History of Tequila

Today, July 24, is National Tequila Day. Sounds fun, right? Back in the day, I drank my share of tequila, with salt and lemon.  As a nod to my younger days, I thought I’d research the history of tequila.

Tequila is the name for a distilled beverage made from the blue agave plant, primarily in the area surrounding the city of Tequila, 40 miles northwest of Guadalajara. The red volcanic soil in the surrounding region is particularly well-suited to the growing of the blue agave plant. (Wikipedia)

Mezcal wine, tequila’s grandparent, was first produced only a few decades after the Spaniards came to the New World in 1521. Agave played a much larger role than the source of an alcoholic drink. Its leaves were used for a hemp-like fiber to make mats, clothing, rope and paper. It was also the source of the nutrient and vitamin-rich brew, pulque. (Source: Los Cabos Magazine)

The distillation of pulque into something stronger may have originated by the Conquistadors as early as the 1520s. You’re all familiar with Cuervo Tequila. Jose Antonio Cuervo was the first licensed manufacturer of tequila. He received the rights to cultivate a parcel of land from the King of Spain in 1758. Today, Cuervo is the largest manufacturer of tequila in the world. (Source: Los Cabos Magazine)

Mexican laws state that tequila can only be produced in the state of Jalisco and limited municipalities in the states of Guanajuato, Michoacán, Nayarit, and Tamaulipas. Planting, tending, and harvesting the agave plant remains a manual effort, largely unchanged by modern farm machinery and relying on centuries-old know-how.

The men who harvest it, the jimadores [ximaˈðoɾes], have intimate knowledge of how the plants should be cultivated, passed down from generation to generation. (Wikipedia)

"Tequila worm" misconception

A young agave plant

THE WORM
Another interesting error is an urban legend related to a worm. The worm-in-the-bottle myth is old and tired. The truth has been broadcast and expounded for years by the cognoscenti of tequila, in newspapers, magazines and on the internet. Yes, it’s true, some American-bottled brands put one in their bottle to impress the gringos and boost sales, but it was a marketing ploy developed in the 1940s, not a Mexican tradition.

Sometimes however, there is a worm, properly a butterfly caterpillar, in some types of mezcal. You may also get a small bag of worm salt and chile powder tied to a mezcal bottle. There are two types of worms in mezcal: the red, gusano rojo—considered superior because it lives in the root and heart of the maguey—and the less-prized white or gold gusano de oro, which lives on the leaves. The red gusano turns pale in the mezcal, the gold turns ashen-gray. Both larvae are commonly eaten as food and are sold in Zapotec markets.

Yes, you’re supposed to eat the worm in mezcal. Don’t worry: it’s quite well pickled and free of pesticides (they’re often raised just for use in mezcal, cooked and pickled in alcohol for a year). But dispel any idea it has any magical or psychotropic properties, that it’s an aphrodisiac or the key to an "unseen world." It’s merely protein and alcohol—but it’s very rich in imagery. Note: Yuck.

In Mexico, the most traditional way to drink tequila is neat, without lime and salt. Outside Mexico, a single shot of tequila is often served with salt and a slice of lime. This is called tequila cruda and is sometimes referred to as "training wheels", "lick-sip-suck", or "lick-shoot-suck" (referring to the way in which the combination of ingredients is imbibed). The drinkers moisten the back of their hands below the index finger (usually by licking) and pour on the salt. Then the salt is licked off the hand, the tequila is drunk, and the fruit slice is quickly bitten. Groups of drinkers often do this simultaneously. (Wikipedia)

Note: I always thought you used lemon. That’s what we did. We used to drink it this way in groups in a bar, mostly the summer of 1971, at the Jersey Shore.

Now that you know all the important facts about tequila, go out and celebrate National Tequila Day.

While drinking your tequila, settle down with a sizzling, fun romance.

SALE!!

A Groom for Christmas

Only 99 cents for a very limited time.

Fun holiday read.

A GROOM FOR CHRISTMAS is a new twist on the classic Hallmark Christmas movie full of family, humor, love, and a little bit of redemption.

Family pressure just might make her do something crazy...

When a young woman hires her hometown’s former bad boy to be her pretend fiancé for the holidays, she finds she can’t wrap up her feelings as easily as a Christmas gift.

New York jewelry designer Graceann Palmer has two days to find a fiancé to bring home to Pennsylvania for the holidays so her matchmaking mama will quit fixing her up with jerks. The Falcon, a motorcycle-riding, leather-clad former high school crush, helped her out once before. Maybe he'll do it again.

Jake Falco, man of many mysteries, is back in town on a mission—one the people of Spirit Lake most likely won't appreciate. When Graceann presents him with her crazy scheme, it gives him something he's always wanted—a chance to get to know Graceann. It also gives him the perfect opportunity to add fuel to his project of revenge. 

But as Jake and Graceann grow closer, their engagement-of-convenience begins to feel like the real deal—until Jake’s secrets are revealed. 

Can a relationship that began with lies and secrets bloom like a rare Christmas rose into happily-ever-after?

2013 Snow Globes Award Contest Finalist
Winner! 2014 New Jersey Romance Writers Golden Leaf Award
2014 Readers' Choice Nominee, Best Couple, Love Romances Cafe
2014 RomCon Awards Finalist

There’s no tequila in A Groom for Christmas, but I’m now writing the sequel, Wedded on a Dare, and I have scene where the heroine and hero are drinking tequila. Let’s hear it for tequila!

Here’s what some Amazon reviewers have said about A Groom for Christmas.

…“The story grabbed me in the beginning and kept me interested to the end. I urge you to read Jake and Graceann's story.”

…”A fun warm sweet romance that will have you laugh and see that you can't judge a person by who they were for you may miss something wonderful.”

https://books2read.com/u/4AwNnq

DAISIES, DIAMONDS & STORMS, OH MY!

  

April’s theme is daisies, diamonds, and storms. Daisies are very pretty and festive. They say diamonds are a girl’s best friend. I don’t have many diamonds, and the few I have are small, but that’s okay. I’m not much of a diamond gal. I prefer more colorful gems.

I chose the storm picture here because it shows one of the famous natural monuments in Monument Valley, Utah, a place I visited with my husband and son on one of our trips to the Southwest. We didn’t see any storms, but the mesas and plateaus and the wonders of Nature spread out for all to see there is awe-inspiring.

I live in Delaware, on the East Coast. Thankfully, we don’t get weather extremes here. Tornados have been known to touch down, but they’re minor compared to what they get in Tornado Alley. We have severe thunderstorms at times, but thunderstorms don’t scare me. I think they’re awesome, but I do worry about losing power each time we have a storm. In 2008, we were hit with a big hailstorm with golf-ball size hail. The sound of those ice balls hitting our house was deafening. When it started, we didn’t know what it was. My husband, son, and I, along with our cat, ran to the window. I’ve never seen anything like that before or since. Unfortunately, our cars were parked outside and they sustained damage from the hail.

Hurricanes, snowstorms, and ice storms are our biggest weather challenges in this part of the country. As a child, snowstorms were fun because we got out of school and we could go sledding when the snow stopped falling. Snowstorms and ice storms aren’t much fun when you’re an adult and have to drive in them to get to work. Most companies don’t close for snow or ice.

The last big hurricane here was Irene in 2011. Hurricane Sandy the following year was worse but it affected the Jersey Shore and not so much Delaware. During Irene, we lost power and Internet for six days. The evening the hurricane started, we lost Internet. We lost power during the night when a tree in a neighbor’s yard fell on electric wires. Twelve houses in our neighborhood were affected by that falling tree. Power outages were widespread throughout the state. At least we had water and our landline. Two of our phones are hardwired so even with a power outage we have phone service. That first afternoon when the storm finally ended, I heard a horrible thumping noise that shook the house. I looked out the window to see a telephone pole in our yard on the ground and split in two. There went our landline.

We were luckier than our neighbors because we had hot water. Their water heaters are electric while ours is gas-powered. We could take hot showers and they had to be content with cold ones. It was still summer and that helped. We managed to save everything in our refrigerator. We took our frozen stuff to a nearby relative’s and stored them in her freezer. We had two large coolers in our kitchen where we kept the refrigerated stuff. Every other day we bought more ice for the coolers. I cooked every night on the grill outside. On the fifth day our food ran out and we had to eat out. Every morning, I made a run to the convenience store for coffee. Must have my coffee in the morning.

Almost as bad as losing electricity was losing Internet. I got my first iPhone later that same month so I would never again be completely without my Internet. I was going crazy. It was as if I had no link to the outside world. Finally, after five days, I went to Barnes & Noble to use their Internet. Seems everyone had the same idea. The place was packed with people sitting all over using laptops. A store employee found me the last free electric outlet in the store—in the children’s section. I sat on a tiny child’s seat and hooked up to the BN Wi-Fi. At last, I could read my emails. I felt calmer than I had in days. On the day I was at BN, my husband was working on the yard. He left our garage door open and a guy on a bicycle stole two leaf blowers out of the garage. My husband chased after him on foot but couldn’t catch him. There are always those people who take advantage of situations.

On the sixth day, a convoy of power company trucks rolled into our neighborhood. The cavalry! Most of us neighbors who’d lost power were in my backyard at the time. When we saw the power company trucks, we let out a loud cheer.

We survived Irene, but it was a lesson in how dependent we are on basic needs like electric, water, telephone, and also Internet. I hope not to go through that again, but Mother Nature likes to flex her muscles at times and we’re at her mercy.

Weather can be a great backdrop for a story. My multi-award winning sexy sizzler, Storm of Desire, is set during a January nor’easter at the Delaware beach.

"The storm outside is nothing compared to the storm of desire and guilt raging between former lovers trapped together." 
Corporate attorney Samantha Greco needs some peace and quiet to come to a decision about her career. Instead, while an icy nor’easter rages outside, she finds herself trapped in a cottage on Fenwick Island with Aiden Rourke, a man she used five years ago when she ran from the heartbreak of her fiancé’s betrayal. 

Aiden Rourke has loved Sam for years. For one glorious night she was his. But then she fled, wounding his ego and his heart. Thrown together again, they soon discover time hasn’t diminished their fiery passion for each other. Only Aiden has ever been able to melt Sam with just a look or a touch. But the fear that she’s like her mother, who used men mercilessly, scares Sam to death. 

The storm outside is nothing compared to the storm of desire, fear, and guilt raging inside Sam. But during their wild weekend together, Sam and Aiden draw closer and realize their all-consuming passion for each other masks deeper needs and desires. 

When the storm ends, will they go their separate ways? Or will they find the courage to face the future together as one? 

Winner, second place novella category, 2013 Gulf Coast RWA Silken Sands Star Contest! 

Winner, fourth place short contemporary category-2013 OKRWA International Digital Awards Contest! 

Here’s an excerpt. I hope you enjoy it.

Samantha Greco yanked her wet suitcase through the bedroom doorway, dropped it on the floor, turned on the lamp and slammed the door. The sound reverberated through the empty house. She hadn’t meant to take her frustrations out on the door, but her white-knuckled drive up the coast from Richmond, Virginia, to Fenwick Island, Delaware, had plucked her last nerve.   

Lightning flashed, illuminating the shadowed corners of the room. The fierceness of the January storm had turned the early afternoon to dusk. A sudden crack of thunder made her jump. Damn nor’easter!  

Shivering, she set her handbag on the night table, then shrugged off her jacket and threw it on the bed. The soaking rain had dampened her jeans. She sat on the bed and tugged off her boots, then her jeans and the sweater she'd worn since early morning. She unzipped her suitcase and rummaged for fresh jeans and a sweater. Straightening, the clean clothes in one hand, she loosened her hair from its clasp to let the damp tendrils swing about her shoulders and down her back.

She started when she caught a glimpse of another person in her peripheral vision. With a nervous laugh, she realized she’d seen her reflection in the full-length mirror. She studied herself and shrugged. Clad only in a red thong and matching lace bra, her black hair falling loose and undone, she looked worlds removed from the conservative corporate lawyer she presented to her colleagues. 

The lamp flickered, then went out, plunging the room into semi-darkness.

Samantha dropped the clothes onto the bed and let her eyes adjust. The wind picked up, howling an angry song. Scrub trees scraped the side of the house, a macabre accompaniment to the wind. Anxiety snaked through her. “I should have stayed in Richmond this weekend.”

Above the wail of the wind, she heard a door open and close. Samantha froze. She must have imagined the sound. Or maybe the cats were into something, or perhaps it was only a loose shutter. 

Footsteps echoed in the hallway.  

Definitely not the cats. Not a shutter either. 

Her heart raced. Oh, God. 

She groped for the sweater she’d thrown down. Sweater in hand, she looked frantically around for something to use as a weapon. 

Her bedroom door flew open and hit the wall with a loud bang. She screamed. A tall man, brandishing a baseball bat, stood silhouetted in the doorway. 

She threw the only thing she had in her hand at him--her sweater. He smacked it to the ground with the bat. The light suddenly came back on. She blinked as recognition dawned.

“Who the hell…?” he shouted above the thunder and the wind. His dark blue eyes widened and he sucked in a breath. Frowning, he lowered the bat. “Sam? I saw the car and wondered. But you? Why are you here?”

She couldn’t breathe as his hot gaze raked her. She’d never forgotten those eyes or that thick brown hair, or the dimple in his cheek when he smiled. She'd never forgotten that night five years ago either, that incredible night. Almost naked, feeling vulnerable, she folded her arms across her chest as if she could protect herself from the memories.  

“Aiden.” Her voice shook. Warmth curled in her stomach and wound lower, leaving her breathless from fright and remembered heat. 

He set the bat against the wall and glared at her, making her wonder if she’d imagined the desire in his eyes a second ago. “Sam, what the hell are you doing here?”

No one but Aiden called her Sam. 

The unexpected harshness of his voice brought her to the present. She scowled back at him. “What are you doing here? In my mother’s house?”

He pushed fingers through his hair, sending droplets of water flying, and studied her with eyes that sparked blue fire. This time there was no mistaking his desire. His gaze made another leisurely sweep of her body. “My God, you’re beautiful,” he whispered. “And still sexy as hell.”

Despite the embarrassment of her near-nakedness, her nipples pebbled under his scrutiny. He was smokin’ hot, and impressions flashed through her mind, as quick as the lightning outside--the feel of his lips on hers, the rough skin of his palms against her breasts. 

She should tell him to leave; she should get dressed. But caught in the sensual heat of her memories, she couldn’t move.

He broke the contact and looked away. When he turned back to her, his eyes were cool. “Get some clothes on, Sam. I’m a man, not a saint.”

“Maybe if you hadn’t charged in here scaring me half to death, I would have had time to dress.”

She glanced down and saw her short terry robe hanging out of her suitcase.

She grabbed it and pulled it on, tying the belt around her waist. Feeling armored, she propped a hand on her hip. “You didn’t answer my question. What are you doing here?”

“I promised your mom I’d take care of things while she’s away. I drove over from Rehoboth to check the house and get the cats. I would have been here sooner but the storm's made driving a mess.” He gave her a pointed look. “As you know.”

She ignored his jab. “You’re the friend who’s watching the cats?” At his nod, she said, “Well I’m here now. I’ll take care of them. You can leave.”

A muscle twitched in his jaw and he moved into the room. “Yeah. Right. You’re here now. Get dressed, Sam. We need to leave. All of us.”

At the seriousness in his eyes and voice, apprehension dashed up her spine.

She pulled on the ties of her robe again, fighting her unease. “What are you talking about?”

“The storm. We don’t have time to argue. Let’s find the cats and get the hell out of here.”

“Are you nuts?”

“You’re the one who’s nuts if you stay here.” He jutted his chin toward the windows. “Do you hear that? The storm of the decade and it’s only going to get worse. The Coastal Highway is taking on water. They’re evacuating everyone inland. Didn’t you notice cars going out but none coming in?”

“It’s January. There’s never much traffic here in January. Besides, I’ve been through plenty of nor’easters.”

“Then you know what happens when the highway floods.” 

A clap of thunder shook the house, as if to punctuate his statement.

Aiden reached out and turned her toward her suitcase. “We don’t have much time. Have you seen the cats? I don’t want to leave them alone. We don’t know when the authorities will allow us back in.”

She stepped away from him, then rubbed her arm as if she could erase the heat of his touch. “The cats ran past me into Mom's room a little while ago.”

“I’ll get the carriers. Get dressed, then we’ll get the cats.”

“Don’t order me around.”

He moved closer, invading her senses with his heat. His hair had begun to dry and curled softly over the collar of his black leather jacket. The dim light from the lamp touched his sharp cheekbones and full lips.

“Listen, princess, if we don’t get out now, we might be stuck here for days.”

Remembering the pleasure he’d given her with that mouth, she licked her suddenly dry lips. “Stuck here? With you?”

His eyes darkened and his gaze lingered on her mouth. “The two of us. Here. All alone.”  

http://www.amazon.com/Storm-of-Desire-ebook/dp/B007TQKKYO/?tag=carmaraut-20

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/storm-of-desire-cara-marsi/1113483056?ean=2940015488173

http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/storm-of-desire

http://itunes.apple.com/us/book/isbn9781301237692

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Reading the Leaves with Rose Anderson

My children are grown now, two 30-somethings with lives of their own. There are days when I feel like I dreamed that life of raising kids, it all went by so fast. As it was for most young families, our Monday to Friday work weeks were spent living our jobs and school. For me this also included shuttling our children to music lessons and Scouts and trying to get the weekly necessities of grocery shopping, housekeeping, and laundry done. Looking back, I honestly don’t know how I managed it! In the evenings back then I sewed historical costumes, did research, and created faux scientific artifacts to be used on the weekends. You see, my family lived history.  

From April to October our weekends were spent driving from one state to the next to attend living history events. We did it just to travel back in time for a while. Dressed in period attire, we left the modern world behind to camp and live rough with others doing exactly the same thing. Back in those days my husband and I assumed the persona of Colonial scientists (like Charles Willson Peale and John James Audubon). By day we’d interact with the public, staying in character and using theater-worthy performances to teach the forgotten bits of history. By night we’d gather with friends to laugh and sing old songs around the campfires. It was a fun hobby to raise our children in. We don’t actively do history events anymore, but I did keep a few accoutrements from then. My husband still has his black powder pistol and we still have our fire irons and favorite costume pieces. I also have my tea set and tea leaf reading books. 

At these events, my historical reenactor lady friends and I would meet up for afternoon teas. Our teas were full costumed affairs. The table would be set with antique china, silver, and linens. Loose tea, the same blends available to the colonials, would steep in silver teapots and we'd nibble on open-fire baked shortbreads and cobblers while we chatted. We even had authentic sugar loaves to chip away at to sweeten our tea. It was a grand show that charmed the public. Occasionally, we'd invite one or two women from the crowd whose interest appeared to match our own to join us. When the last sips were taken and all that remained were the dregs peppered with soggy leaves, that's when the tea leaf readings would begin.

Tea leaf divination, or Tasseography, is a fun thing to do with friends and is especially nice to do on a cold winter's day. You simply drink your tea then look for shapes the tea leaves make in your cup -- like seeing elephants or dragons in cloud formations. You don't really need anything special other than loose tea leaves (the leaves inside a teabag work great). You'll also need a white or pale china cup and saucer so you can see the leaves clearly. Besides these tools, all that's needed is an open mind, a bit of imagination, and sense of adventure. :)

Here are the basics:

1. Bring water to a boil and pour over tea leaves and steep for 3-5 minutes. Use this time to think about your future. 
2. Swirl the pot carefully to be sure you get some leaves in your tea and fill your cup.
3. Drink the tea, leaving a small amount of liquid at the bottom of the cup. 
4. Close your eyes and swirl the dregs in your cup clockwise three times. Ideally the leaves will move toward the lip of the cup. Ask yourself the question you want the tea leaves to address.
5. Turn the cup upside down on the saucer for a few seconds to drain the cup. 
6. Turn the cup right side up with the handle facing the person whose leaves are being read.
7. Look for recognizable shapes and their placement in the cup

The images you see have associations. Their place inside the cup foretells just when to expect them to make a showing in your life. The bottom of the cup is the furthest from you so it means some time in the distant future. Near the rim means sooner. I once had an image of a hen near the rim of my cup. A hen signifies a chatty person would be contacting me soon. The very next day my sister came for a visit. She was a very chatty person. :)

I took part in our historical teas so often I had many of the meanings memorized. Only rarely did I need to refer to my old out-of-print book. I recently shared a leaf reading tea with my soon-to-be daughter-in-law and discovered I've forgotten much of it. Oh well. Use it or lose it.  If you'd like to give this fun activity a try, Amazon and B&N have many new tea leaf reading books to choose from. You can also find the meanings of tea leaf images online. This site is as good as any. Have fun!

Do you have any unusual hobbies? Do share.

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About Rose
Rose is a multi-published, award-winning author and dilettante who loves great conversation and discovering interesting things to weave into stories. She lives with her family and small menagerie amid oak groves and prairie in the rolling glacial hills of the upper Midwest.

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Meet Kathleen Creighton and her Demon Lover

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:

http://www.kathleencreighton.com/my-books/demon-lover/

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