To me, character is story. 

I’m drawn to a certain type of personality in my reading and writing tastes.  My heroines may be down on their luck, but they are strong.  They can hold their own when push comes to shove.

The heroes?  Ah, I love the loner, the rebel, the self-made man.  Add the twist of him being a second son and his personality become more hard-edged.   More dangerous.  More unyielding. 

For eons, second sons were the spare heir in case something befell the first born.   They were thought to be second best, and often that stigma haunted them all their lives.  They were never expected to amount to as much as the hero.  Some men accepted their lot.  Many rebelled in their own ways.

In my December releases, my heroes are worlds apart, yet share the fact of being second sons. 

Dade Logan was born the eldest son, but raised in a foster home where he was the second son.  Instead of caving to the eldest brother’s wishes, he simply became more determined to forge a life on his own for himself and his lost sister.  He was looking for a way to recapture his family, and in essence, his true self.   

Prince Kristo Stanrakis was the second son – the spare heir in the island kingdom of Angyra.  He embraced his playboy image for it allowed him freedom to pursue his own dreams — to escape the demands of royal life if only for a while.  He never thought he would have to assume the duties of king or end up paired with the woman his mistrusted above all others.

Readers, like authors, are typically drawn to enjoy certain types of characters.  What are your favorites as far as heroes go?  Is there one type of man you absolutely love to read about?  Is there a type you just can’t force yourself to read?

I’ll give away an autographed copy of In a Cowboy’s Arms, and an autographed copy of Captured and Crowned to two people who comment on this blog.  Also, please tell me if you’ve a preference for a western hero or contemporary one.  Winners will be announced Dec 5.

Once upon a time, back when I was single, back before the days when one could be dumped by text or Facebook or Twitter—back when you had to work for it, you know?—I met a guy. I’d recently broken up with a longtime boyfriend and resolved that next time, I wasn’t going to try so hard. I’d just be myself, and if some guy liked me, great, and if not, I would just…I don’t know. Knee him in the groin or something.

At any rate, my friend had a party and I went, armed with my new determination to Be Myself, and voila! I met Dick (not his real name, but you can see where this is going). Dick was an architect (so cool!), he was cute without being beautiful (my previous boyfriend had been far prettier than I was), he was smart, he was funny. He loved the Yankees! His favorite all-time player was Lou Gehrig—my favorite, too! We talked! We laughed! He asked if I wanted to go to the movies, and I did! It was so easy, this Being Myself. I wondered why I hadn’t tried it before. Boy-Girl stuff didn’t have to be hard, I thought. Dick and I talked every day, saw each other lots over the next  few weeks, and I was wicked happy. Did I love Dick? No, not yet. But we were having fun. This, I thought, was how it was supposed to be.

One night, Dick asked me out to a very, very nice restaurant. The nicest restaurant not just in our city, but in the whole state, mind you.  So I bought a new dress, got a haircut and a mani, couldn’t wait. Got to the restaurant at six minutes past the appointed time, which all women know is the perfect amount of lateness, something they teach us in Woman School. Oh, the restaurant was pissah, as we say here in New England. Gorgeous, swanky, French. Dick wasn’t there yet, alas, so the maitre d’ showed me to the bar.

Now. There is nothing we girls hate more than waiting for a man, am I right? We sit there—alone—and try to look relaxed. But we are not relaxed, oh no. The clock begins ticking the instant we realize that dang it, we, who have carefully arrived six minutes late, are now at a disadvantage. The man has taken away our Entrance…now he gets to arrive late, and we’ll seem a little too eager. Hmmph. At any rate, I ordered a drink (white wine spritzer, terribly sophisticated). Sipped it. Dick was now twelve minutes later. I pretended to feel utterly at home, began spinning his lateness so as not to mind. (Seventeen minutes.) Pictured him coming in, windblown and ruddy-cheeked, apologetic. He’d have flowers, I thought. Hence the delay (twenty-two minutes now). I might forgive him if he brought flowers.  

Tick. Tick. TICK! My white wine spritzer was halfway gone. No cell phones back in those days—well, no cell phones smaller than a brick, that is, so I couldn’t check for messages or call a friend. I sighed, turned down an offer for a drink from a fifty-year-old man. I thought about Dick and his flaws. He was rather short. A little smug. Tended to wear nothing but Yale regalia on the weekends (yes, yes, it’s a great school, Dick, we know that!).

And then, a guy came into the restaurant. He was about my age. He spoke to the maitre d’, and then, as I watched, both their heads swiveled toward me.

Not a good sign.

They approached. Oh, dear, I thought. There’s been an accident. Dick’s in the hospital! How callous of me, being irritated when Dick is lying bleeding and broken in the ER somewhere! I will rush to his side, he’ll be so glad to see me, I’ll take wicked good care of him, and this event will cement our bonds, we’ll get married and have three attractive children and live in an amazing house with a Golden Retriever. Or, I’ll marry Dr. Doug Ross, a.k.a. George Clooney.

“Hi,” said the guy. “I’m Joe. Um…Dick’s friend.”

“Is he okay?” I asked.

“Um…well…”

Poor Joe. It seems that Dick called Poor Joe and asked him to…well, to dump me.

“Um…see, Dick has a friend. His best friend. Beck. Have you met Beck?” I had not. “Beck…well, they’ve been friends since freshman year. And Beck, see, she’s, um, a lesbian. Or she was. But she’s not anymore. She told Dick last night. And…well, they’re engaged.”

The maitre d’ and Poor Joe stood there, looking at me. I did a quick emotional inventory. Hm. Dumped for a lesbian-turned-straight-woman. I held up my drink. “Do I have to pay for this?” I asked the maitre d. No, he told me. Absolutely not. I thanked Joe, told him to tell Dick he was…uncool (not the word I used), and left. Went home and watched The X Files.

I never did get to eat at that restaurant.

But you know what? Three weeks later, I was standing in line in New York City. The guy in front of me had black hair and green eyes and looked a bit like Bono. We got married a year later. So Dick—thanks, buddy.

So come on now…let’s hear it, the best break-up story you have. Winner gets a copy of the 2008 RITA^©-winning Catch of the Day, in which our Maggie seems to get dumped rather a lot.

I used to love to get up early on Black Friday and look for hot deals. Now, not so much.

In fact this year I didn’t anticipate buying anything on Black Friday. Until an email from the Rhapsody Book Club hit my in- box, promising 25% off, buy one-get-one-free AND free shipping.

I’d been wanting to buy Debbie Macomber’s new book–
One Simple Act: Discovering the Power of Generosity

so for $14.99, I got two hardbacks, one for myself and one to give as a gift!

Tell me what you picked up this year on Black Friday and I’ll enter you in a drawing to win a copy of my latest release– The Christmas Proposition….on sale now at a bookstore near you!
I’ll draw the winner at 9 pm Sunday night.

Ok, so now that Thanksgiving has passed us by (gosh, I just finished putting all the food away!), I can begin to officially celebrate the Christmas season.

I confess — I have been laughing at this year’s Target commercials about Black Friday…here’s one of them:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1uE-EfEXHk8

There’s something very funny about her manic edge that kind of reminds me of myself as Christmas approaches, though I have not and will not show up at midnight or even 3am at any store for any reason….well, if Gerard Butler was on sale, I might…  But, I think I’ve had too much turkey to get too excited about going shopping in the Black Friday crunch today.

So, today, I’m going to enjoy the post-Thanksgiving glow and make my plans for the Christmas season –

I’ll search the tv listings for my favorite holiday shows/specials/tv movies  

I’ll decide (finally!) whether or not to send out Christmas cards (I haven’t for 2 years!) and what smaller gifties to get for my kids (now that we’ve decided on our ‘big’ Christmas present for this year) and if I’m baking…and what….

But, as I get out my own Advent calendar for the beginning of December (mine is now about 20 years old — from Avon with a little stuffed mouse that moves from day to day), I wanted to invite you all to begin your celebration along with the authors who write Harlequin Historical romances.

We’re going sponsoring an Advent contest that will move from author website to website each day from December 1 through December 23, with chances to win individual authors’ prizes as well as the grand prize — a Kindle 3G! Each author will ask readers/visitors to do something different to enter — some will ask you to comment on a blog, some will ask a question on a website page, others will have ‘hidden’ ornaments to locate…and some, like me, will simply ask you to fill out a quick form.  You can enter every day at each open author’s website to increase your chances to win the grand prize. For more info, visit my website next week.

So, as you begin your holiday preparations, please stop over and help the Harlequin Historical authors celebrate each day…

Terri is also visiting several bookstores during December to sign her current release, A STORM OF PLEASURE. Stop by her website for the dates and locations and please stop in if you’re in the area. AND, Terri will be talking about her contribution to the January anthology, MAMMOTH BOOK OF SCOTTISH ROMANCE in the weeks ahead….

For those of us here in the U.S, today is Thanksgiving Day, one of my favorite holidays. My daughter made this fabulous sign wishing everyone a happy Thanksgiving. (Keep in mind she’s five and doesn’t understand less is more.) But her sign is full of love and energy, and that makes it fabulous to me.
Since we’ve already talked about things we’re thankful for, I thought I’d talked about literary things for which I’m thankful.
I’m thankful for my publisher and editor and the fact that I have a book out this month.
I’m thankful for the many authors whose books I love. This week, I’m particularly thankful for J.K. Rowling, because I enjoyed the new movie so much and can’t wait to reread the book!
And I’m thankful for all the great YA authors who are creating young readers who will grow up to read our books! What are you thankful this year?

I just wanted to take this opportunity to express my thankfulness by all the many blessings in my life.

I am thankful for (not necessarily in this order)…

my husband
my kitties
my family
peanut m&m’s
my job – I’m thankful I to publish my stories
diet big red
devoted readers (thank you!)
good books
great friends
my health
excedrin extra strength
my house

So how about you, what are you thankful for?

This week I’ve been thinking about Thanksgivings of years’ past. I don’t have a story about a meal that came out wrong. No one trusts me to cook. For example, this year I am charged with bringing fruit salad to Thanksgiving dinner. I’ve been told it’s because I do such a nice fruit salad. Uh-huh.

I do have a story about a memorable Thanksgiving. In 2000 I was in Leeds, England visiting a friend over the week of Thanksgiving. She’s an American and was without family that Thanksgiving. I wanted to get away because my fiancé had dumped me and called off the wedding a few months before…but that’s a different story.

So there we were in England. It was cold and rainy and damp as only northern England can be. I brought two cans of pumpkin in my suitcase, so my friend and I could have some sort of Thanksgiving meal in between visiting the home of the Brontes and stopping in every local pub in the greater Leeds area. I had an affinity for cider that year.

So Thanksgiving Day we walked to the grocery store. My friend didn’t have a car, and this might be hard to believe, but lots of English don’t have cars. They actually walk and take the bus everywhere. I’ve never walked so much in my life except for the other times I’ve been in England.

At the store, we were looking for pre-made pie crusts in which to dump the cans of pumpkin I had lugged all the way across the Atlantic. But there were no pre-made pie crusts to be found. Apparently, the English not only don’t drive, they make their own pie crusts. I don’t know where they find the time with all that extra walking they do. We had to settle for two tart crusts. I guess the English don’t make their own tart crusts. And remember, the UK doesn’t celebrate Thanksgiving, so they hadn’t stocked up on Thanksgiving supplies like the stores in the US. We bought some other Thanksgiving essentials—I can’t remember what now—but not many because we had to carry all of it home on that long walk.

Back at the flat (love saying that), we started to make pumpkin pie, which attracted the amused interest of my friend’s roommates. They thought pumpkin pie sounded disgusting. Of course, blood pudding is so much more appetizing. Right away, we knew we had a problem. The directions for cooking the pumpkin pie—which we had to divide in two since we had two small tart crusts instead of one large pie crust—were in Fahrenheit, and the ovens in England were in Celsius. The metric system strikes again!

And now we had to make sure the pie was good or prove my friend’s roommates correct. Luckily, my friend was getting her PhD in geophysics or something smart like that, so she could do the conversions. We hoped.

We put the pie in, went and sat by the radiator where our jeans were drying (no dryers in England as far as I can tell), and watched “East Enders.”

Some time later the pie was done, and we invited everyone to join us. Much as the Pilgrims may have hesitated when the Indians offered them new fare on that first Thanksgiving, our British friends hesitated to taste the pumpkin pie—or were they tarts? But after the first bite everyone wanted seconds.

And you thought I could only make fruit salad.

(I originally posted this on the Casablanca Authors blog, but I thought you JQs might like to know the story too.)

I found my first published article, it was from my junior year of high school and it was about two things that I think are themes in my writing even today–family and food!

It was about Thanksgiving and I think my teacher may have picked my paper for inclusion based on the fact that I mentioned my family has lasagna as well as turkey on the big eating day!

What is your favorite holiday tradition?

Katherine

The winner from Friday’s post is Kate.
Kate, email me at Emily at EmilyMcKay.com with you snail mail address and I’ll get the book in the mail to you. Thanks for playing!

It’s not Thanksgiving yet, but it’s coming up this week and I’ve been thinking–if I could invite three people, living or dead, to my Thanksgiving feast this year who would I invite and why?

When a friend posed this question to me a couple days ago, I initially found my thoughts straying to celibrities and prominent political figures. Then, I stopped myself and really thought about the parameters–any person living or dead.

Why, of course I’d invite my parents (both deceased). I can imagine the look of surprise and pleasure on my daughter’s face if her beloved grandmother (who died when she was a young girl) was sitting at the Thanksgiving table. I can imagine the two of them spending the whole meal “catching up.” Of course, I’d be part of the conversation. I can imagine my pleasure in telling my mother that I’d started writing after her death and have now sold twenty-seven books. My friends have always said, ‘your mother would be so proud of you’ but I admit it would be nice to see the look on her face when I handed her one of my books.

I’d love to have my father at the table, the way he was before those last few years when he was so seriously ill. I’d love to go for a walk with him, or maybe in the evening if it wasn’t too cold, pull out his old telescope and let him tell me about the stars one more time.

The third person I’d invite would be my father-in-law (a man I absolutely adored.) Everyone liked Roger. Funny, charming and intelligent, he was a big proponent of folllowing your dreams. He died when our daughter (his first grandchild) was only one. I know he would be so proud to see the fine young woman she is now and get to know her. It brings tears to my eyes just imaging the joy on my husband’s face (as well as on his mother’s and his two siblings) when his father showed up.

Having these three wonderful people at the Thanksgiving table would make the day extra-special for everyone.

How about you? If you could have three people–either living or dead–join you for Thanksgiving this year, who would YOU chose?