- They have a secret language.They trace letters on each other’s skin and can actually communicate. Have you ever tried that in real life? When I was a kid, my friends and I would try to write messages on each other’s backs and, let me tell you, it is
I or wait is it an A
P actually make than an R
- They’re already parabatai.
The Clave’s got it all wrong here that the fact they’re already bound together as parabatai is a curse. (Even though the reason why romantic love between parabatai is forbidden is still a secret at the time of this post so I really don’t know what I’m talking about.)
Of course, parabatai should be together. They know they can make a serious commitment to each other, because they’ve already done it.
Somebody make me a member of the Clave, already. I need some voting power. *Bangs gavel*
- They already know that they would be good parents. At this point, Julian is less of an older brother and more of a father figure to his siblings. Emma already fits into Julian’s family perfectly. Bringing someone else into the mix would just be weird.
- Their names sound nice together. (Is anyone else really hung up on names? Let me know in the comments!)
- Because of quotes like these:
“We are bound together, Emma, bound together—I breathe when you breathe, I bleed when you bleed, I’m yours and you’re mine, you’ve always been mine, and I have always, always belonged to you!”
“You’ll fix me, because we’re parabatai. We’re forever.”
“How long have you been drawing me?”
He sighed. A moment later his hand came to rest in her hair. His fingers twined in the strands. “My whole life.”
Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ Category
Memory is a tricky thing. Bad memories filter to the top while good memories settle to the bottom of a very deep well and we struggle to keep them alive. The key is to replace the bad memories with good—or drown the bad in that well, whichever works. I’m a violent sort, so I’ll be drowning those suckers. 🙂
Holidays in our house growing up were mostly good, but that means I have only this vague recollection and warm, fuzzy feelings for Christmas. Well, all but one. The year I turned five, my father was recovering from a major car accident. Money was tight and we ultimately lost the house and Dad’s business to medical expenses.
That was the year someone adopted us. Just for Christmas presents that is. We were the little angels on a Giving Tree. The night before Christmas, a group of men brought what seemed like a truckload of presents for four kids and two adults. They deposited them under the empty tree just like Santa. I bounced on my toes in sheer joy at the mass of goodies. Too young to read, I didn’t know which presents were mine, but my older brother pointed out a ginormous and awkwardly wrapped present labeled “girl, aged 5.” It was bigger than me and taller than my teenage brother. It was mine, mine, mine!
As many of my fellow romance writers and readers, I’m a sucker for a sultry, sex-on-a-stick Italian who knows how to handle his biscotti. Their dark, exotic good looks, the deep velvet of that damn accent, the promises of every Italian lover in history. Casanova anyone?
How are we supposed to resist?
Well, back in my early twenties, I was out at a club called Seville Quarter in Pensacola Florida. Pensacola had a naval air station in town that offered training to many of our ally military services, the Italian Airforce included.
One challenge for me with the Italian men was that I’m 5’9” who loves to where heels, so most places I go, I’m over six foot tall. Many of the Italian Navy Officers I met were much shorter than I. But, this one night, my three girlfriends and I were dancing on the dancefloor, Blue (Da Ba De) by Eiffel 65 blaring over the speakers, when a group of Italian Navy Officers came in. Sweet baby Jesus, there amongst them was a tall, dark, Italian drink of water.
It was as if the clouds had parted, and the sun had shone straight onto him—at 1 in the morning.
And all of a sudden, I was parched.
His name was Lorenzo. And he was everything my early twenty-something fantasies had imagined.
Dear EA Readers,
It’s me, site editor. Did I startle you? Good.
I’ve had the honor of reading some incredibly funny, thoughtful, and intimate writing on Romance the world might ever see, thanks to our (not so) little community of readers and writers alike. EA’s been home to brilliant genre talk, out of this world storytelling, and some of the kindest people I’ve ever worked with. It is my privilege and pleasure.
It’s also pretty greedy. Here I am, hungrily downing your stories of love, loss, passion, and hot dudes you would totally steal straight off of their book jackets—and I’ve put up none of my own.
It’s Read a Romance Month, and for us, that means celebrating Romance in every way we know how.
So here’s a story for the pile.
Picture, if you will: You failed another math test today. Your allowance, which was dwindling a few weeks ago, has been unceremoniously cut off. Whipped cream on top? This dork on the street made fun of your hair.
Oh, and the world’s kind of in peril and you’re kind of, sort of, a superhero. Like, a cat told you? And your powers bite. The only one you’re actually aware of is activated by your crying.
You’re not even sure if that’s a power.
So this fight against a monster you’re currently in? Not going well.
You’re about to try the crying thing again (and by “try” I mean “this is going to happen either way, so might as well pretend it’s on purpose”), when suddenly, you hear music swell.
A man in a tuxedo so handsome that reality gets its own Instagram filter for a moment appears at the window, holding a rose. “How did he get up there and why didn’t he use a door,” you start to ask, but there’s no time. Fast as lightning, he chucks it at the monster’s face.
He chucks a rose at a monster’s face.
And it works.
Defying all logic, this rose stops the monster in its tracks. It hits it like a migraine laced with holy water. You’d question this, but see, the monster also has knife hands? So this? Refreshing distraction.
But the fight’s not over, for you or the magic stranger in a cape. He turns to you, glint in his eye, and says:
“I believe in you, Sailor Moon.”
Guys, this coloring book is so up our alley. It’s up our driveway. It’s in our house. It’s—it’s going to be in our hands the moment it’s for sale. Why? Because it’s a coloring book about Romance. And books. And loving books. And Romance.
Check the deets:
Fall in love all over again with this adult coloring book featuring 45 hand-drawn illustrations inspired by romance novels from bestselling writers. Sit back, grab your pens and markers, and get ready to explore Love Between the Lines.
In the pages of this book you will find:
- Designs to help you relax and reduce stress
- Hidden images and book quotes
- Each design printed on a separate page
- Elaborate drawings s as well as quickie pages for when you just have a few minutes to color
Illustrations inspired by the works of:
Anna Todd, Jodi Ellen Malpas, Colleen Hoover, S.C. Stephens, Abbi Glines, K. Bromberg, Claire Contreras, Jillian Dodd, Amy Harmon, Tiffany King, R.K. Lilley, Molly McAdams, Tara Sivec, Alessandra Torre, Mia Sheridan, J. Sterling, Katy Evans, Emma Chase, S.L. Jennings, K.A. Linde, Beth Ehemann, Tarryn Fisher, Karina Halle, Helena Hunting, Leisa Rayven, Madeline Sheehan, and K. A. Tucker
Now, without further ado, here’s how cute the cover is:
In Vegas for RT 2016? Come visit us! We’ve got coloring books, candy, and we swear we don’t bite.
We’ll be in Brasilia 4 today at 4 p.m. for our Author Services event. Can’t wait to see you all there!
When I first started blogging back in 2005, I really didn’t notice trends. I was a reader then and hadn’t started looking at big picture. The things that interested me were micro-focused. Did this book interest me and if so, why?
But as I began to immerse myself in the business of publishing, the similarity in concepts from covers to tropes to even tone began to emerge.
It was with covers first where I noticed the first signs. Despite the fact that nearly all the historical romances I was reading at the time featured similar looks—flowers, houses, perfume bottles—with pretty painted setbacks, the word “trend” didn’t attach to my book vocabulary until chick lit came along.
It may be because I saw the birth—and subsequent death—of an entire subgenre that I finally started paying attention. The trend was cute, cartoon figures drawn impossible thin on a pastel background with a matte cover on a trade paperback.
This was pre-digital days.
The narrator was almost exclusively a female, in her mid-twenties. The voice was first person, often present tense, and as quirky as possible. If the protagonist ate all her food with a fork, including cereal and soup, all the better.
So you’ve finished your book. Your heroine is done pining—maybe she’s changed some hearts, charmed some rogues, or busted some skulls—in any case, the romantic lead is hers. You, however, have tossed the book out of arm’s reach, set it on the shelf like ashes on a mantle, or buried it in the backyard—we all handle things differently. It’s over. My condolences.
But what if I could promise you endless romance? Something that doesn’t end once, with a sigh, but loops on for eternity, each time new and different, yet still familiar.
“That sounds like a lie, woman I’ve never met before,” you say, remembering your first disappointing bite of a candy whose label described it as “chocolatey”.
We’ve reached the end of season one and, I’ll admit, I was wrong. I’m kind of on the fence if I think this was a really satisfying conclusion to the whole season. There were some intense high points and some “meh” parts, but overall I really enjoyed season one of Scream Queens.