Writing has always been like therapy for me. Any time I’ve had a problem, I’ve turned to journaling to help sort through my thoughts. As a teen, I wrote poems to express the things I grappled with on the road to figuring out where I belonged in the world. So I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that I returned to writing during a difficult time in my life.

At first it was a means of escape from the stress, but then it became something so much more. It became a way for me to sort through what really mattered and revealed a new road I needed to follow. Here I am three years later with four books written—book one never to see the light of day—a fifth book in the works, several short stories published in a magazine, and a novella recently released as part of an anthology, A Summons from the Duke (Regency Christmas Summons Collection 2).

Have you ever been drawn to a project but you had a thousand reasons why you couldn’t participate? That was me a few months ago. The writers in my critique group had an idea to create a collection of novellas that were connected while still being able to stand alone. The premise is the Duke of Danby has summoned his wayward grandchildren to Yorkshire for Christmas, and he has matchmaking on his mind. Each writer took a grandchild and told his or her story of falling in love.

The idea appealed to me, but I didn’t think I could pull it off. I was in the middle of revising my second book for Sourcebooks and finishing up a third book for a December deadline. I told my group I would love to be part of the anthology, but there just wasn’t time. But like an annoying tickle at the back of the throat, I couldn’t ignore the pull to be involved. As their ideas flew back and forth through email, one took root in my mind. I wrote the first scene in thirty minutes and I was hooked.

It’s interesting that this small project was what helped me define what I believe deep down is important. You’ll often hear authors talk about theme. Each book may have a separate idea, but over several books recurring themes will emerge. It wasn’t until I wrote my story “Twice Upon a Time” that I realized what my recurring themes are: Love me, love my family (which may or may not be connected by blood). Nothing is ever what it seems on the surface, so withhold judgment until you know the real person. And of course, love will prevail.

I think this may be the reason we as readers are drawn to certain authors or stories. Deep down we hold similar values and the stories tap into that fountain of meaning for us. My favorite stories seem to suggest this: I Know this Much is True by Wally Lamb, Twenties Girl by Sophie Kinsella, Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. All three stories are about imperfect families the protagonist loves anyway, discovering the truth about another, and love prevailing in the end.

What are your favorite stories, and do they have any common themes? (Today one commenter will win a copy of A Summons from the Duke, and everyone who leaves a comment will be entered into the Regency Christmas Summons Prize Extravaganza for a chance to win books, gift cards, and a Kindle. Please remember to include your email address to enter the drawing. Winners will be announced December 15th.)

Excerpt set up:
Julian Beckford, grandson to Duke of Danby, is up to his top-boots in one of his cousin’s mad schemes only days after his return to England. Baron Penlow wants to engage an actress to play his wife over the holidays at Danby Castle, and he has asked for Julian’s assistance in casting the role. Here’s a sneak peek at their evening…

Excerpt:
Julian nodded. “She’s the one.”

It had dawned on him too late that it mattered very little which woman he recommended to Pen since Julian had every intention of talking his cousin out of his plans on the morrow. He could have ended this nonsense hours ago.

“Are you certain?” Pen asked.

“Yes. Now I’ve done my part, and I’m growing impatient with this clandestine operation. I’m ready to play faro.”

Pen rapped sharply on the roof and opened the window.

One of his servants moved into the woman’s path before she reached the end of the alley. “Pardon me, miss. Lord Penlow would like a word.”

She froze like a rabbit, poised to dash away. “Step away from me, sir.” She readjusted her grip on the bag. The poor dear was probably frightened out of her wits, being accosted the minute she exited the alley, and who could blame her?

“Make it quick,” Pen called out. “We have somewhere to be.”

When the footman turned his head towards Pen’s voice, she took advantage of the distraction and tried to bolt around him.

“Stop her!” Pen scrambled from his seat and threw open the door. “Stop her now!”

His servant lunged to grab the woman, hugging his arms around hers and knocking her bag from her hand. It hit the ground with a thud.

“My bag!” Her panicked voice echoed off the building.

“Quiet her,” Pen said. “Put her in the carriage.”

“No!”

The servant clamped a hand over her mouth before she let loose a scream and lifted her off her feet. She kicked and wriggled until he almost lost his hold. The hood fell away to reveal a cascade of dark hair.

Julian shot out of the carriage. “What are you doing? You said nothing about abduction.”

Her gaze darted towards him, her eyes wide, and her thrashing increased.

“See what you’ve done?” Pen sprang forwards and captured her legs. “Let’s put her in the carriage before someone discovers us.”

Together, Pen and his servant struggled to put her in the Berlin before Pen climbed inside. “Come on, Julian.”

Julian hesitated a moment, then snatched up her bag and clambered into the carriage, closing the door behind him. Pen was sitting on the bench, holding his nose and oddly silent. The girl huddled in a corner, her breaths shallow and rapid. She was as scared as a church mouse. Good Lord, this might take some doing to make everything right.

Julian placed her bag on the floor and reached a hand towards her. “No one is going to hurt you, miss.” As he leaned in, her leg shot out, and her boot struck him in the center of his chest.

“Damnation!” He fell against the door; his side banged against the seat.

She barreled for the exit, trying to climb over him to reach it. Her boot ground into his thigh, and she lost her footing on the slick fabric of his breeches. She dropped like a lead ball, her knee crashing into his groin.

Julian hissed in pain. Pinpricks of light danced in the blackness, clouding his vision. His gut wrenched, wringing every ounce of comfort from him and replacing it with excruciating torture.

He would never trust his judgment again. He’d chosen a wildcat.

Samantha loves to hear from readers. You can find her on Twitter, Facebook, and Goodreads. To learn more about Samantha’s books and appearances, you may visit her website.