Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Interview of Author Lisa Kumar
Latest book: Captive
Buy link: http://bookstogonow.com/captive.html
Lisa Kumar is a wife, mother, and romance writer who grew up in small-town Indiana. She now resides in the suburbs of Chicago with her husband and son, who are used to sharing her attention with her not-so-trusty computer. When not spinning tales of romance and fantasy, she can be found with her nose buried in a book, or more accurately, her e-reader. Her scholastic background is in psychology, which enabled her to get low-paying jobs in the human services sector. Needless to say, she's now writing full-time.
Q: What part of the book is the easiest for you to write? Why?
A: I really love writing all the interactions between the heroine and hero. All the romantic tension is so fun to play with.
Q: What part of the book is the hardest for you? Why?
A: I’m not a plotter, so I tend to run into all those problems that plague pantsters. I’ve decided to be more proactive this time, and have a rough outline for my next book.
Q: Who is your favorite character in your book and why?
A: I would have to pick Cian from my short story Captive. He’s delightfully wicked at times, but redeemable. Now, in real life it might not be easy to handle a man, er, elf like him. But since romance, to me, is all about the fantasy of escapism, he’s alluring because of his mysteriousness and untouchability.
Q: Do all your heroes and all heroines look the same in your mind as you “head write”?
A: No, I often search out pictures and photos on the internet to represent each character’s personality and appearance.
Q: What hobby do you enjoy when not writing?
A: Why, of course, reading! That’s followed closely with doing activities with family and friends. I also enjoy walking outside.
Q: What genre would you like to try writing in but haven’t yet done so? Why?
A: Historicals have always held an attraction for me. The sheer amount of research scares me away, though. Everything would need to be historically correct right down to the slippers the heroine is wearing. That’s a lot to consider.
Tell us where to find you:
Emma finds herself at the mercy of someone who shouldn't even exist, in a reality far removed from her own 21st century world. Even though her Elvin captor, Cian, is mysterious and sexy, she determines to keep herself aloof and return home.
This soon all changes as he wages a seductive war on her defenses that challenges everything she’s believed about love and life.
For Cian passion and rage intermingle as he alternately toys with Emma and submits to his fascination for this human who, by all that is Elvin, should be an object of repulsion.
“You’re so delightfully dirty.”
Emma raised her head, staring at the blond-haired male reclining before her on the bed. His smile grew, revealing impossibly white teeth that were perhaps a little more pointed than they should be. That was, if he was human.
Through narrowed eyes she sent the tall Elvin jackass a glare she wished would cause him to implode. Okay, so he wasn’t going to do so literally. That would be a sorry waste of prime male beauty. Too bad his personality didn’t match.
“Your blood, that is.”
She stiffened, her tied hands clenching behind her back. He didn’t just go there, did he? The blood pounding through her veins screamed the answer she hadn’t trusted her ears to discover.
He laughed softly. “Elf got your tongue, human?”
His smug voice grated along her spinal cord, right into her synapses. Fear mingled with outrage. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of a reply. Indeed, she didn’t even know if any words could make it past her frozen vocal cords.
As he prowled closer on the silken sheets, heat shivered up her skin, making goose bumps spring up in its wake. Suddenly, the huge bed, and the room it was in, overwhelmed her. Dark green walls, along with a fern green ceiling that soared high above them, had made the chamber appear spacious. Now they closed in about her. The worst offender, though, was his overpowering presence. It suffocated. It aroused.
She wanted to look away. How she wanted to look at anything but him. His long platinum hair framed a face that should have been sinful in its perfection. High cheekbones showcased sloe eyes of the deepest blue. Right now, those eyes glittered with something like glee. In all, the scene reminded her uncomfortably of a cat toying with a mouse, which definitely put her in the role of prey. He made the perfect sleek cat, having a litheness that could be described as feline-like. His gray tunic and black leggings did nothing to hide this fact, since the fabric clung lovingly to sinewy muscle.
Her eye twitched. The elf -- at least that was how he had identified himself -- leaned in close to her, obliterating her bubble of personal space. Making no move to touch her, he studied her like a scientist would a rare bug or plant. Her gaze tracked every breath he took, every movement of those surprisingly expressive eyebrows that arched so sharply; most humans would need wax or tweezers to achieve the same look. On him the effect seemed natural.
Nausea welled up. How could she find it natural? Find him natural? Elves shouldn’t exist. For her they hadn’t until he snatched her. Now, by force, her world was narrowed down to one being who broke all her beliefs about reality.
She didn’t even know his name. Would he tell her that little bit of information, so trivial, yet so important? Childhood nursery rhymes and folktales spun through her mind, reminding her he might not offer up a name but instead guard it. Then again, if those stories had any credence to them, she would have a lot more to worry about than names. Original fairytales were dark, often not treating their characters kindly.
When he inched further into what was left of her precious space, she startled, scuttling back. For every centimeter she temporarily gained, it seemed he took two away until she butted up against the elaborate headboard of the bed.
His bed. She had surmised that much, at least.
Her arms and wrists sore, she sought to alleviate some of the ache. But her position on the bed and his nearness constrained that endeavor.
He smirked. “Where are you trying to go, hmm?”
Rolling her eyes, she bit back on the words that wanted to spew forth. Yelling and screaming wouldn’t work. She would know; she’d already tried them. That left one thing: silence as her last stand.
“My dear, how are we to get to know each other if one of us doesn’t talk?” The mocking twist of his mouth belied the somber tone he just uttered.
Something painful snapped inside her, releasing the floodgates of her rage. “Like I give a rat’s ass about knowing you. Just return me home, you freak.”
He shook his head mournfully. “Now, now. You’re the only freak here, I’m afraid. You’re human, you know.”
“I know what species I am, thank you very much. And I’m most definitely not a freak.” She tried to fling her arm forward, but the painful pull reminded her of its current location behind her back, so she settled for shrugging her head and shoulder in his direction. “Look at those ears. Now that’s strange.”
“These?” Reaching up a lightly tanned hand, he fingered the point of his ear before tracing over its outline. “They’re very normal.” He stared at her, and his eyes grew heavy-lidded. “Your pair is the irregular set here, though I find them charmingly odd.”
Her mouth opened and closed. As his hand moved toward her, her lips snapped shut. Time slowed down, each second infinitely long until his fingers reached their quest. At the first gentle touch on her lobe, tiredness -- along with some unnamed pleasant sensation -- swept over her. What was he doing to her, to her resistance?
Heart hammering, she prayed he would soon cease his exploration. Because if he didn’t, well, that way lay disaster. Her disaster and his pleasure. She might be a captive, but from the start she’d felt her pull toward him.
His fingers remained insistent, offering her restraint no rest. The rounded curve of her ear was apparently fascinating, for it was traced many times. As the rhythmic motion soothed her, she let out a sigh and leaned into his touch.
When he discovered the curve of her cheek next, she closed her eyes. The scent of pine and sandalwood tickled her nose, and her senses flared to life. Pin pricks shivered over her skin. Time and perception coalesced, as if she’d been born just to experience this moment.
The heat of his lips took up the path his fingers had left. Her eyes shot open. “W…what are you doing?”
“Getting to know you properly,” he murmured, not lifting his head.
“This isn’t how you get to know someone.” Her breathless tone made her shudder. She did not lose control like this.
“It’s my preferred method of dealing with you, especially since you won’t talk.”
“I’m talking now.”
“Ah, but it’s too late now.”
Posted by Marianne Stephens at 12:01 AM