed on her father, somberly following his wife’s casket as it entered.  He took a seat by Peter on the stand, his eyes downcast. Roland Sumers had never been a handsome man, but the steel gray hair and the lines creasing his face gave him a distinguished look.  Like her hometown, she hadn’t realized how much she’d missed him, how she’d felt cheated out of the only parent who cared about her, until that moment.  As if an inner barrier had burst, her heartstrings pulled taut in her chest and tears rushed down her cheeks.

A handkerchief appeared before her.  Wordlessly, she accepted it, dabbing at her face so as to cause the least amount of damage to her make-up.  When she’d recovered her composure, she turned to offer a quiet thank you.  The words died on her lips as she met familiar dark brown eyes set in a deeply tanned face. 

“Matthew?” 

His lips curved into a smile.  “Good to see you again, Vanessa.”

The service was underway, so there was no time for else and Vanessa was so thoroughly tongue-tied she wouldn't have been able to formulate complete sentences.  Sitting perfectly still—to all appearances attending to the pastor—her mind dwelt on the man beside her. 

Vanessa had considered the possibility of running into a former flame.  But in her wildest imaginings she had never considered seeing her brother’s best friend, Matthew. When she’d left home Matty Johannsen had been a gangly teen.  All ears and long limbs, he’d been in that awkward ape-like state between boy and man.  His only attractive feature had been the big brown eyes fringed by long lashes.  Those beautiful eyes provided a glimpse into a singularly unique soul: equal parts amiability, wisdom, and humor. 

Matty had been Vanessa’s favorite among Peter’s friends—a group of boys who had typically made her feel stodgy and straight-laced.  Matty hadn’t been like that.  Instead, he’d smile that too-wide, too-many-teeth grin and bombard her with tales of his latest hare-brained schemes and pepper her with questions about her dreams and ambitions.  She would feign disinterest, but something about the odd-looking youngster fed her attention-starved soul.  Matthew had been more like a brother than Peter and some part of her mind persisted in seeing him as nothing more than the skinny too-tall teenager of days gone by.  She couldn’t have imagined he’d turn out like this.

Vanessa covertly looked him over as the pastor droned on. He was extremely tall, she noted, but where he’d been scarecrow-thin as a teenager, he’d developed a broad-shouldered muscular physique as a man which was only accentuated by the suit he wore.

Under the carefully applied make-up, Vanessa felt her face flush all the way up to the roots of her carefully coiffed hair. How could she think this way about Matthew? 

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Matthew's lips twitch, as if he found something amusing.  With a feeling of irritation blossoming in her chest, her lips drew into a severe line and she fixed her gaze back on the pastor.  Matty Johannsen, attractive as he might have become, would not be permitted to laugh at her. Ignoring him for the remainder of the service, Vanessa folded her arms and sat ramrod straight in her seat.

 * * * * *

I'm quite fond of Vanessa. She's the type who stomps her little Prada heel and demands a story of her own. And she did. Read more about Vanessa's adventures in Dealing With Divas, Hostile Makeover, and Finding Myself in Literature. Thanks for stopping by!