This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Tina Donahue will be awarding a $10 Amazon Gift Card to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.
Anyone who’s familiar with writing will recognize this question – are you a plotter or a pantser? For me, the answer is simple and complicated. I’m definitely a plotter (the simple part) with some pantser elements (this is where it gets complicated). Let me explain.
The longer I write, the more I realize how much I have to learn. Each book creates its own unique problems that have to be overcome (more on that later). To make my journey as painless as possible, I plot out everything from beginning to end. The ending is especially important. If I don’t know where I’m going, how in the world will I get there? I equate writing a book to driving from Los Angeles to New York City. Sure, I could hop in my car and head east. Eventually, I’d get there. However, if I map out a route first, I’ll arrive much faster. That’s what plotting does for me before I write. I like to know my characters’ histories, what makes them tick, why and how they’ll react to conflict. Without that knowledge, I’d be writing blind and would have to keep going back to add or change things in earlier chapters. That’s exhausting.
However, I’m also a pantser at times. No outline can tell an author every single thing that will happen in the book. When the characters take over, and believe me they do, they determine what the next step will be, whether it’s a conflict I hadn’t thought of, a new character that adds extra oomph to the story, or countless other things no one could predict.
As to the unique problems I mentioned earlier… When I first started writing PNR (paranormal romance), I thought I was in heaven. Imagine creating a world with no restrictions and all those amazing powers. Except I soon found out there were limits just like in real life. If I write in chapter one that a paranormal being has a certain power, but then in chapter six she or he can’t use it to get out of trouble, readers will wonder why. Quicker than you can imagine, I realized that PNR has its own set of rules that I had to abide by. Sort of like Superman and kryptonite. If it can kill him in one scene, why not in another? As an author, you had better have a good explanation or reason. Otherwise, your story doesn’t have a prayer.
To me, writing a book is like giving birth. Pure terror, misery, and then unimaginable joy when it’s all over and you have your baby.
Don’t ever trust a demon. Unfortunately, Megan has learned that lesson too late. The deal she made to save her sister’s life has landed her in hell about seventy years early. And now she has three sexy demons trying to tell her what to do.
Nope. Not going to happen.These guys have never had to deal with such defiance. Andros figures she’s due for some erotic discipline, which he’ll happily provide. Racan’s pure alpha, his hardcore plans include bondage and submission. Quiet yet intense, Vespar expects endless kink to spice up their carnal play.
Who would have ever expected she’d end up falling for them? Too bad demons can’t be trusted…because someone is trying to kill the magic and threatening her stay in this lusty world.
Enjoy an Excerpt
Even during her worst days, Megan Wynters never believed this would happen.
I am so screwed. Afraid to budge, she stood paralyzed in a garish room decorated in more gold and mirrors than Versailles, a weird symbol she couldn’t decipher painted on blood red walls. Displayed throughout the cavernous space were countless marble statues depicting nude men and women screwing or going down on each other or…Thunderous bass from a death metal tune pounded through the wall to her left, the pornographic paintings there bouncing on each deafening beat.
She curled her upper lip, turned and flinched. A guy who hadn’t been in here a second before, sat in the throne-like chair behind the humongous desk. Early thirties or so, he had hazel eyes, and thick blond hair that fell in soft waves to his shoulders. Those suckers and his chest were beyond broad, his well-toned muscles straining against his black silk shirt. Her stomach fluttered at the astounding picture he created, and then her insides clenched when she recalled where she was. That didn’t keep her from eyeing him further. The sun or a tanning lamp had tinted his complexion gold, while his features… Not only were they masculine, but beautiful enough for an angel. Down here? In fucking Hell? Given his great looks, she had to be anywhere but there. Her pulse ticked up. Hope surged. Someone moaned.
The statue to her right was climaxing. Jeezus. The writhing life-sized figures weren’t stone but people, or demons, or something animate. The pure white woman threw back her head and wailed. The pasty guy kept pumping his cock into her. God, god, god. This definitely wasn’t Heaven. But not quite the other place either, considering the coolish air circulating, causing goose bumps to rise on her arms. Rattled and wary, she faced the guy, and then jumped. Two other men, also early thirties, stood on either side of his desk. Both took her in from her mouth to her boobs and lower. Much lower. Unexpected heat rolled through her, her folds creaming at the guys’ raw male appeal, appreciation for their physical gifts stealing her breath and—
Hold it. She couldn’t be turned on by them. It’s a trick. They’re fucking doing this to me because they’re…
Uncertain what they were, she cringed at the possibilities, but still couldn’t glance away.
The one to her right was tall and luscious, his skin olive, his longish black hair combed back. He wore a black tee and low-slung jeans, no shoes or socks. If this were Hell, he should have cloven hooves, not large feet and long toes. Maybe this was purgatory? Please, please, please. That part of the underworld, or whatever they called it, might be bearable.
A pendant hung around his neck boasting a dark red symbol—the same as those on the walls—against a black circle. The blond guy sported an onyx ring on his left forefinger displaying an identical design. Which means? Her stomach rolled and wouldn’t stop. She didn’t want an explanation on what the symbol signified. It might kill her dream this wouldn’t turn out too bad. The third guy had a tat on his left pec showing the exact figure. He’d dressed in black leather pants and biker boots, no shirt, his light brown hair worn short, skin bronzed. Her ears buzzed in approval then rang from unease. The blond smiled, producing deep dimples in his cheeks. Her knees weakened at his normal, friendly greeting. The way a mortal guy would show delight at seeing her and that this could lead to something good. Conversation, a few laughs, then other great stuff. If they behaved nicely, she wouldn’t mind. Damn, she hadn’t had fun in forever.
Another statue climaxed.
Holy hell. Snapped back to reality, she remembered her presence here was a colossal blunder she had to straighten out. Her mouth was so dry she struggled to speak. “I don’t know who you guys are, but—”
“Andros.” The blond touched his thumb to his chest then inclined his head to the shirtless guy.
“Vespar.” He gestured to the one without shoes. “Racan.” His smooth baritone caressed and enticed. “And you’re Megan.”
She wasn’t admitting to anything.
About the Author:
Tina’s an Amazon and international bestselling novelist who writes passionate romance for every taste – ‘heat with heart’ – for traditional publishers and indie. Booklist, Publisher’s Weekly, Romantic Times and numerous online sites have praised her work. She’s won Readers’ Choice Awards, was named a finalist in the EPIC competition, received a Book of the Year award, The Golden Nib Award, awards of merit in the RWA Holt Medallion competitions, and second place in the NEC RWA contests. She’s featured in the Novel & Short Story Writer’s Market. Before penning romances, she worked at a major Hollywood production company in Story Direction.
On a less serious note: she’s an admitted and unrepentant chocoholic, brakes for Mexican restaurants, and has been known to moan like Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally while wolfing down tostadas. She’s flown a single-engine airplane (freaking scary), rewired an old house using an ‘electricity for dummies’ book, and is horribly shy despite the hot romances she writes.
Buy the book at Amazon.
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