Riding Across the Desert on a Sorrel Steed

Callum Lyon, hero of
The Knight of Wands

In other words, the KNIGHT OF WANDS. What's happening with the book? Well, I'm glad you asked. I've finished the final spit and polish and submitted the formatted manuscript and cover-art worksheet to my publisher (Soul Mate Publishing--a rising star on the e-publishing horizon).

Oh, my. I do like the sound of that. My publisher. Sigh.

Now, I will let Callum and Vanessa enjoy a wee kip (or another roll in the heather, just as they please) while I refocus my energy on Graham and Cat, the H/H in THE QUEEN OF SWORDS. Did a bit of rewriting yesterday based on some Beta Reader feedback. Now, I've got to decide if I want to keep her pregnant or not. At this point, the baby she's carrying is a cambion (because Graham is a Celtic incubus of sorts), but I'm starting to think the pregnancy complicates matters with no pay off.
Hmmm.

Once I've made up my mind, finished the final revisions, and given the ms a right good buffing, I'll be sending her out to the same list of publishers who read KNIGHT OF WANDS. Three offered contracts--one as it is and two with specific revisions (most of which I've made, btw)--so that ain't bad, right? Tells me I must be doing something right.

Meanwhile, watch the "Doing" column at left for upcoming Blog Tours and Hops on this site. The All Hollow's Eve Indie Tour is next!

Callum and Vanessa

Back from Moonlight & Magnolias (more about that later) and working on filling out the form from Soul Mate Publishing for the cover art for my book, THE KNIGHT OF WANDS. The form asks for detailed descriptions of the hero and heroine (among other things to help the cover artists come up with something spectacular to showcase my debut novel). I went back and pulled the character descriptions, then went  surfing on the net for people matching the picture in my head. Here's what I came up with:

Callum looks like Brad Koenig--only with longer hair, no beard, and golden eyes. Here's how I describe him in the book, from Vanessa's POV: 

Callum Lyon was a Leo--with the leonine good looks characteristic of the sign: thick mane, slanted golden eyes, and a mouth that curled up at the corners like a cat’s. She hadn’t told him she’d come to Caithness with the express goal of hooking up. She had read his books on political astrology and, like many women, lusted after the handsome face on their jackets. And what luck that she happened to be passing through this part of Scotland on the night he was making a rare public appearance. As it turned out, the picture didn’t do him justice, but how could it? No two-dimensional image could possibly capture the feral carnality he exuded or the graceful power with which he moved. No wonder women threw themselves at him.

Later, when he's standing before her in only his trousers, she observes:

He had a beautiful upper body--powerful shoulders; bulging biceps; a cut, muscular chest dusted with the perfect amount of golden hair; and rippling, six-pack abs. 

Vanessa is tall and willowy with blue eyes and a confident elegance. I didn't plan it to start (I swear), but, it turns out I picture her looking just like Kate Middleton.

Don't they make a lovely couple? He's a Scottish lion. She's an English butterfly--a free-spirited socialite who flies away before any man can pin her down.

 

Scottish Kings, Sex Slaves, & Senseless Battles

I invented a new acronym yesterday--or, at least, I think I did. SFPing. Shopping for publisher. Here's another excerpt from the book Kensington, Avon, and Loveswept don't want. The hero is Callum Lyon, a political astrologer who lives in a castle in Caithness, Scotland. He was made a drone of the Lamians, a culture of amazonian dark faeries, after falling in the battle of Flodden Field. In life, he was the court astrologer to King James IV of Scotland. In the book, he tells Vanessa, the heroine, that he and King James were taken by faery scouts from the battlefield and turned into sexual slaves (well, he was--James got a slightly better deal). Historically, James was believed killed in the battle, but his body was never identified, leaving the door open for speculation . . . In this scene, Callum, a shapeshifter, has turned himself into a horse to give Vanessa (the heronine) a moonlight ride down the beach.

Callum still vividly recalled riding into Northumberland with the army, his thoughts grim. The casualties would be heavy. Would he be among them? Would he never see his son again? But he had to fight. Had to. Despite what he knew. To do otherwise would have been an act of defiance punishable by death.
          He recalled lining up with the other horsemen along the top of a ridge overlooking a green but boggy valley. The enemy lined up on the other side, but further down, so the King ordered the army to move. Their new position was lower, but still higher than the English line. The charge sounded and the east wing tore down the hill, meeting the enemy in a deafening melee. He tossed his head, flinging the scene away. He doubted that was the sort of thing she wanted to hear. Who cared where the battle lines were drawn or who made the first volley? What mattered was that, when the smoke cleared, ten thousand of his comrades—almost half of their army—lay dead on the field. And not just foot soldiers, but hundreds of earls, lords, and knights—a whole generation of the Scottish nobility. Cut down like hay in a battle that should never have taken place.

The Start of The Knight of Wands

Here's just a wee taste from the start of THE KNIGHT OF WANDS, book one in the KNIGHTS OF AVALON series.

Vanessa Bentley opened her eyes to a pounding headache and the dim sensation that she was not alone. Scenes from the night before rose inside her mind like mist after a warm rain. Callum Lyon’s lecture on political astrology. Waiting around while he signed books. Fleeing back to the inn, disappointed and alone. Going down to the bar for a nightcap. Chatting with the bartender until the object of her desire sauntered in from the blue. They had talked—but what about?—and drank whisky. Things got fuzzier after that.

            Swallowing, she rolled on her side, expecting to find him sleeping beside her. She was alone in the bed, meaning what? She checked for the telltale signs of coupling, but found she was still mostly clothed. He had very decently removed her shoes, her jacket, and her jewelry, but left on her trousers and top. So, he had been too much of a gentleman to take advantage. She liked that scenario, but it did not explain the feeling that someone else was in the room. Checking farther afield, she found a figure sleeping on the couch at the foot of her bed. The long ochre hair confirmed the sleeper’s identity. But why had he opted for the couch?