July again

How did this happen? It seems like just yesterday it was March and the trees were bare. Now it’s July and my backyard Eden is lush and green, visited nightly by fireflies. My beloved and I sit on the patio and laugh at the cat’s antics as he stalks them. Shooter seems to know it’s just a game to pass the time. Either that or he’s tasted fireflies and doesn’t care for the flavor. Who knows with cats?

 After so many years of intense gardening, I’ve scaled back. The deer have won. We set aside a little patch of dirt outside the kitchen window and beside the patio for a daylily patch. I moved one of every variety I have into it, and it’s lovely. Looking out the window at that bright splash of color actually does ease the pain of being at the sink working. (I’m just not a kitchen person.)

 I’ve been taking stock of my writing. My beloved’s battle with cancer took a lot out of both of us. More so him, of course, but almost losing him definitely altered my outlook on life. I set better priorities for myself, and the nose to the grindstone style of working is pretty far down the list. Earlier this season, as we sat on the patio wrapped in robes against the morning chill, he asked me if I planned to continue writing. It’s a big question, and the answer is yes, I do.

 It’s time to forge ahead, get back in the game, not that I really left. I have more than a few completed manuscripts ready to go out the door. I hope my editors will be pleased to get them, but it’s always a roll of the dice.

 The ideas never stop coming. I’ve seven concept folders started with bits and pieces of ideas, photos, and even one or two opening chapters. It’s time to pick one and starting composing prose.

 First, though, it’s time for a bike ride with my beloved on this last day of my long holiday weekend. He has a new bike, you see, and even though it’s supposed to be a birthday present for a birthday at the end of this month, he has it now and can’t wait to test it out.

 Life’s too short not to enjoy what you have.

Rayne

http://www.rayneforrest.com

A Quest for the ages

Blogging has been a bit of a misadventure for me. Blogspot shut one of my blogs down as spam (go figure), so I moved to WordPress. Now WordPress screws with the formatting of everything. This is more annoying than I have words for, and I’m a writer.

 

I finally…um… I *maybe* finally… have the entry about Reza corrected. Only the cybergods know why it did what it did. I’m moving past it.

 

I’ve been in the middle of a busy stretch in my personal life. The writing always suffers a bit when reality rears its ugly face. This week, we buried the last two survivors of my maternal grandmother’s family. There were eleven of them. It’s gotten me thinking about recording the family tree.

 

My beloved’s family has their family recorded. Each year, an updated copy is handed out to those present at the family reunion. The two sisters in charge of it practice a bit of “I can do it better than you!” and the copy now comes with pictures.  Sisters. Gotta love ‘em. 

 

I’m an only child. I don’t have that problem.

 

What I do have is a sadness over the fact my extended family is scattered and I only see them at funerals. Now, with the oldest generation gone, some of them I probably won’t see again. They, too, have busy lives and families of their own.

 

It also brings home that now my mother is a member of the oldest generation. She’s in good health, but I feel the ticking off of the days. I am connected to many of my far-flung cousins only through her.

 

And yet I know I’m not alone in this melancholy over family. Many of my cousins and friends express the same emotions during our conversations. Maybe it’s time I put together a family booklet. It will help me reconnect, and provide helpful information to my three nearest and dearest young cousins, one of whom already carries a new generation within.

 

Sometimes, it’s good to have a quest.

 

Rayne

http://www.rayneforrest.com

 

The Rea Cheveyo Chronicles: Reza

Reza Breen holds the key to unlock the secret to her people’s exile on the little planet of Colony. The very name of the people, Yahto, means exile. Or does it?

Decimated by a plague of unknown origin, Reza, a healer, has fought to save the Yahto. Then an act of bravery makes her an outcast with an impossible future. Determined to save her people, she runs headlong into a sexy brick wall named Mick Coulter.

Michael ‘Mick’ Coulter built his career as a crack trouble-shooter. Assigned as the first officer of the Rea Cheveyo, Mick is in the niche he wants to fill until his military career ends in a few short years. Then he’s promoted to captain. His first assignment—protect a beautiful, stubborn outcast bent on courting danger.

Getting command of the Rea Cheveyo is something Mick never expected.

Neither is Reza Breen.

EXCERPT

Reza rolled off the bed with an infuriated screech and stormed into the corridor. She rang the chime on Mick’s door, and then beat on it when he didn’t answer. She raised both fists to hammer on the door again when it slid open. Her fists landed on Mick’s bare chest instead.

“Hey, lady!” He grabbed her wrists before she could hit him again. “What the hell did I do now?” He pulled her inside his cabin.

“Let me go, you lorcani!”

He pinned her arms to her sides, holding her tightly as she struggled against him.

“I don’t think that is a term of endearment, is it?” He spun her around and gave her a little push. She landed on his sofa. He quickly held out his hands, palms open.

“Just sit there and shut up, Reza.”

She made a move to jump up and he backed up a step.

“Behave, woman.”

“How dare you put your hands on me,” she spat at him. His eyebrows shot up.

“You hit me first. Or doesn’t that count?”

“It’s not my fault the door opened when it did. Don’t you dare try and blame me for that!”

He moved towards her, eyes narrowed. A jolt of panic shot through her. He looked really angry. She slid across the sofa, trying to reach the other end and flee. It was too late. He pounced, straddling her. She yelled at him.

“Get off me!”

He managed to grab her wrists again. “Settle down.” He grunted as her elbow landed a blow to his stomach.

“Let me go! How can you do this to Shelby?”

“Do what to Shelby?” he growled, hauling her upright and pinning her shoulders to the back of the sofa. “Now be still, woman, or I won’t let go of you.”

She kicked his shin with the hard toe of her shoe. He yelped.

“That hurt!” He slung her over his shoulder. She bucked against him, struggling to break free of his hold.

He carried her into the corridor and unceremoniously dropped her on her bottom on the deck. He glared down at her.

“We’ll talk when you stop beating on me!” He turned and re-entered his cabin. His door began to close between them. She hopped to her feet and charged the door, making it through before it closed. He spun and grabbed her.

“You’re pissing me off, Reza.” He grabbed her and yanked her back to the sofa. He twisted and she sprawled face down across his knees.

His hand descended with some force on her bottom. It stung enough to bring tears of anger to her eyes.

“How dare you!” she shouted at him. She twisted to get away from him and landed on the floor. He was on her in a flash.

She froze as his weight pinned her to the floor. He was long and lean, muscled and all male. And he smelled like clean, fresh snow.

“I’m going to regret this, Reza,” he whispered. His mouth took hers.

Surprise coursed through her, followed by a burst of intense pleasure that quickly gave way to outrage.

Oh, yes. He was going to regret putting his hands on her.

***

The Rea Cheveyo Chronicles: Reza

now available at Whiskey Creek Press Torrid

http://www.whiskeycreekpress.com/torrid/index.php?main_page=product_info&products_id=385&zenid=380100bb67b58128ea55d68f2724ae18

 

The Rea Cheveyo Chronicles: Talyss

Many years ago I decided to try my hand at a trilogy, with one major story arc. It was a huge undertaking for me. At that time, I didn’t have a lot of experience under my belt. To my surprise, the words flowed, and that story became The Rea Cheveyo Chronicles. 

For those who love science fiction with romance, and romance set against a sci-fi background, the Rea Cheveyo Chronicles merges the two with action in and out of the bedroom. 

So here’s a bit about TALYSS, and an excerpt from the story. Enjoy! (But don’t read it if you don’t like a little heat in your stories.)

The Rea Cheveyo Chronicles: Talyss (book two)

The Rea Cheveyo Chronicles: Talyss – excerpt

Talyss of Warlonah thought she knew what she wanted to do with her life. One look at Heath Douglas and everything changed. He thinks she’s a smuggler and her only option to safeguard the truth is to avoid him, but Heath follows her every move.

Captain Heath Douglas of the Rea Cheveyo has always had a curiosity about the feline-like Sheadonn. Spotting the Warlonah’s Glory far off the shipping lanes, he’s immediately caught in a cat and mouse game with that ship’s captain, the beautiful Talyss.

Matching wits, Talyss and Heath dance around the truth of her activities. Matched physically, they explore their passions.  Taking Heath as a lover is Talyss’ right, but there is one truth she cannot escape.

As a daughter of Warlonah she must produce an heir—and not one with human blood.

EXCERPT

The memory of how she felt in his arms burned him. Heath wanted, he needed, to hold her again, to feel her pressed against him, thigh-to-thigh.

Talyss was about to board a shuttle pod and walk out of his life. There was no guarantee of any sort they’d ever cross paths again, unless he very carefully schemed and plotted to make it happen.

She finally looked at him again, her amber eyes full of disquiet. He slowly reached for her, grasping her elbow and gently pulling her closer. She resisted for the briefest moment, and then stepped into his embrace.

Heath slipped one arm around her waist, holding her loosely. He didn’t want her to feel trapped or threatened and pull away. He didn’t want her to react unfavorably with those sharp nails. He brushed the silky strands of her long mane from her shoulder, smoothing it down her back.

He carefully slid his fingers into that glorious mahogany mass and cupped the back of her head. She went perfectly still. Only her eyes moved, searching his. He sensed her waiting, opening her being to his. The soft strands of her hair drifted through his fingers, a silken web that snared him, drawing him into her.

“Close your eyes,” he whispered. Her lashes swept down. He tipped her head back and kissed her. She jerked in surprise, then opened her lips to him. Her arms slipped around his neck and tightened. It was all the encouragement Heath needed.

He spun them, pinning her between his body and the viewport. She arched into him. He threw caution away and touched his tongue to hers. She jerked again, then responded, slowly running the tip of her tongue over his lower lip. The blood pounded through his veins, deafening him. He hardened in a wonderful rush.

He pressed his hips to hers, making sure she was aware of his arousal. She made a noise deep in her throat and clung to him. His balls throbbed.  Gooseflesh shivered across his skin.

He nipped his way down her neck. Like her face, her neck was virtually furless, the skin soft under his mouth. Her hands had worked under his shirt and were cool against his overheated back, making him shiver.

“Heath,” she moaned, throwing her head back in invitation and request that he keep kissing her neck. He eased them toward the bed. She hurried him along, overbalancing them onto the mattress with him beneath her.

His hands skimmed along her sides, feeling her curves. She was less hurried, more deliberate. The breath left him as she boldly stroked the bulge in his pants, cupping her hand around and over to learn his shape and size. He grasped her firm buttocks and pulled her to him, then rolled her beneath him.

Surprise that she didn’t protest registered in the back of his mind. He pressed his advantage and cupped her breast, caressing the outside swell with gentle strokes. He kept kissing her, their tongues mating and dancing. She gave back to him all that he offered up to her.

She suddenly took a great gulp of air and pushed at his shoulders. He rose up enough to look at her. Her eyes were bright and alive. Her hands made small, nervous movements, playing with his collar.

“I must breathe,” she told him.

Heath swallowed, and then inhaled deeply. “Me, too.” He was panting as rapidly as she was. “Am I too heavy?”

Her arms tightened around his neck. “No. Don’t move.”

“I thought Sheadonnyan females objected to having a male lying on top of them.”

“What would you know about it, human male, hmm? Don’t move.” She locked her legs around his hips.
ISBN 978-1-60313-227-5

Available now at: http://www.whiskeycreekpress.com/torrid/index.php?main_page=product_info&products_id=370&zenid=a0bcc893df7cd549c25e0fda4e6ac769

Life in the cave…maybe I’m amazed

As you can easily see by the date stamps, I’ve not been blogging for a while. I could blame it on the day job (and that would be part of it). I could blame it on my beloved needing some extra attention (and that would be part of it). I could even blame it on the seemingly sudden rush to get The Rea Cheveyo Chronicles republished. That definitely is part of it. It’s had for me to write when I’m bogged down in the editing process.

Yes, I could blame it on any number of things, even the holiday season, but I think the truth is I simply needed to slink back into my cave for a while.

I like my cave. It’s warm and cozy, quiet and soothing to the nerves. It’s also a little cluttered at the moment, what with Christmas presents, wrapping paper, and other assorted seasonal junk scattered about, but this will pass soon, and my cave put back in order.

This past year has been amazing in terms of my writing. The trip to the Romantic Times convention in April was an eye-opener. I live in the real world far too much when I really should be attending dress balls every night of the week.

With 2008 rapidly coming to a close, I’m still busy. Launching KC into the stratosphere was the best thing I ever did, and has proven quite successful. Maybe I’m amazed… I’m rethinking my approach.

Sexual Deceptions 1, the first in the series with Brenda Williamson, is a 2009 EPPIE Finalist. Maybe I’m amazed…

What lies ahead in 2009? I’m not sure. Who is? But I have made a few decisions and adjusted my flight plan accordingly. Looking back is a guide to looking forward. So much of what I heard when I started writing no longer applies. I worked hard on a few needless things based on the “experienced” advice of others. A lot of it was horse manure. Maybe I’m amazed…or not.  

As my sixth year as a writer draws to a close, I see how each step forward continues to prepare me for bigger and better things. Ever introspective, I see personal growth (inside) as more important than professional growth (outside). One doesn’t happen without the other, and they rarely occur at an equal speed.  2008 was a year where they seemed to pace each other. Maybe I’m truly amazed…

To all of you who’ve read my stories, and to those of you who found KC this year – thank you. I wish you all the best for 2009. Health and happiness above all else.

Rayne

www.rayneforrest.com

Drizzly Saturday Morning

In a day, it seems, my mountain is stark and bare. The leaves that colored my world are suddenly lying brown on the ground, obscuring the still green grass beneath. I stood on the porch this morning, in the drizzle, while Jett attended to the first round of today’s squirrel chasing, and sensedthe coming winter in the air. It won’t be long until the wood we’ve spent the last weeks splitting will be put to use in the woodstove.

A fire burning in the wood stove is a romantic boon. I take my laptop to the den and write. Or maybe I just use the laptop as a cover for sitting and staring into the flames. I’ll never tell.

The November newsletter is posted. It took a while, yes. One thing I don’t seem to have a handle on is formatting the page from a word document to a page on this site. And you know what? I really don’t have time to mess with it. The content is there. I’ll just let the universe have its way today on the formatting.

I’m in the middle of a very busy patch. The day job is driving me absolutely nuts. I don’t think it’s worth the aggravation, truthfully, but one needs money to live on. I think I’m going to rejoin the local freecyclers and learn to live on the trade and barter system. If you’ve not looked for a freecycler group on your zip code, you should. It’s amazing.

So it’s the weekend, and I should be writing, not blogging. But some mornings, I need that second cup of coffee for total motivation. Today is one of those days. Actually, I think I need to take that second cup of java out to my sunroom and watch the foggy drizzle and marvel at nature preparing for winter sleep.

Rayne

PS. I sent a box of “goodies” to Author Island for distribution. If you’re not up on their goodie program, go check it out. www.authorisland.com

In Very Special Company

I took a few minutes to sit on the sunroom porch last evening, and enjoy the last bits of sunshine that made its way through the leaves . Living in the woods as I do, finding a spot on a porch is easy. We have a front porch with steps down that lead to a runway section, which leads to steps up to the sunroom porch. This long deck runs the entire length of the house, about sixty feet, and volunteer painters are welcome.

 Autumn has definitely arrived in the mountains. The leaves display brilliant fall colors and the nights are clear and crisp. The deer have arrived, too, munching on anything they choose. I laugh every day at my Lab’s continuing efforts to catch one of them, telling him he’s a bird dog, not a hound. He doesn’t pay any attention.We always know when the resident group of deer has trespassed over the stone fence and into the upper corner of our yard to feast on the acorns. Deer are the only ‘critters’ Jett will bark at. And bark he does until one of us opens the patio door for him. Off he bounds, flat-out, a black streak that lives up to his name in more ways than one. He is fast, but not fast enough. The deer get away every time. Jett comes back and we praise him and give him a biscuit, telling him what a good dog he is to defend our yard. He sat at my side last evening, ever vigilant, but we were on the wrong side of the house for deer watching.

The sun through the autumn lives turned my world into a glowing golden wonder. I marvel at the spectacle every year – it never grows old for me. I set aside my chores, even those I enjoy, in favor of just breathing in the scents and sights of autumn evenings.

As the light faded, dimming to a yellowed-gray, I rose to go inside where the work awaited me. Instead of going in through the sunroom, I took Jett one last stroll down through the yard. We turned back up the hill towards the house, and there were the deer, eating acorns under the oaks.

For once, my fearless companion didn’t bound off and leave me alone. Instead, he looked up at me for permission, I thought to run, which I gave him. His ears dropped, and he stayed by my side. I knew, then, that what he’d asked for was permission forgo his guard duty and stay by my side. I gave him a pat and a ‘good dog,’ and we continued our stroll. It seemed my company on this autumn evening, was special to him, too.

Rayne Forrest

www.rayneforrest.com

www.myspace.com/rayneforrest

 Check out all my books at

http://www.rayneforrest.com/booklist.html

 

The jig is up

Last week I mentioned a report that stated demand for gasoline was down 7% less in September 2008 than in September 2007. We’re driving less, or at least driving smarter. All in all, using less gasoline is a good thing.

I hope it means you’re buying more ebooks – MY ebooks – but we’ll let that go for now. Oh, heck. No, we won’t. Buy an ebook and save the gasoline. And a tree. Buy one of mine because I just plopped down some bucks on advertising. Help me out so I can continue to entertain you

 

The Rea Cheveyo Chronicles: Kiana came out this week. If you like sci-fi erotic romance (space, good plot, even better romance), give Kiana a try. I’ll get the blog page put up soon, but for now, just click the link, okay?

Anyway, back to my ramblings, this week, the little bells went off in my head. As a writer I usually hear voices, but it was bells this time. The kind when the dots finally connect.

I’ve lived in my community all my life. I’ve driven the same stretch of road since got my license thirty…. um …. couple… years ago. I know where the police set up their little speed traps to bushwhack people.  For the last several years, those little hidey-holes have been empty. Suddenly, this past week, those hidey-holes, and even a few not so hidden holes, have been full of the police presence.

This is where the bells sounded. It suddenly occurred to me…. We’re driving 7% less. Ergo, it stands to reason speeding ticket revenue is also down 7%.  No wonder the Maryland State Police are suddenly everywhere, looking wild-eyed and desperate.

Watch your backs, my fellow American drivers.  Or is that, watch your right foot?

Rayne

www.rayneforrest.com

PS. No, they haven’t caught me ’cause the jig is up. I know they’re there and I’m watching for them.

She’s baaaaack

I know. You thought because I’d turned over a new leaf….er… blog, that I was done with the headline news. Aye. Right.

With the current financial woes of the country making headlines everywhere, it’s getting harder and harder to keep my fingers still. The headline about oil falling to under $95 a barrel caught my eye. I read the AP article and was struck by the political correctness of it all. There’s a writer who likes his job.

The article states that demand in Septermber 2008 was down 7% from September 2007. The reason, according to the article, is because the demand for gasoline isn’t there.  Consumers are not buying as much.

Okay.

So what part of “Ya’ll have pissed on me, and now I’m pissed off, and you big boys ain’t seen nothing yet” do you think the oil companies don’t understand?

I think it must be all of it.

 

Longing for stillness

My resolution to do better with my blogging suffered a September setback. Not a serious one, just a small one. It’s not as though I’ve been idle, you know. Finishing up the errata list on Talyss, getting a manuscript out on a submission, doing some promo, and finally make the “right” start on Sexual Deceptions 3.

It’s rare that the beginnings of a story give me trouble, but I couldn’t find the right tone. I’m sure it’s because I hadn’t finished my to do list. I don’t do well when I feel I’ve left projects incomplete.

The approach to the end of the third quarter has been interesting this year. With new releases available, I wonder how many copies have moved. That ultimately more important than the size of the royalty check. With books at many venues, at many prices, guessing what a check might be is a waste of time. It doesn’t matter because it won’t be enough for me to quit my day job. I like that steady paycheck every week. But someday I’ll cross the threshold into the life of a full time writer.

My Scottish friend was in New York last week. I would have loved to drive up and meet her, but she came to celebrate her birthday with her husband. Never would a die-hard writer of romance intrude on a real-life romantic interlude. We do it all the time in our stories, but never to a friend.

There’s a new venue I want to tell everyone about – Saturday Evening Romance (http://saturdayeveningromance.blogspot.com) Saturday Evening Romance is a new blog set up by author KC Kendricks to give interested parties a place to promo their published works. If you’re a writer and you’d like to post a book blurb, send it to KCKendricks(at)yahoo.com, along with a .jpg of the book cover. She’ll get it posted. For posting parameters, just visit the blog home.

My Friday evenings are suddenly quite different. For the first time, my beloved is home with me on Friday night. I’m not sure I like it much, if the truth be told. I enjoyed the weekly quiet without the background noise of the television. I enjoyed tuning in audio visions on the satellite, or top tracks. I’m sure if I wanted to play music for three hours straight, his little pointy head would explode. I miss the stillness of being alone.

We’ll figure out a compromise. We always do.

Maybe, just maybe, his sister will call and tell him they need him substitute bowl. And he’ll go.

And my Friday night world will be still.

You are yourself and no one else, and within you there is a stillness, and a sanctuary to which you can retreat and be yourself.

Rayne

www.rayneforrest.com