Silk & Shadows

Some of the most romantic commercials ever were the television commercials for Nescafé instant coffee, with Sharon Maughan and Anthony Stewart Head (Rupert Giles of Buffy fame). The company created a series of commercials that ran more or less like a soap opera about a pair of neighbours drawn together by their mutual love of coffee.

The ads first ran in Britain from 1987 to 1993 and in the US from 1990 to 1997. The US ads were for Taster’s Choice rather than Nescafé and were redone for an American audience.

Taster’s Choice ran a contest in 1998 asking viewers to resolve the romantic triangle between the two neighbours and the female neighbour’s past love. The results were announced in Soap Opera Digest in Anthony Stewart Head’s favour (does that really surprise anyone?). (And how come I never get neighbours like him?)

For still photos from that campaign, check out Mr. Head’s site.

The first eleven commercials were bundled in the free promotional video, ‘Love Over Gold’.

Coffee anyone?

I write historical paranormal romance. What else would I be interested in writing? Oh, hard question! I’d love to write historical fiction. Or historical (non-paranormal) romance. Or romantic suspense. Or something futuristic, sleek, sexy and noir-y. Think Bladerunner.

OR something that can’t be classified into any existing genre description.

If only there were that many hours in day! Because unfortunately, I’m a slow creator and writer, and it takes me quite a bit of time to untangle the gob of ideas in my head.

I am in the middle of a new proposal now, and will share a bit more about it once I have some feedback on it from the powers that be.

In the meantime, I am satisfying some of my interest in other genres by READING MORE BOOKS! I read maybe 1-2 books a month.

How many books do you read on average each month? And are they always from the same genre, or do you bounce around into different types of books?

Thanks to Sharon and everyone for asking me back this month for the release of the third book in my Mer series, Catch of a Lifetime. (Get it? Catch and Release?)

Like In Over Her Head and Wild Blue Under, Catch of a Lifetime is a tongue-in-cheek, light-hearted paranormal, heavy on the romance (of course), the paranormal (mermaids and merman, kind of a given that it’s paranormal), puns and wordplay. What can I say? It’s what I like to read, and the proverbial “they” always tell you to write what you like to read or write what you know. Since I’m not exactly an expert on mermaids–and who is–I figured I’d go with the writing what I love to read thing.

But what if I wanted to write something else? What other subgenre would I choose?

The finny, I mean, funny thing is, I am working on some stories in other genres. Will they sell? *shrugs. We’ll have to wait and see. But I have a couple of contemporaries in the works, but definitely light-hearted and tongue-in-cheek. For as much as the genre would be new, my voice is still light-hearted contemporary.

Although… I have started a romantic suspense and the voice is different in that there isn’t all the word play or twists on phraseology that I have in the other stories. Of course, when there are dead bodies popping up all over the place, maybe there shouldn’t be. Although, I have read a few where the humor is great even with the macabre subject matter. So, I dunno, maybe I will add my normal voice to it, but this story, these characters just aren’t going along that road for me. But then, I’ve been hearing that RS sales are slowing down at publishing houses, so maybe it’s not the right time to work on that.

Are you sensing some indecision here? Some flightiness? I am. I mean, I love what I write. I have a really good time with it. But I do have other ideas and it’s never good to pigeonhole yourself into one thing. Especially in this economy, the more tricks the pony has, the more chances the pony has to get hired.

So, while I’ll dabble in my other stories, working on them as the mood strikes, I do have another contract for a series about genies. The first book, I Dream of Genies, already has a cover–and it’s gorgeous, but I haven’t gotten permission to show it yet–comes out next January, 2011, and is already in with my editor. I’m anxiously awaiting her edits as I work on the second one. I’m having just as much fun with this series as I did with the Mers.

Readers who’ve finished my Mer series are already emailing me, asking if Mariana and Pearl are going to get their stories. I’m hoping they will, plus a few more Mers because, as I said to my editor, it’s a big ocean out there. I’ve got lots of ideas and Mariana and Jace have already started me along in their story. Hopefully once the genies are out there, we’ll add some more Mer books, and then, hopefully, readers will want more genies, and we’ll just keep the cycle going.

So why would I want to write in another subgenre? I’ve got more than enough ideas for this one, and these are just two of the series I’ve come up with. There are definitely more in the creativity pipeline, so as long as paranormals continue to sell, and as long as my editor continues to buy, it looks like this is what I’ll be doing.

So now I get to write what I want to read AND what I know.

An excerpt from Catch of a Lifetime:

“Okay, Angel, I know all about needing to prove yourself. But do you have any qualifications for child care? References?”

Oh did she. Sadly, they were all Mer-related. “One of my degrees is in child studies.” Human child studies, to be precise, but she knew better than to make that distinction. “As for references, well, word would get back and that would defeat the purpose of not calling, wouldn’t it? But I do have them.”

“One of your degrees? How many do you have?”

Angel headed down the length of the dock to where Michael was impatiently waiting for them. “Just three. Child studies, Humanol—um sociology, and biology.”

Logan’s long legs caught him up to her quickly. “Hence the field study.”

“Correct. Oh, and a minor in basket-weaving.”

He stopped and grabbed her arm again, laughing. “Basket-weaving?”

“Yes. What’s so funny about that?” This time she didn’t need a reason to yank her arm from his hand. She’d worked damn hard to get her degrees. That course had opened up a world of information about textiles and early Human craftsmanship. “It’s quite fascinating.” She shoved off with the right foot, toes providing momentum. Or was it the ball of the foot? Damn, he’d made her forget the biomechanics.

“If you find basket-weaving fascinating enough to study it, as well as have all the drive to earn all those other degrees, I might have you tutor Michael instead of babysitting him.” This time when he caught up to her, he didn’t put a hand on her, thank the gods.

“Tutor? I don’t think that would be—”

“Relax, Angel. I was only joking. Michael’s looking forward to hitting the books when school starts.”
Now it was her turn to stop him. “You hit books? Why?”

Logan’s eyebrows went up. “You’ve never heard that expression?”

Oh, fish. She really had to watch her step—all of them. She plastered a smile on her face. “Now who’s joking?”

“Touché. So, we’ll work out a schedule for your field study and my work. Sound good?”

It sounded more than good. It sounded perfect. “Yes. Thank you, Logan. I won’t let you and your wife down.”

“My wife?”

“Rainbow? Michael’s mother?”

Logan rolled those brown eyes. “Rainbow, that is, Christine, is certainly not my wife, and if she hadn’t signed the birth certificate she pinned to Michael’s shirt before she took off, I’d be hard-pressed to call her his mother. Trust me, Angel, letting her down is the least of your worries.”

Michael stomped down the steps, his red sneakers flapping loudly on the planks. “Why do grown-ups always walk so slow? Rainbow never wants to hurry.”

Logan muttered something about Rainbow being in a hurry to get out of town, but low enough that Michael didn’t hear him.

Angel was sorry she had.

It was one thing to have to look at him clinically as a Human subject.

It was quite another to see him as a man.

Catch of a Lifetime
Sourcebooks/Casablanca
ISBN: 9781402224287
February, 2010

She’s on a mission to save the planet…

Mermaid Angel Tritone has been researching humans from afar, hoping to find a way to convince them to stop polluting. When she jumps into a boat to escape a shark attack, it’s her chance to pursue her mission, but she has to keep her identity a total secret…

When he finds out what she really is, they’re both in mortal danger…

For Logan Hardington, finding a beautiful woman on his boat is surely not a problem—until he discovers she’s a mermaid, and suddenly his life is on the line…

What people are saying:
“Readers will adore the joy and humor and romance from Judi Fennell’s creative pen.”
- Jill Barnett, New York Times best-selling author

“Fennell’s got detailed worldbuilding, creative secondary characters and an impressive use of mythology in this great read. While this title is part of a series, it works well as a stand-alone. Angel and Logan are both incredibly textured characters.
-RT BookReview Magazine 4 Stars

“It’s a hit. This was one awesome series and this book was a wonderful conclusion.”
Night Owl Romance
Top Pick

“Judi Fennell has extraordinary imagination and has certainly used it in creating this exciting and colorful story. Her characters are wonderful.”
Fresh Fiction

“The best blend of both worlds. I… love each and every character in Catch of A Lifetime (and) found (it) well worth diving into.”
Long And Short Reviews 4.5 Books

4 Stars!
Affair de Coeur Magazine

“Catch of a Lifetime is a heart warming tale. Ms. Fennell Ms. Fennell has created a delightful world that, I have enjoyed escaping to. It is both dangerous and fun.”
Anna’s Book Blog

“A wonderful read.”
Star-Crossed Romance

“Judi is a master of romance and fantasy.”
ReadAHolic

“Another thrilling addition to the Mer series. Judi Fennell packs a literary punch.”
Once Upon A Romance

“A very creative imagination. You do not need to read (the other two stories) first to enjoy this one - but I bet you will want to.”
Books & Needlepoint

“Another great addition to Fennell’s series.”
Literary Escapism

About The Author:
Judi Fennell has had her nose in a book and her head in some celestial realm all her life, including those early years when her mom would exhort her to “get outside!” instead of watching Bewitched or I Dream of Jeannie on television. So she did–right into Dad’s hammock with her Nancy Drew books.

These days she’s more likely to have her nose in her laptop and her head (and the rest of her body) at her favorite bookstore, but she’s still reading, whether it be her latest manuscript or friends’ books.

A three-time finalist in online contests, Judi has enjoyed the reader feedback she’s received and would love to hear what you think about her Mer series. Check out her website at www.JudiFennell.com for excerpts, reviews and fun pictures from reader and writer conferences, and the chance to “dive in” to her stories.

If I wrote in another subgenre, it would be . . . well, the question is more what wouldn’t I write? Where my imagination roams depends a lot on my mood. Horror? Western? Fantasy? They all have their attractions, and I’m a literary flirt.

Still, I leave an idea to frolic in the wilds for quite some time before I rope it onto the page. This weeds out the passing fancies. If a story idea is strong, it’ll keep coming back to tempt me. Sometimes it’s just a character, a situation, or a setting that pops up every month or so to say, “How about me?” Sooner or later, I have to do something about it.

One genre that keeps coming back is historical mystery. I love history, I love the macabre, I love moody settings, and I know the detective because he loafs in an armchair in a dark room in my imagination, patient as a jungle cat.

“Someday,” I say.

“I know,” he replies from the shadows.

And we wait. I don’t know all the pieces of his story, although I know a few. It doesn’t pay to rush at this point because there are those whose claims on my writing hours come first. Deadlines, commitments, and promises to keep. However, I know his time will come, because he’s been there for years, growing a little bit stronger each time he strolls out for a look at what I’m up to.

“Hellhounds, you say?” says he with a lift of one eyebrow. “I hope they clean up afterward.”

“Back to your chair,” says I.

And he goes, just waiting for the imaginary murder that will call his talents into play.

Waiting for the right moment to begin a book is a bit like waiting for a pond to freeze. I know who wants to share my hero’s bed, and whom he watches cross the ballroom floor. What I don’t know is why. Without that, all I have is cat’s ice on a dark and murky pond. No skating yet. There’s not enough to support the weight of a book.

But, one by one, those answers present themselves in random moments, and only when they’re not pursued. Sooner or later there will be enough and then . . . we’ll see what this gentleman is made of.

I love writing contemporary paranormal romance, but … if I ever decided to write something else, there’s a good chance I’d go back to my roots in medieval romance. Rather than trying to explain what sort of thing I used to write, I thought I’d simply share a scene from my 2005 Golden Heart finalist historical manuscript, Guardian of My Heart. Hope you enjoy it.

***

Cairistiona found herself sharing a trencher with Alex at the noontide meal.

How it happened, she couldn’t say.

Of a norm, she ate at the far end of the high table with Robert’s widowed uncle, Magnus. But this day, Magnus was no where to be found when Brother Lambert began the blessing. Instead, Alex claimed the empty spot next to her with quiet authority.

As he joined her at the linen-draped table, his gaze found hers. “Cairistiona.”

She nodded, hating the way her heartbeat quickened at a mere exchange of glances. “Sir Alex.”

How did the wretched man manage to look so attractive without smiling? Indeed, how could down-turned lips look inviting at all? Was it the arrogant set of his chin? Or the dark shadow of his firm jaw? Whatever it was, it was vastly unfair.

He adjusted his sword and settled himself upon the bench without a hint of awkwardness. Stretching out his legs, he affected an elegant slouch that did justice to the soft folds of his embroidered tunic.

Oddly, today the black didn’t seem so much austere as wicked and intriguing. The fine wool fell smoothly over his body, emphasizing the rippling muscles of his chest and shoulders, gathering enough at his belt to suggest at the leanness of his hips. The damned thing had probably cost a scandalous amount of coin, judging by the host of tiny black pearls sewn about the cuff and neck.

She threw a quick smile at the young page ladling soup into their bowls.

It made her simply-woven gown seem plain and outdated. Not that she should care. At least the dress was dark blue, a color she knew set her hair off to perfection.

She blinked. Worrying about the hue of her gown? The very fact that she’d troubled to don one was concern enough. What in the name of Saint Andrew was wrong with her?

“Venison?”

Her gaze flew up to meet Alex’s. He had one dark brow arched and several juicy pieces of meat skewered upon his dirk. She nodded.

Even his hands were elegant. Long tapered fingers, clean nails, no rings. She watched him place the meat upon their trencher, slice it neatly in two and slide one half toward her. A task Magnus had performed for her a thousand times, never once causing her heart to beat erratically. Never once seeming intimate and familiar.

Yet the look in Alex’s eyes as he served her sent a jolt of awareness right to that spot low in her belly. His nostrils flared slightly, and his hand paused mere inches from her own on the table.

If he hadn’t turned at that moment to answer a query by Lessa Brodie, who sat on his left, Cairistiona might never have eaten a bite of dinner. Even so, her appetite was weak.

What an uncommon meal.

Over the next two hours, she and Alex exchanged less than a dozen words–the topics nothing more vigorous than the spice in the soup and the finesse of the lute player–but Cairistiona’s pulse leapt in fits and starts the entire time.

She thought it might be his scent that affected her. A tantalizing mix of cloves, leather, and unequivocal maleness.

Quite embarrassing. Alex hardly looked at her, and here she sat feeling like … like an unmarried woman courting the attention of a handsome swain. A ridiculous notion. Aye, she was unmarried, that part was true, but the rest? A swain would display obvious enthusiasm, would he not?

She stole a glance at him.

There was no clue he was the least bit aware of her–his gaze lazily perused the trio of entertainers in front of the large stone hearth, and his head tilted toward Lessa as he bent an ear to her discourse.

Cairsitiona’s fingers alternatively pleated her lapcloth, then smoothed it flat.

She could break all of Eoghann’s rules about using her powers for personal gain, and delve into Alex’s auras … but was the truth what she wanted?

The truth was likely far less romantic than her fancies.

After all, with a little imagination, she could construe the slight angling of his powerful body toward her as meaningful. She could put weight in the half dozen times their feet had briefly connected under the table. She could attach significance to his dark-skinned hand remaining a scant inch from her smaller, paler one.

Pah! She was being a halfwit. Just because he chose to be her companion for dinner, just because he sat close, did not mean he had interest in her. And even if he did, what did it matter? She had no interest in him.

None whatsoever. None.

She was still repeating that mantra in her head when he leaned forward to pick up his cup of wine, and his heavily muscled thigh brushed against her knee. As brief as the contact was, the firm rasp of his chausses against her skirts sent a wanton thrill right to her core, and she was instantly proven a liar.

Cairistiona swallowed a groan with a gulp of her wine.

By God, what sort of warrior was she? She was naught but a silly lass to be so easily swayed. She should be seeing the man for what he was–a cold, heartless usurper called home to proclaim her inadequacies. Or merely as a skilled commander from whom she could learn the art of leadership.

She should be taking due care to present herself as a capable Guardian, deserving of her clan’s confidence, to offset her decision to train.

Instead, she kept staring at the man’s broad hand, imagining what it would be like if he closed the gap between them and folded her fingers in a tight embrace.

What a fool.

The problem with identifying the first romance novel that I ever read is the age-old question of what constitutes a romance novel. I devoured anything to do with history, so Jean Plaidy, Nora Lofts, and all derivations thereof made up a large part of my reading diet from about the age of nine. I encountered Cherry Ames, Student Nurse, and at least one of the medical romances of the Dashing Dimpled Doctor Daring variety. I’m not even sure how I got my hands on that last one, since my mom never read fiction (still doesn’t) and my dad was into English murder mysteries with occasional side trips into action-fantasy like The Tarnsman of Gor.

Their idea of what a young girl should be reading wasn’t very defined. At twelve, I received a critical analysis of medieval literature for my birthday. The year before, it had been The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich (all five volumes in one handy paperback). I read both, but also the Nancy Drew a friend gave me the same year. At that age, I didn’t fret over the disparities in content. If it was a book, I liked it and sponged up everything with equal interest.

Around the same time, I outgrew my Pepto-Bismol pink bedroom and opted for a virulent mauve. My sainted mother barely winced at the colour and, during the scorching July heat that only a prairie can produce, tackled the walls with brush and roller. This meant I had to sleep on the living room couch, a place of strange shadows and unfamiliar noises come the night.

That same year, my aunt (who knew what young girls liked) mailed me three books: Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights, and Treasure Island. Interestingly enough, they were all from Signet. I do recall staring at the stylized S on the logo and thinking how cool it would be to write a book. Funny old world that I would end up publishing under a version of that same logo.

Anyway, I started with Jane Eyre because Treasure Island was about hairy pirates (Jack Sparrow was far in the future) and Wuthering Heights had long passages in a Yorkshire dialect with which I was not yet familiar. So, while sleeping on that couch on a hot night with the strange noises and shadows, I devoured the adventures of Jane and Mr. Rochester, lapping it up with the intensity that only a pre-teen can. I can’t say that the romance portion of the book rang my chimes all that much—that held much more resonance when I reread Jane in high school. What I remember from the first go-round was the orphanage, the mad wife, and my steadfast (and still current) opinion that St. John was a boring dork.

I think what stuck with me from that first encounter with a bona fide romance was the concept of having to earn the right to happiness. Both Jane and Rochester have to confront their demons in much the same way current romance protagonists must—and I wonder how much Charlotte Bronte and her contemporaries influenced what we write today. My guess is: a lot. After all, wasn’t her sister Emily’s creation, Heathcliffe, one of the original dark and dangerous heroes?

When you were young, did you ever read those chapter books where you got to choose Chapter Ending A, B or C? I used to love those books, and would read them time and time again, enjoying the different story combinations.

Writing is a lot like that for me, but the A, B or C (or D - ZZZZ) choices come at every turn. Every next sentence, every paragraph transition brings a choice. What if I make the wrong choice? I have to battle not to fall into analysis paralysis. At the same time, that’s why writing is so much FUN. There are so many possibilities. It’s truly an unfolding adventure.

Do I do a lot of plotting? Yes. You’ve probably seen me say on this site that for every book, I write out a fourteen to fifteen page synopsis. Seems pretty detailed, eh? Not to my brain. There’s a million different choices to make for my characters buried within the framework of those fourteen pages of story.

Do I make story mistakes sometimes? I’m certain of it. And when you’re writing on deadline, sometimes you have time to write things wrong, and realize they are wrong and go back and fix them. Sometimes you don’t.

But the amazing thing that I’ve discovered is that sometimes, I’m so certain I’ve taken my characters down the wrong path, and I make myself sick over wishing I could have a do-over … only to read the pages later (usually much later, months after the book is published) and realize I made a great choice. Surprise! I tend to get very consumed by my stories, and sometimes just need a bit of distance.

One ever present reality in my mind is that I have a responsibility to my reader to do my very best as a writer. I know books are dear to readers, as is the money they spend on them. I don’t ever want to produce a story that is lackluster or meaningless.

Going back to the A, B and C choices, have you ever read a book, and imagined a better ending for the story than what was written? Do characters usually stay “alive” in your mind after you put a book down?

I checked the Web for some Valentine’s Day fun facts. Here’s a few things I found:

• About 1 billion Valentine’s Day cards are exchanged in the US each year, second only to Christmas
• About 3% of pet owners will give Valentine’s Day gifts to their pets.

• Approximately 110 million roses, the majority red, will be sold and delivered within a three-day time period.
• In the Middle Ages, young men and women drew names from a bowl to see who their valentines would be. They would wear these names on their sleeves for one week, giving rise to the expression “wear your heart on your sleeve.”
• Richard Cadbury invented the first Valentines Day candy box in the late 1800s.
• The oldest surviving love poem till date is written in a clay tablet from the times of the Sumerians, inventors of writing, around 3500 B.C

It seems to me, though, what really matters are those unique traditions that spring up between couples. Y’know, the things that mean something to those two people but no one else. Stupid jokes. A favourite brand of coffee. Remembering to tape the other person’s favourite show. It’s the fact that your loved one is remembered, considered, and cherished that matters. The commercial holiday is lovely window dressing that can never, ever replace the real thing.

I always try to remember that when I get grumpy at someone for forgetting significant dates. Did they remember the important stuff, like my TV show, to feed the cats, or to send words of encouragement when life got rough? If they’re truly in the trenches with me 24/7, does the sparkly card matter?

To me, Valentine’s Day is a great excuse for a celebration in an otherwise blah month, but not much more than that. But, don’t get me wrong–I always accept chocolate.

And, BTW, if you’re looking to send an e-card, I have one on my web site. For every one sent, a donation goes to the Animal Crusaders to cover the medical costs of the rescued strays.

To most people Valentine’s Day means chocolates and flowers and an outward expression of love. Like Jessa, I’m not sold on the tradition, but I love my chocolate, so I accept any and all offerings with an appropriate grin.

Since I joined my local RWA chapter in the Fall of 2003, Valentine’s Day has taken on an additional meaning. It’s the annual event where my chapter gets together to celebrate the accomplishments of our members. We have a lovely lunch, cheer the efforts of our authors, both published and unpublished, thank our selfless volunteers, and reaffirm our love of romance.

I don’t know if I would be published today if it weren’t for the wonderful and supportive members of my local chapter. From the beginning, they offered me terrific advice, critiques on manuscripts, and the kind of valuable encouragement that only other writers can offer you—because they’ve walked a mile in your shoes. They understand how gut-wrenching the writing process can be, from the creation of the prose to the mailing of that first partial to the heartbreak of the first rejection.

My chaptermates taught me to accept constructive criticism, to have the courage to discover my own voice, and to never forget the reason I write romance—because I believe in love and Happily Ever After. Even though I know they both take work.

That’s what Valentine’s Day is really about. Right?

Okay, yes, as Sharon pointed out yesterday, silk lingerie fits in there somewhere. And I won’t say no to the chocolates.

At the beginning of each book, I’m always sure I have a very clear plan for what’s going to happen in my story. After all, I always write up a 14 - 15 page synopsis for my editor. I don’t know if she wants them that long, but that just seems to be my normal synopsis length.

But once I start writing, the story inevitably takes on a life of its own. Sometimes I write a few chapters and read back over them and think, “Where in the heck did that come from? That’s not at all what I was thinking!” But suddenly, THAT becomes the story, and I can’t imagine it unfolding any other way.

There is a lot of creativity lurking in the subconscious, and I think if we let loose and let it come out in whatever art or form of expression we pursue, we can expect some great surprises.

As for description — I love writing description. If you read my books, you can probably tell that right from the get go. Description can add dimension and mood like nothing else. I also imagine my stories cinematically, as a movie unfolding in my mind.

But unlike movies, it’s interesting to realize that if ten people read a single book, there will be ten very different mental interpretations of what they “see” as they read. Authors paint a certain picture with words, but in many ways it is the reader’s imagination that completes the process.

I see that SHUTTER ISLAND comes out this month. The movie is based on Dennis Lehane’s novel of the same name. I really enjoyed the novel. I’m interested to see if the screen version matches up to the story I “saw” in my mind.

What new books or movies are you just dying to get your eyeballs on?