Today we present an interview of award winning romance author, Kathleen Creighton.
NOTE: For additional information about Kathleen and her books, visit her author page at
http://www.romancebooks4us.com.
Questions for Kathleen and her answers:
How did you get started writing your wonderful romances
books?
(1.) I've been
writing something or other since I was about 9 years old. The romances came
about much later. My first--a short
story written when I was about 19 and published in a pulp magazine called
"Ranch Romances"-- was sort of an accident. I had no idea I had written a
"romance," had no idea what a "romance" was, and so was
never able to duplicate the feat. Flash
forward through all the years of raising kids, and there I was about to become
an AYSO soccer coach. During a workshop drill on a foggy summer morning in
coastal California, I suffered an injury that had me bed-ridden for several
weeks. I read--a lot. And I read romances, because that was what my dear
sister-in-law brought me by the shopping bagful. And somewhere at about the
20th one, the light bulb came on in my brain. Ah HAH! I can write these!
My first efforts gave my school-teacher mom fits of the
giggles--I never was a great speller.
However, I kept at it, took a night class at UCLA taught by a terrific
lady (and writer) named Marilyn Lowery, met my agent, the late and dearly
missed Pat Teal, and a couple of years later, in 1983, sold my first book to
Silhouette. It was "DEMON
LOVER," which hit the shelves in February of 1985. This past December, to celebrate the 30th
anniversary of that first sale, I released "Demon Lover" in digital
format.
To date I have 48 published books and counting. Slowly...
Where do your ideas come from?
(2.) My ideas come from anywhere and everywhere. That's the easy part. I can get an idea from a song, a place, a
photo, someone's personal history, my own personal history, a name, a title, a
newspaper or magazine article, a TV show... Anywhere. However the process of turning an idea into a
book takes a whole lot of work. And I
mean the kind of work that happens while I'm staring into space appearing to do
nothing while hours tick by in a heartbeat.
On one memorable occasion, I was pitching ideas to my New York editor
via telephone. I had several I thought were pretty good, and pretty well
developed, so I expounded on those. Her response was: "Uh huh..." So
I threw at her an idea that had popped into my head a couple of nights before
while watching PBS or National Geographic or some such station: "I, uh,
had this idea about a story set on an orangutan rehabilitation station in
Sumatra..." "OH!" she
cried, "I love it! Do that one!"
I think my reply was, "Gulp."
I had no story, no characters, no plot...nada." Eventually, the book was written, and
"TIGER DAWN," was a RITA (tm) finalist that year.
What’s your daily writing routine?
(3.) My daily writing routine varies with my
circumstances. I've managed to keep
writing through a lot of upheaval and change in my personal life, including
divorce, deaths, cross-country moves, and 9-11-2001. Somehow, I've always managed to find a time
of day to write that works for me. Until
recently. For some reason, since losing
my husband to lung cancer and moving back to the community where I grew up to
care for my (then very ill) elderly mother,
I haven't been able to get my groove back. Right now I live in two houses, located
almost 20 miles apart. At night I stay
with Mom and care for the animals on the farm where she has lived all her life
(and where I lived as a child) and help her run her life. She's 93, now, and in great health. During the daytime--most days--I drive to the
nearby town where I have my own house and garden and stuff, and kind of sort of
try to write. It's not working real
well, but I'm trying.
Do you have favorite characters from any of your stories?
(4.) I do have favorite characters, actually, but quite
often they aren't the main characters in the story. I love the "absent-minded
professor" hero in "THE SORCEROR'S KEEPER," because he was
roughly based on my son, who was a child at the time, and of whom I used to
exclaim in exasperation: "He's going to need a keeper when he grows
up!" But even more, I love the
two-year-old, Wendy, in that same story.
I love the homeless bunch in "EYEWITNESS," and the dog in
"DANGER SIGNALS." And the cat,
Pia, in "THE PRETENDER," because she's MY cat--aka "The Cat From
Hell." One of my all-time favorites is Doveman, from "THE AWAKENING
OF DR. BROWN." And, of course, my
very first hero, Chayne Younger, from "DEMON LOVER."
Is there any one person or persons who have influenced your writing?
(5.) This is a tough one.
I know the first person who really had an influence on my writing was my
Uncle Tommy Hand, because when I was a child, he told me I should definitely
keep on writing. He was the one who made me think I had some talent. There was
Marilyn Lowery, of course, the lady who taught that class at UCLA, who also
made it clear she thought I had something special. Pat Teal is probably the one who taught me
how to write a romance, though, and I learned a lot from Leslie Wainger, my
first editor, even if she could be something of a tyrant at times. <grin>
What do you enjoy when you aren’t writing?
(6.) When I'm not writing--which, sadly, is most of the
time, now--I'm kept pretty busy with Mom, the animals, my garden, and
involvement in community organizations and activities. I sing in the choir at my church, serve on
the boards of directors of our local historical society and another community
service organization, am a member of the local Rotary Club, and organize a
group of gleaners who gather the leavings from the potato harvest in our valley
and distribute it to various food charities.
I love to take pictures and spend a lot of time making photo books from
them. I spend quite a bit of time keeping up with family members, loved ones,
friends, my kids. I spend way too much
time on Facebook, and of course, like all writers, I love to read. I also collect old dolls in need of
restoration. I used to restore them and
resell them, but these days don't have the time. I do hope to get back to it some day, though,
because I have HUNDREDS of them! If I
have time--someday--I would love to do more traveling. Right now, my favorite trip is to Austin, TX,
to see my new baby grandson.
What’s up next for you?
(7.) What's
next? Finish the book I'm on! It's the
third book in a 5-book series, called "The Scandals of Sierra
Malone." The first two books,
"SHERIFF'S RUNAWAY WITNESS," and "THE PRETENDER," are
available for all the various eReaders.
I hope to finish the third, tentatively titled "THE SOLDIER'S
SECRET," this summer. After that, I
hope the next two, to complete the series, won't take nearly as long!
In addition, I'm continuing the task of bringing out my
older work in digital format. I have
released ten books so far through Blue Jay Publications: Six books originally published under the "Loveswept"
imprint for Bantam Books; one book originally published as a Harlequin American
Romance, under the pseudonym Kathleen Carrol; a short single title romance
originally published by St. Martin's Press, which was the basis of a CBS Movie,
"A HOLIDAY TO REMEMBER;" a Silhouette Christmas novella; and of
course, "DEMON LOVER." You can
read more about all of these on my website.
And there are lot's
more to come!
Demon Lover
Blurb:
Veteran
Border Patrol agent Juliet Maguire was amazed to find herself still
alive. She’d been captured by the most dangerous of border smugglers—the
ruthless man they called “Blue Eyed Demon.” It was he who threw her into
a camper, removed her clothes, and offered her one frightening chance—make the
other coyotes believe she wanted to be his new lover or die at their hands. She
would have to create the illusion of lust to survive, no matter what the
cost to her dignity. As she abondoned herself, her world turned upside down in
a way she never could have imagined.
Excerpt:
JULIET
MAGUIRE AWOKE amazed
at finding herself still alive. For a moment she couldn’t think why she should
be amazed; but then memory returned in a single sickening rush and instead she
couldn’t understand why she should be alive.
Coyotes.
I’ve been captured by coyotes.
Cold–blooded
smugglers, ruthless traders in human contraband, couldn’t possibly have any use
for one incredibly clumsy Border Patrol agent. It would have been so easy for
them to kill her and dump her body in the desert.
Why
didn’t they?
And
where am I?
It
was dark, but she seemed to be on a bed, in something that moved. She could
feel the rough fabric chafing her cheek, hear the low growl of a powerful
engine, feel the occasional lurch and sway of rapid motion. The camper—she was
in the camper, of course! And they were on a paved road, probably still in the
desert, since the road seemed to be arrow straight.
She
lay very quietly, holding her breath and listening for sounds of alien
breathing. She heard only the drone of the motor and the sound of her own blood
pounding in her aching head. She was alone. That fact gave her very little
comfort; they had left her alone because there was absolutely nothing she could
do to escape. Julie wasted no time struggling with her bonds. They were simple
and effective—completely professional.
He
knew his business, that one—the tall one. The one who had caught her.
What
was it they’d called him? Demonio Garzo. Or had she only conjured the name from
her nightmares? Blue–eyed Demon. Julie shivered in the darkness.
How
did it happen? I’m a professional, an experienced and well–trained agent. How
could I have let it happen?
Partly
to keep her mind off her physical and emotional discomforts, and partly because
it was almost second nature to recap any incidents encountered on patrol, Julie
stared into the shadowy darkness and began a painful and meticulous replay of
the whole fiasco.
…From
my position behind the rocky knoll I watched the camper crawl across the desert
floor, dragging a plume of dust behind it like a deflated parachute. I frowned,
shading my eyes against the late–afternoon glare. Something about that camper
bothered me.
It
wasn’t anything that could be explained. The extra–wide wheelbase and oversize
off–road tires, heavy–duty shocks and four–wheel drive could all be the
accommodations of a dedicated off–road enthusiast. But there was something—a
gut feeling, an instinct. I didn’t question it; after nearly ten years as an
agent of the United States Border Patrol I had learned to trust my instincts.
The
camper climbed steadily toward me up the narrow dirt road, its engine purring
with the throaty growl of power to spare, its gearbox whining in high–pitched
overtones. I watched it pass and drop out of sight over the ridge, and then
climbed back into my vehicle, reaching for the radio as I snapped my seatbelt
into place. I gave my location and stated my intention to pursue a suspect
vehicle, then started the motor and pulled slowly out onto the road.
I
kept well back. The desert could easily swallow up a vehicle bent on eluding a
pursuer. And if the camper was, as I suspected, carrying smuggled illegals from
Baja California, it would probably be heading for a rendezvous sometime after
dark, either to pass its human cargo on to another, more innocent–looking
conveyance for the last leg of the journey to the urban wilds of Los Angeles,
or to deposit them in some remote way station to make their own way north. They
might even abandon the whole camper–load to die in the desert. It wouldn’t be
the first time.
Coyotes.
There isn’t an agent in the Border Patrol who doesn’t loathe and fear the
unscrupulous smugglers. I consider them the lowest form of life—and the most
dangerous. They are usually sky–high on drugs and completely unpredictable.
They can turn violent without warning. I considered requesting a backup, but
rejected the notion as premature. The camper could turn out to be carrying dirt
bikes and beer. Just the same, I reminded myself to use extreme caution.
Just
before dark the camper left the road and dipped into a dry wash, where it sat
motionless and silent. There were no bustling preparations for camp, and no one
emerged from the cab; the camper sat in the gully, out of sight, waiting.
So
I did the same. I had left my vehicle hidden behind a clump of scrub juniper a
quarter mile or so away and now I lay on my stomach at the edge of the ravine.
I peered down at the pale glint of the camper shell below, my ears straining
for the slightest sound. The warm desert wind rustled through sage and juniper
and Joshua trees, masking all the other noises of the lively desert nighttime.
There was no moon. In the west the pale glow of the distant city washed out the
stars, but directly overhead there were enough left shining to provide a
ghostly illumination, turning the land into a surrealistic canvas in silver and
indigo.
I
remembered to pull on the dark cap I use on night patrols to hide my blond
hair.
Where
was it now? She closed her eyes and moved her head against the bed, feeling
only the weight of her short platinum curls. Gone, then.
Here's where you'll find Kathleen:
Twitter: @kathleencreigh2
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