Tagging Along

If you’re a writer, you know what a tag is. It’s that little statement at the end of dialogue that indicates who is speaking. For instance, in this snippet of dialogue, “I am going for a walk,” she said, she said is the tag. Most believe that using said for the majority of tags is the best word, because readers skip over the phrase without consciously noting it’s there, unlike other words such as answered or told or responded.

Writers can also get in bad habits by adding a bunch of action to the tag. An example would be:

“Don’t you ever come back,” she screamed as she threw a hair brush at him and missed, hitting the wall. It’s much better to separate the two, and in this case, get rid of the tag altogether. “Don’t you ever come back.” She threw her hair brush at him and grimaced as it missed and hit the wall.

If you have three or more characters in a scene, you will need to use occasional tags and use the names of the characters more often instead of the pronouns he and she to identify which he or she is speaking. Here is a short example from Coming to Climax, my suspense novel coming in September:

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Carroll.” Margaret walked forward to shake his hand. She handed a small brown bag to her friend. “Here’s your vanilla, Cindy.”

“Thanks.” Cindy took the bag. “Actually, he’s Doctor Carroll.”

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Palmer.” The man shook hands with her, a solemn expression on his face.

“Are you the local Family Practitioner?”

“I am if I’m helping your pet.”

Cindy laughed. “He’s a vet. Chris and I were just talking about a young guy who got shot.”

“You’re the vet who patched up Andy and Carolina? Thanks so very much.” She shivered. Maybe one more valium was a good idea . . .

“I knew it was Carolina,” Cindy said. “Just didn’t want to blurt it out in case you hadn’t seen her yet.”

“It’s okay. I just left her. All the time I kept thinking the person who shot Andy and nicked Carolina’s ear might be the same guy who killed those men.” Margaret sat down in a chair. “It makes me positively weak-kneed just thinking about it.”

“I hope they reported it to the sheriff. Please tell your niece I don’t think that was a stray bullet from a hunter.” He glanced back at Cindy. “Well, got to go. Kate says I have a Beagle with diarrhea and a Lab puppy who ate part of a garden hose waiting on me.”

Though the conversation changed back and forth ten times, only one tag was used.

If there are only two people in a scene, you know by your paragraph breaks who is speaking. Tags can be minimal or not there at all if you replace them with action by the character. Here’s an example from my latest Briny Bay mystery, The Marriage Murders, with tags and then without them.

With the tags:

“I hear you,” Trixie said. “Just how much extra-curricular activity have you done anyway?”

“As in sex?” Roxie asked.

Trixie sighed. “No, I meant Scrabble,” she said. “Of course I meant sex, you ditz.”

Roxie’s eyes narrowed and said, “Don’t demean me.”

“Stop the temper tantrum,” Trixie said. “I got tired of that when you were six. Spill. Have you two been to bed?”

“The time just hasn’t been right,” Roxie said.

“Bingo!” Trixie exclaimed. “Men’s minds wander at date six or earlier. Mark my words, he’s off shopping the catalogues, not admiring the old purchase.”

“Between you and Greg, I’m starting to feel like I’m ready for the glue factory,” Roxie said.

Trixie leaned down and stared into her sister’s eyes. “What’s with you?” she asked. “You’re the one who made whoopee with a California foreigner in a shed and Greg who is the obvious recipient of your pitty-pats doesn’t get as much as a bounce on the bed?”

“It’s because I admire him a lot,” she said.

“Admire is something you do to a president or a Mother Theresa or a Nelson Mandela, but it sure ain’t what you want to do to your sweetheart,” Trixie told her. “Not unless you’re laid back in a euphoric fog , smiling at how much you admire his motion of the ocean.”

“Motion of the ocean?” she asked.

Trixie shrugged and said, “You know it’s not the size of the wave, but the…”

“Right, got it,” Roxie said. “You are such a nag. You know how I am. It’s just like how I was about Christmas when I was a little girl. You’d already sneaked and opened all your presents and wrapped them back up, but I wanted to open one at a time during the day. ”

“I shoulda’ caught on you were brain-damaged then,” Trixie told her. “Get the car in gear sugar, or your sweetie will be trading you in on a new model.”

Removing the tags:

“I hear you.” Trixie placed one hand on her sister’s shoulder. “I suggest you get his mind off kids. Just how much extra-curricular activity have you done anyway?”

“As in sex?”

Trixie sighed. “No, I meant Scrabble. Of course I meant sex, you ditz.”

Roxie’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t demean me.”

“Stop the temper tantrum. I got tired of that when you were six. Spill. Have you two been to bed?”

Roxie stared at the floor. “The time just hasn’t been right.”

Trixie slapped the counter. “Bingo! Men’s minds wander at date six or earlier. Mark my words, he’s off shopping the catalogues, not admiring the old purchase.”

“Between you and Greg, I’m starting to feel like I’m ready for the glue factory.”

Trixie leaned down and stared into her sister’s eyes. “What’s with you? You’re the one who made whoopee with a California foreigner in a shed and Greg who is the obvious recipient of your pitty-pats doesn’t get as much as a bounce on the bed?”

Roxie bit her lip. “It’s because I admire him a lot.”

“Admire is something you do to a president or a Mother Theresa or a Nelson Mandela, but it sure ain’t what you want to do to your sweetheart. Not unless you’re laid back in a euphoric fog , smiling at how much you admire his motion of the ocean.”

Roxie looked up. “Motion of the ocean?”

Trixie shrugged. “You know it’s not the size of the wave, but the…”

“Right, got it.” Roxie exhaled. “You are such a nag. You know how I am. It’s just like how I was about Christmas when I was a little girl. You’d already sneaked and opened all your presents and wrapped them back up, but I wanted to open one at a time during the day. ”

“I shoulda’ caught on you were brain-damaged then. Get the car in gear sugar, or your sweetie will be trading you in on a new model.”

I hope this helps any beginning writers out there and would love to hear from readers as well.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Bobbye Terry writes mystery/suspense, romance, fantasies and dystopian fiction. Her most recent release is Honey Blood and the Collector, written as Daryn Cross, Turquoise Morning Press.  Walk Right Back, also written as Daryn Cross, is soon to release from L&L Dreamspell. For more about Bobbye, visit her at www.BobbyeTerry-MysteryHappens.com and http://www.datyncross.com/ .

Interview of Author Lori Foster

Today I’m pleased to present an interview of Romance Writers of America Honor Roll member, New York Times/Publishers Weekly/USA Today Best Selling author, Lori Foster. With over 80 books published, she’s a very prolific author for a number of different publishers.

Lori…welcome to our blog! We’ll ask some traditional questions, and then surprise you with some you may not have been asked before!

Upcoming April Release: "A Perfect Storm" (Book Four
in the series "Men Who Walk the Edge of Honor".)
Buy Links:  
Amazon
B&N
 Books A Million

GIVEAWAY ALERT: Leave a comment for a chance to win a Lori Foster book (winner’s choice of a book title Lori has on hand) and t-shirt! Comments must be posted by midnight EST, 28 March. Please put your email address in with comment. USA addresses only.

Q: Tell us about the first book you published: how long did it take for you to write, sell, see it published.
A: Holy cow, that’s going back. My first book published was “Impetuous.” I don’t remember specifically how long it took me to write it, but I know I’d been writing for over 5 years and had completed over 10 manuscripts before I finally got sold.

I do remember that the publisher looked at that particular book and liked it, but wanted MAJOR revisions – to the tune of removing as much male POV as I could.

Since I didn’t yet have a computer, rewrites were a major pain, but I did it. Then that editor left and the revised manuscript was in limbo.

Finally, nearly a year later, a new editor picked it up. And guess what? She said it needed a lot more male POV. :-/

I revised it again.

Then she wanted me to move the first sex scene from chapter 4 as close to chapter 1 as I could. That took a lot more revising, but I bumped it up and had to retype the entire book again in the process. Eventually it sold. How long that all took, I can’t say exactly, but I know I felt like I was hanging over a cliff by my toe nails, and when I finally got “the call,” I was so exhausted from it all, instead of being elated, I only felt relief. :-)

Q: Now, tell us about the first book you wrote…is it the same as the first one you sold? If so, that’s fantastic! If not, what happened to it?
A: Oy, no. There is something like 7 unpublished books sitting in my closet upstairs. That’s probably where they’ll stay. I don’t have the heart to throw them away, and I don’t have the energy to reread them, put them into the computer, and revise them. I think of them as a valuable learning tool. I taught myself to write by writing. Amen.


Q: Every author has a routine/ritual/quirks they utilize for their writing. What are yours?
A: I’m an extremely motivated person. It doesn’t really take a lot to get me to work on my stories. But when everything is as I prefer it, I’m either at my desk in my office, which faces our pond so I can see the deer visiting, or the geese and duck landing. Or (in milder weather) I’m at the lake house, facing the lake, watching the boats go by or seeing the fish jump. I’m very much a water person.

I like to listen to my playlist, and burn scented candles.

Q: Where do your story ideas come from? Has any special place/thing/person/event inspire your books?
A: I can’t say where the ideas come from – everywhere I guess. Writers have ideas. ::shrug::: That’s how it works.

But most anyone who’s read me knows I like water. :-)

As a kid I spent every summer on a lake. We’d swim or water ski the day away. Boating, sunning ourselves, lazing around. Long walks. A LOT of my settings feature a lake.

Q: Tell us about your first book signing. We love details!
A: Oh, it was hilarious! It was at this little strip mall at a small, privately owned bookstore with this lovely Asian woman who treated us like royalty. So many people from my local RWA chapter showed up in support, and the bookstore owner was overwhelmed. But then... the crowd waned. Those twenty people who knew me finished up and left, and the owner started to fret.

She came over to me and said, “You sell more book.” It was like an order and a question both, and she was incredibly adorable and sweet.

Now, to this day, whenever I do a booksigning, my husband will order, “You sell more book.” :-)

I will always remember that woman with great fondness. Like a high school boy on prom night, we always remember our first. ;-)

Q: Lori Foster’s “Reader and Author” Weekend. Please tell us all about this annual event!
A: Dianne Castell aka Duffy Brown and I do the event.Our good friend Linda Keller, a retired CRM from BN, handles the massive bookfair for us.

Dianne and I came up with the idea years ago (2012 is our 8th event!) as a way to say “thank you” to the writing and reading community. She and I both greatly appreciate all the wonderful support of readers and other writers. We figured the event could be a way to get book enthusiasts together; new authors have an opportunity to meet editors, agents, publishers and other industry professionals without breaking the bank. Readers have an opportunity to sit with their favorite authors, talk books, take photos, get autographs, and just plain have fun!

It’s the truth, some conferences can get very expensive. If an author hasn’t yet sold, or has only sold a few books, it’s hard on the finances. And for readers, we prefer they keep their money for books!

So Dianne and I work hard to keep the cost of the entire weekend at an affordable $50. Yup, $50 – 8 years running!

There’s plenty for busy-bees to do, but there’s also constant “sit down and talk” time available for those (like me) who prefer a more laidback atmosphere. You can grab a like-minded reader, or a favorite author, and just kick back.

Our raffles are amazing. Authors and publishers provide the baskets, and we donate all our proceeds to a local charity. And our volunteers! Oh my gosh, Dianne and I could NOT do this without our incredible volunteers. This is as much their event as it is ours.

For the first time ever, we maxed out our space this year, so registration is closed. Sorry! Still, the booksigning is open to the public, and there’s always 2013. ;-)

Q: Advice time! Tell us one piece of advice you have for anyone looking to publish a romance book. AND, tell us one piece of advice what NOT to do.
A: What to do: Trust your voice. Forget what’s selling and write only what you love to write. Jump in with both feet. Make the book the way you envision it, not what you think will sell or what you think will be comfortable to the market.

What not to do: Critique groups. Contests. Critique groups will destroy your voice and voice is the only unique thing you have to offer. It is YOUR book, not book by committee. What a critique thinks is wrong might be exactly what an editor thinks is right. Don’t show that book to anyone who can’t buy it, unless the person is only looking for typos.

Contests give you that premature sense of validation. But it’s not a sale. I’ve seen new authors who write amazing first chapters to enter into contests, but never write the rest of the book. If that’s what you’re looking for, have fun! But if you want to publish a book, just write the book and send it to an editor – then if you want, enter a chapter. But get started on the 2nd book. Then the 3rd. It takes a long time to hear back from a publisher and you shouldn’t waste that time by merely waiting.

Q: Finish this sentence: Romance is…
A: Satisfaction. Only romance guarantees you a resolution to problems, a happy ending, a sense of triumph. No matter what happens in the book, we go into it trusting that it’ll all be okay in the end. There’s something very, very satisfying about that.

Q: Which one of your books is your favorite…the “book of your heart”? Why?
A: I only write books of my heart. :-)  I love them all. Not saying they’re my “babies,” because they’re not. They’re just my books. But I wouldn’t write a book that I didn’t love.

Favorites include my Servant series written as L.L. Foster. I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE Gaby and Luther. Still. Always.

But out of straight romance, a few favorites are: Sam, from “My House, My Rules,” was just so macho and funny. Mick, from “Caught in the Act,” was so wounded and sexy. Axel, from “Playing Doctor,” cracked me up.

Thinking of single titles, I really like Trace, from “Trace of Fever.” But readers apparently liked Jackson the best, from “Savor the Danger.” Readers and I rarely agree on favorites. LOL

Q: What’s the difference between L.L. Foster and Lori Foster books?
A: Blood, gore, violence. I mean, there’s violence in my romances, with the heroes kicking some serious butt.

But as L. L. I let the villains do really violent things too.

Q: If you could meet with any author (dead or alive) who wrote any type of book, who would it be? What would you talk about?
A: I’ve met most of my heroes! Stella Cameron, Jayne Ann Krentz, Elizabeth Lowell, Catherine Coulter, Linda Howard... I think they’re absolutely amazing.

I guess the only fangirl moments I haven’t had would be with Johanna Lindsey and Julie Garwood. One day I’d love to meet them. If the conversation is up to me, I assume I’d just gush. LOL. But I’m always happy just to talk about live and what makes up a writer’s day.

Q: Tell us about your next release coming in April: "A Perfect Storm".
A: “A Perfect Storm” features Arizona and Spencer, characters introduced in “Savor The Danger.” They’re both edgy, capable, deadly when necessary, and out for vengeance. But when Spencer looks at Arizona, he only sees her youth, her vulnerability, and her sex appeal. It surprised that two such wounded characters could still be so amusing.

Where to find Lori Foster:
http://lorifoster.com/home/
http://www.llfoster.com/home.htm
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Lori-Foster/233405457965
https://twitter.com/#!/lorilfoster
http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/17597.Lori_Foster
http://www.lorifoster.com/newsletter/index.php

BLURB:
He never saw her coming…

Spencer Lark already knows too many secrets about Arizona Storm, including the nightmare she survived and her resulting trust issues. But in order to expose a smuggling ring—and continue avenging his own tragic past—the bounty hunter reluctantly agrees to make Arizona a decoy. Yet nothing has equipped him for her hypnotic blend of fragility and bravery, or for the protective instincts she stirs in him.

Arizona wants to reclaim her life, which means acting as bait to lure the enemy into a trap. Sure it's dangerous, especially with a partner as distractingly appealing as Spencer. But as their plan—and their chemistry—shifts into high gear, Arizona may discover there's an even greater risk in surrendering her heart to a hero….

EXCERPT:
Arizona Storm sat quietly on the overstuffed chair, her chin resting on her drawn-up knees, her fingers laced together around her shins.

Waiting.

In the quiet, shadowed room, she breathed in the unique aroma of aftershave and gun oil, and the headier scent of warm male. On the back of the chair behind her he’d tossed his jeans and a rumpled T-shirt. Close at hand on the nightstand, he’d placed his freshly cleaned gun and his deadly switchblade.

His discarded boxers lay on the floor.

He fascinated her.

After breaking into his house, she’d removed her sneakers and put them next to his boots by the front door. The air conditioning, set on high, left her toes cold, but he’d covered himself with no more than a thin sheet.

Again and again, her gaze tracked over him, from one big foot sticking out over the side of the bed, up and over his flat, solid abs covered by the snowy white sheet, to his chest – not covered by anything except enticing body hair.

With one arm behind his head, she saw his underarm and the dark tuft of hair there. Seeing that almost made him look vulnerable – except that, despite his relaxed pose, the positioning of his long arm made a thick biceps bulge.

At nearly six and a half feet tall, solidly built and finely sculpted, Spencer Lark was one of the biggest, strongest, most impressive men she’d ever met.

And she knew some really prime specimens.

His long lashes shadowed his high cheekbones, but that didn’t detract from the bruising beneath one eye. A recent fight? She smiled while picturing it, sure that Spencer had come out ahead. His skill at fighting intrigued her even more than his big bod.

Amazing, but even his slightly crooked nose held her rapt. When and how had he broken it?

She inhaled a deep breath and let it out in a quiet sigh that, given the silence in his home and Spencer’s acute instincts, disturbed his slumber.
Arizona admitted to herself that maybe she’d wanted to wake him. After all, she’d been watching him – and waiting – for awhile now.

His head turned on the pillow, his legs shifted.

Holding herself perfectly still, she waited to see if he’d awaken, what he’d do, what he’d say. She didn’t know him all that well, and yet… she did.

Sort of.

They’d met nearly a month ago while they were both on a sting. Immediately, they’d butted heads, and he’d infuriated her by interfering with her life.

But worse, he’d robbed her of the revenge she desperately craved.

Sure, he had his own need for revenge, so she understood his motives. She didn’t forgive him. Not yet, anyway.

But she did understand.

At least, she thought she did. Once they talked it over, then she’d decide for sure.

He made a soft, gravelly sound as he stretched that long, strong body. His chin tucked in. Muscles flexed.

The sheet tented.

Eyes widening, Arizona stared, not really alarmed, but no longer so at ease, either. She had a very dark history with aroused men, so she doubted she’d ever be unaffected by them. But she didn’t let it get in her way, not when she wanted something, not when she had a goal in mind.

She knew she should have taken Spencer’s gun, at the very least moved it out of his reach. But instead she’d found him in the bed, and before she’d even thought it through, she’d taken the empty seat and settled in to study him while he slept.

Since that fateful day when her destiny had been stolen from her, she’d seen him only a handful of times. She tried to stay away. She tried to forget about him.

She hadn’t been successful.

Stretching, he brought his hand out from behind his head, around to rub over his hair, across his face, down his chest.

As he gave a sleepy, growling groan of waking, that hand disappeared under the sheet.

Arizona’s lips parted and her heartbeat tripped up. She cleared her throat.

“Spence?”

Freezing, without moving any other body part, he opened his eyes and met her gaze.

She frowned at him.

He didn’t look super-startled, and he said nothing. He just stared at her.

With his hand still under there.

“Yeah…” Semi-satisfied with his frozen reaction, she nodded at his lap. “You weren’t going for a little tug, were you? Because, as your spectator, I’d just as soon not see it.”

He brought his hand out and put it back behind his head, still silent, still watching her. Almost… relaxed.

His gaze was so dark, so compelling, she felt like squirming, damn it. “I mean, I guess I could wait in the other room if it’s really necessary. That is, if you don’t take too long.”

He disappointed her by not reacting. As if he often woke with an uninvited woman playing voyeur in his bedroom, he looked her over, from her bare toes up to her long, wind-tangled hair.

“Been here long?”

“Maybe half an hour or so.” Curiosity prompted her to ask, “Were you going to… you know?” She nodded at his lap.

“Most men say hi to the boys first thing.”

“Say hi?”

With no sign of discomfort, he shrugged one shoulder. “You broke in.”

A statement, not a question. She did her own casual shrug. “Since you’re not dumb enough to leave the place unlocked, yeah, I had to.”

He turned his head, but not to check on the time. He saw the gun still on the nightstand where he’d left it, and brought his gaze back to hers again. “You know how to make coffee?”

One eyebrow lifted high. “Trying to get me out of the room so you can leave the bed? I’m not squeamish, you know. I mean, with my background, I’ve seen plenty of –”

He threw off the sheet and sat up, effectively shutting down her snide retort.

Ho boy.

“If you don’t know how to make coffee, just say so.” Spencer stretched again, harder, longer this time. Sitting on the side of the bed, he snagged up his boxers and stepped into them. As he stood, he pulled them up.

They fit like a glove.

He still had a tent going.

And she still stared.



Q: Anything else you’d like to add?
A: I’m always accessible to readers. I visit my FB every day, off and on all day, and I answer all my emails myself.
I often have fun goodies to give away. If you want some, send me an SASE (Self Addressed Stamped Envelope) that I can fill with stuff and drop off at the P.O. to return to you. Send the envelope to me at: Lori Foster, P. O. Box 854 Ross, OH 45061.
Thank you!

Bonny Knee Contest by Cornelia Amiri

If you’ve never been to a Bonny Knee Contest, let me share a little about them. For these contests, brawn, lusty sons of Scotland, garbed in clan tartans, gather together, not for war, but to bare their knees to a blind folded lassie. The judge, sits as pretty as a queen, blindfolded so she can’t see the knees before her. Lifting her hands, palms outward, she wiggled her fingers, ready to explore the line of men in kilts.


The first Scot takes the stage, loudly shuffling his feet as he scoots up to the lassie’s lap, he pressed his hard muscled calves up against her shapely legs. Reaching out, the lassie lays the palms of her soft hands over his bare knees. When she has had her feel of one man’s knees, another lad steps forward, and so it goes.

The men walked forward one by one, and lift their kilts to the blindfolded lassie for a second round of judging. At moments when a judge seems unsure of where to place her fingers, another lassie assists by guiding her hands to the fellows’ knees. The judge dare not touch something higher than the knee. Some of the contestants from time to time may lift their kilt a little too high. We don’t want to see more than knees.

Sometimes the judges seem to be have a bit too much fun and take several rounds to pick a winner. But they do need to be sure to pick the right one. It’s only fair. Once the judge makes their choice, the winner is announced, they usually get bragging rights and a trophy or a small prize.

I hope you enjoy the pictures, they are from the Kilgore Texas Celtic Heritage Festival, the town is nestled amid the flowering dogwood, and stately pine trees of East Texas. If you ever get a chance to go to a Bonny Knee contest you should, as you can see they are hilarious and lots of fun.

For more about the Celts and Romance please visit my website at http://CelticRoamnceQueen.com
and Facebook

Celtic New Year

Happy Holidays everyone. I hope you all have a Happy New Year. I write Celtic romances and the New Year celebration, called Samhain, was as important to the ancient Celts as New Years is to us. Even more so as the long cold days of winter were dangerous to ancient man and the Samhain rituals helped keep them in the gods and goddesses’ favor, increasing the tribe’s chance of survival. Here’s a New Year excerpt from my brand new release a Paranormal/ Erotica/ Romance The Wolf and The Druidess

Excerpt:
“Yes, Druidess. It is the best new year celebration ever.” The young woman’s freckled face beamed.
“It is, isn’t it?” Seren sighed as she envisioned sitting with the ghost of her mother and sharing the feast. “Will you gather treats for me, I am off to visit my mam’scairn for Samhain?“ Her throat tightened. Seren’s father had died in battle with the Silures, when she was young, leaving her mother to care for her.
Today, ten months after her mother’s death, she would sup with, talk to, and spend time with her again.
“We have oat cakes, druidess and fresh, juicy apples.” A maiden with long nut-brown hair handed her a wicker basket.
Seren peeked inside at the shiny red apples, crispy oat cakes, plump black pudding links, fat turnips, wild carrots, and handfuls of roasted hazelnuts.
“Druidess, tell me, do you have someone special to couple with around the bonfire this night?”
“No, I need to bring this fare to my mother.” Seren shrugged. She would like to share this night with a handsome man, but as the druidess her days were full with serving the tribe. With little time to kindle a romance, she longed for love, but mayhap it was not meant to be. “What of you?”
“Yes, I will spend the eve with Hywell. He and I shall hand-fast soon.”
“Blessings upon you. He is a good man, a brave warrior.” Seren pulled the white hood of her druid robe over her head. “I need to hasten to my mother’s cairn. Happy Samhain to you.”
“And you, Druidess, as well.” The young woman’s mouth curled up into a bright smile. “Here, for your trek into the dark woods.”
Seren took the lit torch from the freckle-faced maiden. With the basket looped through her arm and a firebrand in hand, she set out for the forest.

And here’s a Samhain or New Year excerpt from my Celtic/Paranormal/Romance, Druid Bride:

Excerpt:
As a yearly tribute to the dead, the New Year’s feast insured the gods saw the tribe through the hard winter. It had to be perfect, and it fell on her shoulders. Not to mention, she’d never put on a Samhain feast alone. Sulwen and Rhys always did it, and she merely helped. She began to relax, taking deep breaths as she strolled to the pasture where the cattle grazed. Tanwen walked through the herd and selected the cows to slaughter for the fire festival.
Then, she headed to the chief’s wheelhouse. “Good morning, Ciniatha. Have you chosen the nine maidens to cook the feast?”
“Yes, we just came from the garden. Come see.”
Though too busy to take the time to squeeze and smell the fruits and vegetables, Tanwen deemed they looked ripe. The bright, red apples appeared sweet and juicy, and the oblong, yellowish, purple-capped turnips were fat and sure to be crisp and filling.
Tanwen’s nose wiggled at the strong smell of the long, green leeks. “You’ve done well. I can tell this is the best of the harvest.”
“And taste this.” Ciniatha held out a spoon of yellow butter.
Tanwen glanced to the corner where two maidens pumped wooden churns. She dipped her finger into the spoon of butter and popped it into her mouth. So creamy and sweet. Rich. “It is good enough for the gods.” After licking her finger, she ran her tongue over her lips to get every dab. “Delicious.”
As she inhaled the mellow scent of fresh baked bread, she imagined the taste of a soft, warm slice with the soft butter. She had to leave before she started eating the food intended for the feast.
“I see all is well here.” She smiled at the chief’s wife. “There will be plenty of bread for the visiting spirits.” Tanwen turned to leave.
Ciniatha called after her. “Did you see Brude today?”
“Yes, he’s hunting boar for the feast. Now that we have caught each other, we have no time to spend together. There are feasts and battles, but after Samhain, there should be more time for us.”
“You have much to do. You are a druid. And rest assured, I have the fare for the feast well in hand.” She flashed a sweet smile at Tanwen. “Calach and I welcome you into the family. My son is making a wise choice.”
“My thanks.” She reached out and hugged Ciniatha, though Brude was still on her mind. Did he still feel that way? He seemed so disappointed about the hunt. She released her mother–to-be by marriage, smiled, then turned and continued the many tasks she’d set aside for that day.
After she ate the evening meal that Huctia brewed over the central fire of her wheelhouse, Tanwen laid on her pallet. Exhausted, she fell into a heavy sleep.

Of course us modern day folk like to party at New Year’s Eve too. So here’s a partying excerpt from The Wolf and the Druidess as the ancient Celts bring in their New Year.
Excerpt:
After the nine warriors had made many a trek up the hill, a bonfire towered before Seren. Chief Neithon handed her a firebrand to light it. The bard of the tribe came forward with harp in hand and strummed a lilting tune as the fire roared in a bright blaze.

Seren raised her hands high, twirling and chanting. “Fire sparks, veil parts, ancestors come near, feast, dance, sing with us here. Great powers abound. Circle comes round. All hail Samhain.”
The roar of the blaze, the cheering crowd, and the magic of Samhain rushed through her like an inferno. Seren slipped off her white gold-speckled robe, which had been woven by her mother and was the last gift from her before she died. Seren longed to see her once more. She tossed the garment to one of the women
to hold for her.
One of the nine maidens, Elund, beat the goatskin drum in a savage rhythm. Seren’s skin felt as hot as the fire as she moved in a swaying motion. Needing to bare her body for the gods, she danced to, she untied her hemp belt and her plaid skirt dropped to the dirt. She yanked her red tunic off and threw it down. The haunting twitter of the pipes and the ethereal tone of the harp joined the bodhran in the jubilant song of Samhain.

I wish each of you a happy and prosperous New Year.

Happy New Year,

Cornelia Amiri

The Latest in Long Swords, Hot Heroes, & Warrior Women

Cheers everyone, I’m passing (virtual) heather mead around, please grab a goblet and drink down the heady brew as I tell you about my latest release Druid Bride. It is my ninth Celtic/Romance as I love history and have an unquenchable passion for all things Celtic. I believe it began when I saw the Disney movie, The Sword and the Stone at age five. Speaking of movies, Druid Bride is set against the same historical backdrop of 1st century AD Scotland as the new movie, Centurion.

It’s a mystical, romantic tale, full of adventure that will sweep you away to the period in history when the Boudica revolt failed in England and the Pictish tribes of northern Scotland took up the battle against the Romans. It is a time of long swords, hot heroes and warrior women. Brude is my hot hero, a Pictish warrior, with shoulder length hair thick from lime wash and spiked like a hedgehog’s, with strands ranging from dark brown to a golden hue. Danger shines in his alluring grin and the gleam of his brown eyes. He is tall, young, muscular, well built and his body is covered with blue, Pictish woad tattoos of Celtic beast and curving symbols. My warrior woman, Tanwen, has long, straight, copper toned red hair and large green eyes, she wears the white gold speckled robe of a druidess. They are physically attracted to each other and they respect each other. But they do not trust each other.

I think the best way to describe a historical time period or events is to just bring the reader into it. Here are some tidbit excerpts and character quotes to take you to the wild world of the Pictish tribes in first century AD, Scotland.

Excerpt:
The tattoos covering his arms and legs were similar to the sacred images engraved on the long stones which stood all over Caledonia. The largest swirl began small and curved into a larger loop, with a little one for wings, and long, thin lines as legs. So his patron goddess was Corra—the crane goddess—which revealed his closeness to the otherworld and his gift of prophecy

2nd Excerpt:
Together they gulped down the golden mead. Never, not once, did they tear their eyes away from each other.
“As the mead flows through you, let the spirit fill you.”Tanwen walked over to the cauldron and dipped her hand in the dark, gooey, blue dye.
Her finger slinked down his face, streaking both cheeks blue. The woad was warm, her touch hotter. His tinted checks burned. After dipping her hands into the dye again, her ring-bedecked fingers danced over the muscles rippling down his arms, tracing each of his tattoos, following the lines as she painted them blue. He quivered. The gods shielded him through these symbols. The first was a wolf, with an open mouth drawn as a curve. Then the boar with tusk made from a circle, with a line drawn though it and two knots on each end. His flesh tingled as she painted the lines of a swirling snake.

3rd Excerpt:
There she was, standing on the hill, enveloped in a flowing, speckled, white cloak held with a gold brooch, and wearing gold clasps on her ears and a thick gold torque around her neck. Brude watched as the villagers took the nine sacred woods and built the great fire. He felt like he didn’t know her. He didn’t think of her as Tanwen while watching her there, but simply as a druidess, a human personification of a war goddess. A woman yes, but one who spoke for the gods, and therefore had more power than the mightiest chief of the land. Not the woman he longed for when the Smertae captured her in that botched cattle raid. Not the fiery lady he’d slept with, who filled his dreams.

And I’ll leave you with these two character quotes from Druid Bride:

“Oh woman, loved by me, give me your heart, your soul, and your body. I swear by peace and love to stand, heart to heart and hand to hand.” Brude

“I have drunk mistletoe afore, stronger than what is given to the sick. I use it to aid travel through the oak door.”Tanwen