MEG MIMS, SPUR AWARD WINNER!

I laughed out loud last week when Jacquie Rogers' bio began with, “My parents were poor but honest sharecroppers …” I’ve got a confession of my own. I’m a ‘burb brat.

A Writer is Born

Yep. I grew up in a cookie cutter “ranch” house—yeah, ranch my foot. A suburb of a huge metropolitan city. Streets in a gridlock pattern, easy for Halloween candy collecting. Driveways leading to the garages in back. Trees in front of every “castle” – except ours. We lived smack dab in the middle of the middle block and had a fire hydrant. Lawns – and the soft ‘whirrs’ of the push mowers early every Saturday morning. Our next door neighbor kept his a lush emerald green and so velvety soft, I would rub my bare sole over that lawn when he drove to the store. ‘Mr. Joe’ kept a sharp eye, so I couldn’t avoid getting caught otherwise.

Most of the families were Catholic. Imagine the kids running all over the place (1960s-70s). My mom was an artist, so when she wasn’t cleaning, cooking, grocery shopping or doing laundry (and yes, she would do all of that every day, with eight in our family), she painted oils and then watercolor. I tried my hand at sketching, but preferred to climb on top of the garage roof to read my books in spring or fall. In summer I’d find a quiet tree in the shade. My favorites were the Little House series because I loved history, and Trixie Belden because I loved mystery. I wanted to be a detective when I grew up. I also wanted to travel back in time – until I realized what an outhouse meant. And how horse manure really stinks. Oh, and horses hated me. I tried to ride one. He refused to cooperate. The second time was no better. My ten-speed bike was faster.

Paying Dues

I have to admit reading those early books (over and over again) probably helped build the foundation for my writing career now. Oh, and reading Tolkien. Along with LeGuin and hordes of other authors during my eclectic phase where I read across genres. I could go on and on about college, marriage, joining RWA after my daughter was born, attending conferences and craft workshops, plus racking up scads of rejections. But I’ll spare you all that. Life also adds bricks to a writer’s sturdy foundation.

I learned that revision is key. I have never “dashed” something off and sent it in to anyone with a magical “acceptance” a few days later. There’s something almost criminal in that kind of expectation. Nowadays, anyone can self-publish—but a quality product will always sell more than something inferior or the latest fad. I believe hard work and paying your dues gives far more gratification than any instant pudding success. When it comes to staying power in the writing field, you gotta bite the bullet. Write, write, write, finish a first draft, plot over, develop deeper characters and themes, revise, revise, and revise, tweak, polish, submit, get over rejection, re-polish or re-tweak, re-submit. Consider the professional’s advice, but listen to your gut too. Build a hard shell, because no matter how many books you publish, poor reviews can hurt too.

The writing profession ain’t for sissies!

Western Writers of
America Spur
Award

The Spur Award

So I had this manuscript called DOUBLE CROSSING. I’d done all the above and submitted it to contests, agents and editors. Despite multiple finalist berths, no one wanted it. Hmm. Was it due to having “no naughty bits” exposed? Sure, my cowboy cussed a little, but being a “blended” genre, with mystery, suspense, adventure, a hint of romance and inspirational, DC seemed primed to please everyone. Only it didn’t fit the marketing slots. I toyed with the idea of self-publishing while I accompanied my daughter to Vienna in the spring of 2011. There’s something about Old Word culture and getting away that would refresh anyone.

I returned home and stumbled over a new small press. Astraea’s standards fit my own—clean, no “pink parts” and solid stories. I decided to accept their offer and took out the few instances of “cussing” to suggestions of how a cowboy might swear. And I jumped on the “Author Platform” bandwagon with gusto—trawled the web for book reviewers, called in favors from published author friends for “blurbs” and investigated all the contests I could find. I didn’t expect anything, but I did hope for a finalist berth in one of them. Lo and behold, the biggest prize fell with a WHOMP on my book. Unexpected, but very much appreciated.

Why Me?

Writers everywhere are notorious for self-doubt. I did some thinking. Did the judges mix my name and book title with someone else? Or maybe no one else entered (not a chance, ha). But maybe, just maybe, my “baby” surprised the judges. DOUBLE CROSSING is unique. I’m not gonna apologize for that. I took Charles Portis’ basic premise from True Grit—a young girl’s quest for revenge—and spun it afresh with an older naïve heroine and the transcontinental railroad. Now I’m writing the sequel, DOUBLE OR NOTHING, because I don’t want to be a one-book wonder. And while I’m not expecting to win a second Spur, I’ll enter the contest again—why not? But first, I’ll revisit the stomping grounds. Write, write, write, plot some more, revise, revise, revise, tweak, polish, re-tweak, etc. until it’s better than DOUBLE CROSSING.

It’s wonderful to know that hard work does pay off in the long run.

Here's a blurb for DOUBLE CROSSING, a Historical Western Suspense:


A murder arranged as a suicide … a missing deed … and a bereft daughter whose sheltered world is shattered.

August, 1869: Lily Granville is stunned by her father’s murder. Only one other person knows about a valuable California gold mine deed — both are now missing. Lily heads west on the newly opened transcontinental railroad, determined to track the killer. She soon realizes she is no longer the hunter but the prey.

As things progress from bad to worse, Lily is uncertain who to trust—the China-bound missionary who wants to marry her, or the wandering Texan who offers to protect her … for a price. Will Lily survive the journey and unexpected betrayal?

Here's an excerpt of DOUBLE CROSSING:
I needed something to make me forget the argument with Father. Capturing the lizard’s familiar form, I filled it in with dark cross-hatching and smudges. What a beautiful creature. My friends kept Persian cats or lapdogs, but lizards held a special fascination for me. Exotic, alluring with their patterned skin texture and independence from humans. Lucretia flicked her tongue and scuttled away, alarmed by some noise in the distance. The setting sun glowed dull red and orange past the shadowy trees, casting golden beams over the garden. The aroma of roast chicken, thyme and sage reminded me of dinner.


Rising to my feet, I groped for my mother’s necklace which held the tiny watch that Charles had given me. I must have left it upstairs on the dressing table. Tinkling water spilled from a cherub’s pitcher into the fountain. I sat down on the bench again and added ferns and shadows to my sketch.

Minutes later, a loud crack echoed in the air. The odd sound lingered. It reminded me of the revolver’s shot when I’d killed the badger. Had it come from the house? Closing my book, I hurried through the garden. Two shadowy figures slipped off the side porch and fled toward the street. The taller one wore dark clothing. I recognized the shorter man as Emil Todaro by his frog-like gait. Rushing after them, I witnessed their mad scramble into a waiting buggy. The team shot forward under a whip’s cruel lash.


Why had the lawyer returned? What did they want?

I climbed the steps to the side door and found it locked. Scurrying around to the back of the house, I tried the library’s French doors but they didn’t budge. My heart jumped in my throat. I picked up my skirts, raced around to the front door and flung it wide.

“Etta! Etta, where’s Father?”

The maid poked her head out of the dining room. “In the library.”

“I saw Mr. Todaro leaving with another man. Did you let them in?”


“No, Miss Lily. I did hear the Colonel talking to someone, though.”

“Didn’t you hear a loud bang?”


“I did, but I thought it was Cook with her pots. I was in the cellar fetching more coal.” Etta trailed me through the hall. “Is something wrong?”


“I’m not sure.” The library’s doorknob rattled beneath my fingers when I twisted it open. I peeked inside the dim room. “Are you all right, Father?”


An odd smell tickled my nose—gunpowder. I swallowed hard, my throat constricting, staring at how Father was sprawled over his desk, head down, one arm dangling over the edge. My head and ears thrummed when I saw papers littering the floor. The safe door stood ajar, the drawers yanked open every which way. I took a step, and another, toward the pipe that lay on the plush Persian carpet. His crushed spectacles lay beside it. Father’s hand cradled the small derringer he’d always kept in his desk drawer. Its pearl handle gleamed above a stack of papers, stained dark crimson.


A fly crawled over Father’s cheek. Etta clawed the air, one hand clamped over her mouth. I saw a tiny blackened bullet hole marking his temple, and wet blood trickling downward. Frozen in place, I heard a shrill scream—my own, since pain raked my throat.


Everything swirled and a dark void swallowed me whole.

Ebook: ISBN# 978-1-936852-48-2 Print: ISBN # 1466223200


BUY LINKS: Astraea Press, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Smashwords


BOOK TRAILER: http://youtu.be/2mDe17A5aF8




Meg Mims, Author and
Spur Award Winner
For Best First Western Book

 Meg Mims is an award-winning author and artist. She loves writing blended genres – historical, western, romance, suspense, mystery. DOUBLE CROSSING is currently available from Astraea Press, Amazon and Barnes & Noble in ebook and print. Meg wrote a contemporary romance, THE KEY TO LOVE, released in February of 2012, and she’s a staff writer for Lake Effect Living, a West Coast of Michigan tourist on-line magazine. Born and raised in Michigan, she lives with her husband plus a “Make My Day” white Malti-poo and a drooling black cat.

“Never let the odds keep you from doing what you know in your heart you were meant to do.” H. Jackson Brown Jr.

Thanks to Meg Mims for sharing with us today. While she's here, I'll be at Peggy Hendersons at http://peggylhenderson.blogspot.com Please stop by and comment so I won't be there all alone.

Thanks for stopping by!

AUTHOR LYN HORNER INTERVIEWED

Lyn Horner, Author

Please help me welcome Lyn Horner to A Writer’s Life. Lyn, readers love to get to know authors. Please tell us about growing up.


Lyn: I’m an only child. Born in San Francisco, I was raised in Minnesota, my mother’s home state. My father was a Texan and it’s from him that I inherited my love of the Old West. I’m married to my high school sweetheart. We have two grown children, six grandkids and a passel of cats.

Caroline: I love cats, but only have two. I notice that you also have a memoir titled SIX CATS IN MY KITCHEN. Would you like to give us a small peek at that book before we go on to DARLIN' DRUID?

Lyn: Thank you. I also invite you to try my memoir, SIX CATS IN MY KITCHEN. Six special cats are the headline-grabbing stars, but I touch upon subjects such as grieving the loss of loved ones, living with a disability, and coping with major life changes.

Quoting reviewer Todd Fonseca, “Through her prose, Horner’s love of life, cats, and wonderfully engaging humor comes through in this high energy memoir. Reading Horner’s story is like chatting with a best friend over coffee on a Sunday afternoon – few things in life are better.”



Caroline: Your book sounds inviting. Who are your favorite authors and favorite genres?

Lyn: Diana Gabaldon is my favorite author. I adore her Outlander series. I also like Linda Howard and Iris Johansen. As you might guess, my favorite genres are historical romance (especially Scottish, Irish & western romance) and contemporary romantic suspense.

Caroline: We share a love of the same genres. Isn't Diana Gabaldon a lovely person as well as a great writer? How many books do you read a month? What are you reading now?

Lyn: I don’t read as much as I used to because I’m busy writing. Such a burden!  Even so, I read five or six books a month. Right now I’m re-reading KINSMAN'S OATH by Susan Krinard. When I find books I like, I often read them again and again.

Lynn's Memoirs
and her 6 cats

Caroline: So do I, and each time I get something new from them. When you’re not writing, what’s your favorite way to relax and recharge? I know you love your cats, but do you have any hobbies?

Lyn: Let’s see, I love to read of course, and I love movies. Some of my favorites are the "Lord of The Rings" trilogy, "Avatar," "Gladiator," "Last of the Mohicans," and "Red River" (the original black & white version with John Wayne and Montgomery Clift.) Gardening is my only outdoor hobby.

Caroline: At our house we're very grateful to Netflix so we can watch our favorite movies and TV series. Describe yourself in three or four words.

Lyn: Determined, imaginative & somewhat reclusive.

Caroline: Would you like to share any guilty pleasures that feed your muse?


Lyn: Dark chocolate, Celtic music and steamy hot baths. Oh, and an occasional margarita.

Caroline: You and I have a great deal in common. How long have you been writing?

Lyn: I’ve always enjoyed writing, but from the time my folks gave me a rudimentary oil painting kit, I set my mind on becoming an artist. I got my bachelor of fine arts and worked as an illustrator and art instructor for several years. Then I had two children, we moved, forcing me to quit work, and I found myself isolated at home with two small kids. To save my sanity I began to write as a hobby. That was well over twenty years ago. The ups and downs since then could fill a book.

Caroline: Writing does have a lot of ups and downs that mirror life. Where do you prefer to write? Do you need quiet, music, solitude? PC or laptop?

Lyn: I work on a laptop. My favorite places to write are in my recliner or on our bed with books and research notes spread around me. If I’m writing a blog or answering interview questions I can do it with the TV on, music playing, or my husband talking to me. But if I’m working on a book I need quiet. Solitude is best.

Caroline: Are you a plotter or a panzer?

Lyn: I’m a plotter. I use stickum notes to work out major plot points, then develop a loose outline. It undergoes changes as a book progresses, but having a plan keeps me on course toward my goal.

Caroline: Same here. What did we do before Post-It notes? Do you use real events or persons in your stories or as an inspiration for stories?

Lyn: I am very often inspired by real events in my western historicals. For example, I use the Chicago Fire and our country’s first transcontinental railroad in DARLIN' DRUID. Most of my characters are purely fictitious, although I did include the real commander of Camp Douglas, Utah, as a peripheral character in DD.

Caroline: Tell us about your writing schedule. Do you set goals? Do you write daily?


Lyn: I set goals but don’t always meet them. I write nearly every day, starting by 6:30 or 7 a.m. First I check email, comment on some writing forums, and maybe write a blog. When all the “fun stuff” is done, I go to work on my current project. With interruptions for household chores, it’s more of the same until late evening, sometimes into the wee hours of morning.

Caroline: I'm so not a morning person and tend to be more creative late at night. What do you hope your writing brings to readers?

Lyn: Most of all, I hope to give readers a rollicking good adventure that draws them in and won’t let go of them until the very last word.

Caroline: What long-term plans do you have for your career?

Lyn: I will continue to write my stories and publish them as ebooks. If I’m lucky enough to build a loyal following of readers, I will be proud and grateful. Beyond that I’ll take one day at a time.

Caroline: Well said! Would you like to tell us what you’re working on now?

Lym: Sure. I’m writing book II in my Texas Druids series. Titled DASHING DRUID, it’s the story of Tye Devlin and Lil Crawford, troubled souls who find both comfort and conflict in each other’s arms. Like his sister Jessie, the heroine of DARLIN' DRUID, Tye possesses a psychic gift inherited from Druid ancestors. He can experience other people’s feelings – he’s empathic in modern terms – an ability that may save those he loves or get him killed. I hope to publish this book by late 2011.

Caroline: What advice would you give to unpublished authors?

Lyn: Learn your craft, research settings and time periods carefully, and write the best book you can. Join a critique group and edit, edit, edit! Be persistent. Don’t let rejection letters stop you. Keep writing, keep submitting, and consider publishing your own eBooks. They are now outselling all forms of print books.

Caroline: Tell us about your latest release.

Lyn: If psychics live among us, if they existed in ages past, is it possible such gifted beings also inhabited the American Old West? They do in my Texas Druids trilogy. Meet the Devlins, whose hidden talents lead them across prairies and mountains, into the land of cowboys and Indians, with consequences not even a Druid seer could predict.

Set in 1872, DARLIN’ DRUID is a blend of epic adventure, stormy romance and family strife, peppered by flashes of Druid magic. Jessie Devlin, daughter of Irish immigrants and survivor of the Great Chicago Fire, is descended from the “Old Ones,” her mother’s name for their ancient Druid ancestors. Gifted with visions of the future, Jessie dreams again and again of an unknown man who saves her from death. A prophetic vision convinces her the man is real and sends her west in search of him. But will her quest lead her to love or into a deadly trap?

Caroline: You've hooked me! I do believe in psychic abilities and several people in my family are psychics of one type or another.

Lyn: Here's the excerpt:


A woman’s shriek rent the air, interrupting his ruminations and jerking him to attention. The sound had come from inside the depot.


“What the devil?” he muttered. Cutting a path between startled travelers, he shoved open the door and stepped into the building. The stuffy interior reeked of tobacco and sweaty bodies. Finding a gap in the crowd, David caught sight of a red-faced young corporal. The trooper bobbed and weaved, arms raised to fend off blows being rained upon him by a woman in a brown poke bonnet. Her weapon was a heavy looking black reticule.


“Scoundrel! I’ll teach ye some manners, I will!” she vowed in a furious Irish brogue. Swinging wildly, she sent the corporal’s blue cap flying.


“Take it easy, lady!” he cried. “I didn’t mean no harm.”


Wondering what offense the man had committed, David shouldered his way through the crowd until he stood directly behind the woman. Slim and a head shorter than himself, she wore a calico gown, the same drab color as her bonnet. Some settler’s wife, he assumed. But where was her husband?


“No harm, indeed! Stand still, ye heathen, and take what’s comin’ to ye,” she ranted. As she spoke, the yellow-haired corporal spotted David’s uniform and threw him a desperate look.


Feeling duty-bound to step in, David cleared his throat loudly and said, “Excuse me, ma’am, but perhaps that’s enough. The corporal might be needed in one piece when he gets back to his post.” His remark drew laughter from several bystanders.


The woman snorted angrily. “Indeed? Well, I don’t give a fig whether the lout is in one piece or twenty!” So saying, she landed a solid whack on the corporal’s noggin that made him yelp.


“Get ’im, darlin’!” a man in the crowd shouted, egging her on.


Afraid the young soldier might retaliate, David reached out to grasp the woman’s arms, stopping her in mid-swing. “Ma’am, if you’ll just settle down . . . .”


“Let me go!” she shrilled, attempting to wrench free.


He should have complied with her demand, but some primitive instinct made him slip an arm around her and haul her back against him. A sweet scent of lilacs and woman washed over him, and he instantly grew aware of her feminine curves.


She gasped indignantly. “How dare ye? Bithiúnach! Muclach! Take your filthy hands off me.”


Glad he didn’t understand Irish, David cursed under his breath when she rammed her heel into his shin. It didn’t hurt much thanks to his leather boots; nor did the small fists pounding on his arms. But her frantic twisting sent the wrong signal to his male parts.


“Calm down, you little wildcat!” he growled. Releasing her, he stepped back before he humiliated himself.


Whirling around, the woman drew back her arm as if to slap him, only to freeze when their eyes met. A choked sound escaped her lips and the angry color drained from her cheeks. Seeing her sway, David grasped her shoulders to steady her. Her hands clutched his forearms as he returned her wide-eyed stare.


Her eyes were sapphire blue, so dazzling that he had trouble breaking their hold upon him. When he did, he noticed how young she looked – eighteen or twenty, he guessed – and what a beauty she was.


His gaze wandered over her smooth, creamy cheeks and dainty nose then lingered on her pink parted lips. Forcing himself to look elsewhere, he noted the dark auburn curls framing her brow. Her ugly bonnet hid the rest of her hair, but he bet it would look like silk when she let it down.


Then he noticed how rapidly her breasts rose and fell, and desire surged through him, swift and strong. He felt a loco urge to pull her into his arms and kiss her. Reluctantly dragging his gaze back to her sapphire eyes, he wondered what had come over her. A moment ago, she’d been mad as a hornet. Now she stared at him as if she were seeing a ghost.


Dazed by the sight of him, Jessie wondered vaguely if she was having one of her visions. Her gaze kept returning to his gray-green eyes. Crowned by dark brows with an eerily familiar slant, they matched those she’d so often seen in her dreams. Could this tall, uniformed stranger be the man she had left home to find? She hadn’t expected her quest to bear fruit so soon. And the longer she studied his sun-bronzed, square-jawed face, arrow-straight nose and unyielding mouth, the more she doubted he was the one.


Those rakish features were hard, not gentle, and his hauntingly familiar eyes did not caress her like the ones in her dreams. Instead, they devoured her, making her stomach flutter and her heart race. When he boldly stared at her breasts, they tingled as if he were actually touching them. Stunned by her reaction, she inhaled sharply, catching the scent of shaving soap and virile male. She wondered if he would kiss her.


Caroline: Intriguing excerpt to add to the blurb. I'm sure they've made readers want to read the book. Where can readers find DARLIN' DRUID?

Lyn:
Amazon http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004ASNDES


Barnes and Noble: http://search.barnesandnoble.com/books/product.aspx?ean=2940012184290


Caroline: Anything else you’d like readers to know?

Lyn: See my vision of my book:

Caroline: How can readers learn more about you?

Lyn: My home page: http://texasdruids.com//


Blog site: http://texasdruids.blogspot.com/


Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Lyn-Horner/161787403863487

Thank you, Lyn, for sharing a new type of western historical with us today. Continued good luck with your writing career!

Thanks to you, readers, for stopping by.