For most of us, it’s work and family, isn’t it? Sometimes, it’s a major project, or an illness. It can be care of children or other loved ones. Maybe it’s school. Each one of those has played a big role in my life and now – what can I say? I’m stuck with Dumb and Dumber here on the right. Oops – I meant to say Nick and Ranger. These are my babies now. Plus, Bob – our one surviving cat, who seems to be getting older by the minute. He’ll be fourteen years old in June.

For years, I concentrated on my kids - doing everything I could to maximize their grade school and high school experiences, attending concerts and sports events. Parent-teacher conferences. Awards ceremonies. Private talks [ahem] with the principal…  (Hard to believe, I know – with those angelic little people you see at the left).  They’re older now, finished with college, and going about their own next phase as young adults - graduate school, work, whatever, and thankfully, all three live close, so we see them often. The older two are in serious relationships, and we hope one day they’ll marry and have kids and settle down nearby. Looking at that picture, it’s hard to believe they were ever that little. The youngest on the far left is about a year old there, and the other two are aged 5 and 3. Yikes – time flies!

I managed to work my career around the raising of my kids. When they were really small, I was a nurse on the second shift in ICU. I left for the hospital in the late afternoon, which meant we had a sitter only for a few hours until my husband got home. Then he’d handle dinner and homework and get everyone to bed. When I started my writing career, my office was at home, and I was always around (I don’t think the kids appreciated that quite as much when they were in middle and high school ).

A few years ago, my mom became ill. Turns out it was a terminal disease, and she declined very quickly. It was an incredibly fast six weeks from her diagnosis (when she was up and around, driving herself, shopping, cooking, reading, gardening)  to the day she passed away. My siblings and I kept her at home – her home - and took care of her there, 24/7. Of course we didn’t know how quickly the time would pass, but we all managed to put our lives on hold so that at least one of us could be with her. You do what you have to do, right?

I had just switched to Avon around the time my mom got sick, and my first book with Avon (my 11th overall) came out a few months later. Since then, I’ve written nine books for Avon — the most recent shown here. (You can read an excerpt from this book if you visit Margo’s books page and scroll down).  Mom would have been really pleased. Not that she was such a huge romance reader. She was an English teacher who enjoyed all kinds of books, and she was hugely proud of my second career.

Tell me what rules your life these days. Is it positive or negative? Do you feel like you have control over it?

Okay Treasure Me has been out for about a month now and the reader feedback has been great. But if you haven’t picked up your copy, here’s a little inside peek to whet your whistle, so to speak. Enjoy.

Loch Ness, Scotland 1888

Vanessa made her way quickly through the noisy pub and took a seat at an empty table. Heavy wood paneling covered nearly every surface in the room. The floor currently acted as a small pool for spilled ale. But she needed to eat.
Gingerly she opened Jeremy’s notes and smoothed her hand across them. This was precisely the sort of place that Jeremy would balk at entering. He would despair at even laying his precious notes on the sticky surface. So she did it regardless, knowing that he wouldn’t be needing them anymore. Furthermore, he shouldn’t have left them lying around while he was off dallying with Violet.
All around her, large and hairy Scottish men sat at the tables slamming their mugs together, cursing and picking fights with one another. Were it not for her considerable practice at ignoring noise to focus on work, she might have been more distracted.
So Vanessa was quite used to pretending that nothing around her was meant for her attention. A skill that had come in handy on more than one occasion when she’d been stuck beside a bore at a dinner party. Or been persuaded to dance with an arrogant, yet ignorant, oaf at a soiree. She’d learned such a skill at home with her family where her mother and sisters spoke of nothing more than the next social engagement and which fabrics best complimented their coloring. Of course, they tried to include her, but Vanessa found none of that the least bit interesting. Instead she wanted to read or study, or more precisely, she wanted to dig. But until this very trip, she hadn’t yet gotten the opportunity.
Now Vanessa was finally here. Here in Scotland where the history was mixed heavily with myth, and the soil was rich with undiscovered fossils, all waiting for her to unearth and categorize them. First thing tomorrow morning, she would hike over to those castle ruins and find her way into the caverns beneath. Jeremy was wrong about Mr. McElroy’s discovery, and if the poor Scotsman were still alive, she’d find him to tell him so. It had been a point of contention between her and her would-be-husband, but he’d taken the time to listen to her argument. She’d thought he’d been weighing her hypothesis. Now though, she believed that he’d merely been humoring her. Well, she would prove him wrong—him and the rest of the scientific community who believed her to be utterly unqualified.
She had tried to argue Mr. McElroy’s point by sending in several letters supporting his theory that the bone belonged to what the Scots called the water kelpie. But not one of them had been printed in any of the scientific journals. No, Vanessa didn’t believe a mystical creature still lived in those peat-stained waters. But something had lived there many years ago, and the evidence was just waiting for her discovery.
She put the tip of her pencil between her teeth as she collected her thoughts, then she jotted down a note.
“What’s a purty lass like you doin’ all alone?” A large necked man plopped into the empty chair adjacent to hers. His thick brogue, laced with inebriation, took some concentration to understand. As he looked over her notebook, his nose wrinkled. “What are you doing there in that book?”
She closed the pages over her hand to mark her spot and glanced at him above her spectacles. “I am working, sir, and you are disturbing me.” Perhaps she should have stayed in her room. But she’d been hungry, and the barmaid had said this was the only place she could eat. So she’d sat to wait for her lamb stew.
He laughed, a gritty, dark sound. “Disturbing you, am I? Well, we’ll see about that.” He reached over, and with one swift pull, he’d yanked her onto his lap, knocking the notebook to the floor in the process. She struggled against him, kicking at his legs and trying to pound on his chest, but he clasped both her wrists in his vice-like grip.
“Unhand me, sir!” she said loudly, continuing to fight. She eyed Jeremy’s notebook lying facedown on the filthy floor. As gratifying as it might be to destroy something of his, she needed that research. “I must collect my notes!”
“I don’t think so. You’re a nice little morsel, aren’t you?” He buried his face in her hair. “And you smell real nice. Like flowers and honey.”
Vanessa’s heart thundered in her chest, the sound reverberating to pound in her ears. She had not carefully weighed the situation before she’d acted. She’d been so focused on her research, so intent on her own purpose, that she hadn’t bothered to think about this new environment. This was not the sort of place that a well-bred lady would travel alone. Yet here she was. Not very smart of her, she now acknowledged. This was precisely the impetuous behavior that her mother found so taxing.
But there was no need to panic; that’s the reaction her sisters would have. Vanessa, though, was level-headed and generally good at sizing up challenging situations. This one would be no different. She merely needed to stay calm, keep her wits about her, and figure out a way to escape. Perhaps she should simply jerk herself away and run up to her room. But with the current hold the man had on her, freeing herself was impossible. She could call for help. Perhaps people simply didn’t realize that she wasn’t interested in being handled by this man. Certainly a crowd this size would not allow this man to truly harm her.
But as three other large Scots stood and moved to her table, each of their expressions more lascivious than the next, she began to doubt her convictions. These men would not protect her. They would assist her assailant. She saw the great error in her logic. She had grossly underestimated her situation, and now she was in serious trouble. She doubled her efforts. Her legs kicked out, trying in vain to wiggle free from the man’s hold.
“What do we have here, Angus?” one man asked as he straddled a chair next to them. He ran a rough hand down Vanessa’s cheek.
She frowned at him and tried to pull away from his offensive touch. Had her hands been free, she would have walloped him good. Boxed his ears, or poked him in the eyes.
“A fine piece of muslin,” another man said. He moved his eyebrows up and down in a move that Vanessa could only assume meant he found her attractive. The irony of the situation was not lost on her. Finally she had a man sexually interested in her, something her mother had spent hours fretting about. But eligible, appropriate men, they were not.
The man who’d imprisoned her on his lap—Angus, the other man had called him–was trying to run his hand up her leg, but she managed to deflect his efforts with an elbow to his abdomen. The man next to him yanked on her hair, pulling her head back so she could see his grimy face above hers. His yellowed teeth smelled foul, a mixture of ale and rot. Her eyes watered.
“Oh there you are, love,” another voice said from behind her. “I’d ask you kindly to remove your hands from my intended.”
She could not see the owner of the voice, but this man sounded different from the others. While his voice still had the lilt of a Scottish brogue, his tone was more refined, cleaner around the edges. Though his words were polite, his tone was edged with a threat.
“Your intended?” Angus asked.
“Aye. I said let her go.”
“As you wish,” the man said, then he dumped Vanessa onto the hard wood-planked floor.
Vanessa landed with a thud, her wool dress splayed around her, revealing both ankles. A hand reached out to pull her to her feet. She snatched her notebook on the way up.
She looked up and found herself staring into the most alarmingly handsome face she’d ever seen. His long brown hair hung to his shoulders in a wild and unkempt way, but she could tell he’d washed it recently, not at all like the greasy, matted manes of the other men. A day’s worth of beard covered his cheeks and chin, but did nothing to hide his sensual mouth, which quirked in a subtle grin. But it was his crystal clear green eyes that seemed to void her vocabulary. She nodded like a simpleton.
He held her close to his side. So far, no one had resorted to fisticuffs, but two of the Scots still held a stance that suggested they might swing a punch at any moment. Vanessa found herself holding her breath, so she exhaled slowly.
“So, English,” Angus said, sizing up her rescuer. “You’ve come back to the wilds of the hills, have you?”
“Fits you’d find yourself a pretty Lady to wed,” another said. “What’s the matter, the local skirts aren’t good enough for the likes of you?” Guffaws of laughter surrounded them.
This close to her rescuer, she could smell him. A delicious combination of soap and leather and the pure smell of the clean Highland air filled her nose. She caught herself before she closed her eyes to inhale.
“Did you bring her home to wed her properly?” Angus asked with a wide grin that highlighted his foul teeth.
“None of your damned business,” her savior said. But she noted a slight tick in his jaw line.
“A true Scot would wed her here and now,” Angus taunted with narrowed eyes.
“Wed her, then bed her,” the other agreed with a grin.
“What’s the matter, English?” another asked.
Vanessa noticed how the man at her side clinched his fist that rested at her waist. Her savior never once met her gaze as he looked at the other men in the tavern. They were all slightly smaller than he, but two of them were as broad. Still he was only one man.
“English won’t do it,” Angus said.
“He ain’t a real Scot,” the other said. “Too much blue blood.”
The taunting reminded Vanessa of her young cousins who teased and quipped back and forth, goading each other into doing something unpleasant. Children’s folly, nothing more. But suddenly she realized how quiet the room had fallen. It had been so loud, full of boisterous voices and music coming from an old harpsichord in the corner of the room. Everyone waited, listening for what would happen between her defender and the wretched men who’d attacked her.
“Mavis,” Angus yelled. Then he held up his hand. A moment later, a rope soared across the pub, and he caught it in his fist. He took a step toward them. “Well, are you a real Scot or no’?”
“Nah, he’s an English,” the other man said.
At long last, the man protecting her, glanced down and met her gaze. His pure green eyes met hers, and her mouth went completely dry. She’d never been one to become lathered by the appearance of men. Her sisters had certainly fallen into fits of hysteria when handsome men had expressed interest in them, but Vanessa had never looked up much to take notice. But with this man, his rugged handsomeness was hard to ignore. She pushed her spectacles back up the bridge of her nose.
“We’ll do the ceremony,” he said in his low baritone voice. “I’ll marry her right now.”
Before Vanessa could ask any questions, she found herself facing the large stranger and both their right hands were tied together with the rope. The man before her repeated vows, and then nodded to her when it was her turn.
Vanessa tugged on her hand and realized it was indeed tied quite firmly to the man with the beautiful green eyes. The stench of the other men around her assaulted her senses. “Marry this man?” she asked softly, more to herself than anyone in particular.
Loud cheers surged around her, and if she wasn’t mistaken, she’d just accidentally married a Scotsman.

So as far as excerpts go, what are your favorite kinds? Do you like the first meet scene? Or a steamy scene? What kind of scene really makes you head to the store to pick up the book? I have a copy of Treasure Me and a copy of Emily McKay’s Seduced: The Unexpected Virgin ready to mail out to one lucky reader. Just comment to win.

Another writer and I were talking recently about how all writers are worriers. This is so true of me. I worry about all kinds of crazy stuff that shouldn’t be taking up my brain space.

Here’s a short list of things I’ve exerted emotional energy on recently:

• Fictional characters: My daughter loves a series of books about The Doll People in which an heirloom china doll befriends a plastic Little People style doll. They become best friends and have lots of adventures. My daughter loves them! Me, I spend the entire book worrying that the plastic will age badly and eventually get thrown away or donated to Goodwill. What will the dolls do if they are separated? How sad for both of them! But they’re not real! Nevertheless, I still worry.
• The lives and emotional health of … the insects in my yard: I recently bought a fantastic new composter, the kind that you turn once a day. But every time I turn it, I worry about the bugs that live in there. Am I squashing them? Do they get upset when their entire world is turned upside down? I also have these same fears about the pill bugs my kids catch and keep in jars for a few hours. I can’t help thinking it must be very traumatic. Hmm … maybe they need therapy?
• The birds that nest in my purple martin house: A few years ago, I bought my husband a very fancy purple martin house for our backyard. After it was installed, the guy told me that in the spring, I’m supposed to lower it once a week and remove any nests of birds that aren’t purple martins. Apparently purple martins won’t nest with other birds. So what? I’m supposed to just evict those hard-working birds who’ve started nests in my martin house? They invested time and energy in those nests! Maybe they won’t have time to build another! Maybe they even have–gasp!-eggs in them! And I’m supposed to just kick them out??? (Obviously, this is why I’m a writer and not a slumlord.)

Now, obviously, this capacity to anthropomorphize anything is a good skill for a writer to have. But I gotta tell you, sometimes, it’s just exhausting. Is there anything you worry about that you shouldn’t?

I’ll pick a couple of commentors to win a copy of one of backlist books.

Casey Gonzalez, come on down! You’ve won a t-shirt and a signed copy of MY ONE AND ONLY. Send your snail mail address to me at k.higgins@snet.net. Hope you like the book, and thanks to everyone who commented!

Kristan

www.kristanhiggins.com

Jaunty P. Quills here, talking to Kristan “Not My Favorite Quill” Higgins about My One & Only, which comes out tomorrow. Finally, a book about me, in which Kristan examines her feelings toward a certain porcupine. Am I right, Kristan?

Kristan: Yes.

JPQ: And in this story, you and I reunite–after a long separation–during a wedding in beautiful Glacier National Park?

KH: Mm-hm.

JPQ: Where we fall in love once more, despite our past differences.

KH: Yes. That’s it exactly.

JPQ: Finally! Other Quills, take note! It’s about time I got my—

KH: Actually, let me jump in here. There is a destination wedding, and it does take place in Montana, and in a sense, yes, there is a porcupine in the book. So let’s say your spirit is represented in the form of divorce attorney Harper James, who’s less than thrilled to be seeing Nick, her ex-husband, after twelve peaceful years without him.

JPQ: (Silence). So I’m not in it?

KH: Metaphorically, you are.

JPQ: Metaphorically? You think you can fool me with that, Higgins? Fine. It’s not like I have feelings. I’m just a simple porcupine. Go on, go on, tell us about the book, and don’t mind me while I suck a little carbon monoxide.

KH: Thanks, Jaunty! Okay, well, Harper and Nick married young and found that marriage was more complicated than two kids in love. Heartbreak and a quicky divorce ensue, and Harper figures she’s lived and learned. But when her stepsister tells her she’s marrying Nick’s brother, the long-estranged couple is thrown together as maid of honor and best man at the wedding. The instant they lay eyes on each other, Harper can smell doom. Nick has always known her weak spots…but she knows his, too. When her travel plans break down, Harper finds her only option is an impromptu road trip with the last man on earth with whom she wants to spend time.

JPQ: Look at you, showing off your fancy grammar.

KH: My mom’s an editor. She’ll ground me if I end a sentence with a preposition.

JPQ: Go ahead, you know you want to. Give us an excerpt from the book. I’ll just be over here, throwing myself off this high branch.

KH: I would love to share an excerpt, Jaunty! Thank you!

I could practically feel scales break out on my body as I walked down the aisle. Nick stared at me, his gypsy eyes narrowed. I narrowed my own eyes back. Jerk. Christopher gave me a shy little nod and a half-smile. Sure, he was sweet. All of Willa’s husbands had been sweet.

There. I arrived at the altar and didn’t look at Nick.

“I thought I asked you not to infect them,” he murmured. “What were you doing? Giving closing arguments?”

“I was trying to infuse some common sense into the proceedings,” I ground out.

“You make me sad,” he said.

“And you make me feel like kicking you in the shins,” I returned.

I could feel the irritation crackling off him. He glanced at me, then dropped his gaze to my low-cut dress, where the boobage was so generously displayed. “Thanks for the show,” he said.

“Bite me, Nick,” I muttered.

JPQ: Well! Now that I’ve read this, I see that yes, you really do represent me! Hear that, other Quills? Kristan put me in a book, metaphorically speaking. Time for the rest of you to pony up! Readers, leave a comment, and I’ll make Kristan send one of you something fun—a t-shirt of My One & Only and a signed copy of the book.

KH: Thanks, Jaunty. Are we friends?

JPQ: Down, girl. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

Thanks to everyone for their comments — the winners of the copies of HIS ENEMY’S DAUGHTER are:

LilMissMolly

Kay.

I have coupons from eharlequin.com to get a free digital copy of my book – please contact me ASAP at terri@terribrisbin.com — use Jaunty Quills as the subject.

Thanks!

Terri B

Some friends were brainstorming chocolate sayings. I enjoyed reading them but couldn’t come up with any of my own. If you can add to them I’d really appreciate it. And who knows, one of them may find its way into my latest book.

As Patrick Henry would say, ‘Give me chocolate, or give me death.’

I have a dream … about chocolate.

A good man is hard to find. A chocolate bar is better.

Keep your eyes on the road and your hands on the chocolate.

Don’t cry over spilled chocolate. Eat it.

Chocolate by any other name tastes just as sweet.

If it ain’t chocolate, it ain’t worth it.

Holy chocolate, Batman!

Is that a chocolate covered banana in your pocket, or are you just happy to
see me?

Chocolate is Mother Nature’s greatest gift.

Do you have one you’d like to add?

I thought some of our newer readers might be interested in the history of the Jaunty Quills. In this age of blogs popping up and then disappearing after six months, it feels a little like we’re dinosaurs.

The Sisterhood of the Jaunty Quills was the brainchild of Kimberly Logan. She used to write for Avon, as did all of the founding members, and asked some of the debut Avon authors if they’d be interested in starting a blog with her. This was in the days of Squawk Radio (remember that?) and everyone was looking for new ways to reach readers. I guess some things never change!

The original Jaunty Quills were Kimberly Logan, Margo Maguire, Cindy Kirk, Robyn DeHart, Anne Mallory, Shirley Karr, and me. Here’s a picture of six of the original seven (L to R: Anne, Shana, Robyn, Cindy, Margo, and Shirley).

Margo, Cindy, Robyn, and I are still around. Back then, Cindy was the odd-man-out because she was the only contemporary author. Now, she has plenty of contemporary company.

Our first blog posted November 7, 2005 and was written by Anne Mallory. It began (as only Anne could)…

Welcome to The Sisterhood of the Jaunty Quills, a daily blog written by seven new Avon authors on life, travels, publishing, reading, writing and arithmetic. Er, well, not so much on that last one.

Anne then went on to say…

The blog is meant to be rollicking fun, and The Jaunty Quills plan to serve your rollicking needs from around the country — Michigan, California, Tennessee, Texas, Indiana, Nebraska and Oregon — and through world travels. Comments and dialogue are encouraged and we hope that you decide to become part of our Sisterhood too.

Through the years we’ve said fond goodbyes to members and welcomed new members too. And many of you readers have been with us from the very beginning. But the thing I want to say about this blog is that amongst us authors, it really does feel like a sisterhood. We really do like each other and share our lives with one another. We enjoy sharing snippets of them with you, too! And we’re happy we have readers like you, readers who share your lives back with us.

I’d love to know your memories of the Jaunty Quills. Readers, how did you hear about us? What was your favorite post? Jaunties, what do you remember from the early days—either the blog’s early days or your early days as a new Quill?

I watched the movie Possession last night. It’s based on the book by A.S. Byatt. In it, two modern scholars research (through happenstance and creative digging) the lives of two 19th century poets. The poets seemed to have little connection in the beginning, but our modern couple discovers that the two had a torrid affair and a great love, which they managed to conceal from the world. They had one month together and then they had to return to their lives, never to be together again. I won’t give away the entire plot, but there are surprises thrown in, and some wonderfully bittersweet moments. The historical couple is played Jeremy Northam and Jennifer Ehle. The modern couple is Gwyneth Paltrow and Aaron Eckhart. The two of them grow closer over the course of the investigation, and the whole theme of the movie seems to be — in my opinion — is if love is worth the risk of giving yourself to another person. In the case of the poets, he is married to a lovely, but seemingly frigid woman. Being with his lover risks ruination for them both, and so they have their time together and then go back to their lives.

For a romance author, you can see where this would be heartbreaking. Frustrating. I would have found a way for them to be together. Of course, adultery is frown upon in the romance world, so I would have had to make the wife the heroine, which sort of defeats the point.

Anyway, while I really enjoyed the movie, I lamented their lost love (as I was supposed to). And I think I wasn’t so upset by their lack of HEA because the main couple seems to have a good thing going by the end. Nice ploy on behalf of the author and those who wrote the script.

So, I want to know what YOU — romance readers and writers — think of the lost love plot. And please, fans of Byatt let me know what I should pick up by her. I’m ashamed that I have not read her yet!

Many times, when chatting online or visiting bookstores to meet with readers, one question is asked — if I was casting the movie of my book, who would play the hero? It’s usually not something I think about while writing. Usually the characters come to me, looking as they do because they are who they are. But sometimes, I go looking for examples of which actor or celebrity I think resembles the hero. . . just in case a movie producer wants to make my book into a feature film.

It should come as no surprise to anyone who knows anything about me that sooner or later, I was going to write Gerard Butler!

And though I will admit to him inspiring me as I wrote my hero, Soren Fitzrobert, for HIS ENEMY’S DAUGHTER, it wasn’t the gorgeous version I normally picture as I lust….er….think about him….like this one — hmmmmmm….pink sweater, leather kilt and a big sword! Gotta love him… But the vision I had of Gerard for this hero was more like the Phantom at his worst–damaged, angry, dangerous and scarred. Soren had been called ‘the Beautiful Bastard’, a man who lived on his looks, and now has lost his physical beauty to a terrible wound delivered in the Battle of Hastings. Believing that revenge is his quest, he doesn’t realize he’s really searching for his lost self until the heroine teaches him that.

Of course, with him looking so terribly and monstrous, it’s a good thing the heroine is blind! Otherwise, they would never have stood a chance of getting along let alone falling in love.  And, because this is a romance, she will regain her sight at the worst possible time and react in the worst possible way.

This book is really not about the hero’s looks, rather his looks are the excuse he uses to avoid the harder truth of his life and the changes he must make to move forward.

And, in case anyone would like to know, I think that Giles from THE CONQUEROR’S LADY looks like Clive Owen, the actor who played King Arthur in addition to other roles.  I had to search for images while writing the second book , THE MERCENARY’S BRIDE — the hero was blond, something very different for me. So I searched around until I found a copy of the photo with someone who looked like him.  The leather kind of reminds me of the middle ages, but it was his hunky look that grabbed my attention.  Justin Hartley is the actor…this photo is from SMALLVILLE.

When you read a romance novel, do you immediately decide who the hero (and/or heroine) resemble? Do you cast the hero or heroine if the book (other than OUTLANDER by Diana Gabaldon) was to be made into a movie or tv show  ? Please post about your favorite guess — I have 2 coupons for digital copies of His Enemy’s Daughter for two readers who comment. (NEW**** I don’t want to leave out those readers who only read in print (like me!) so I’ll giveaway a print copy too! Comment away!)

Terri Brisbin is enjoying the release of her new book, His Enemy’s Daughter by blogging and chatting about her new release all over the information superhighway! And there are more releases on their way in the coming months. So, stop by her website for more info.