Dishing Secrets and Releases with Raven McAllan

Give a warm welcome to the VERY talented Raven McAllan. Today we are celebrating her new release A Rose Between the Thorns! To honor this new release I have convinced Raven to dish on some of her writing secrets! (And I promise I won't let her kill you after reading...at least I'll try... ;-))

Take it away Raven!

Megan wants secrets…

Then they won't be secrets will they? So shh, don't tell anyone, huddle in… yeah just like that.

Okay then… did you know…the moon isn't made of cheese? Yeah, I know, terrible eh? All my illusions blown away… Huh.

Sorry, *grin* I'll be sort of serious now, and say, "Hi, this is Raven, and Megan has asked me to share some of my writing secrets."

*scratches head* Do I have any?

I think the first thing, is and its probably not a secret, is I'm a pantster. That is I don't plot per se. I get an idea from goodness knows where and start to write what I think the story is about. It often isn't. I go where my characters tell em. Not everyone writes like this, but it works for me.

It took me a long while to find my voice and then accept it. I, and probably a lot of other writers first wrote as we thought we should, not as we could. My first few attempts were awful. When I discovered how I wrote I was "Er you what? Really?" Then I decided if this was me I'd embrace it. Of course when I look back at those first books I can see lots of places where I'd write differently. That's good it shows I'm learning and growing as a writer.

I do my best to write for an hour every day. Even on holiday. It doesn't work for everyone but it does for me. The odd day here or there is no biggie. (like this week when I have the dreaded lurgy, and can hardly see the keys) but the one time I went away on holiday without my lap top I had a terrible time getting back into writing again. And let's face it there's something rather nice about sitting on a deck overlooking the ocean and watching the sunrise as you type. Or indeed watching sun go down with a glass of fizz! *Wink*

One of my favorite places to write is on a long haul fight. Preferably in business class (ohhh get me lol) because I'm less likely to disturb anyone there with my tapping. Having said that, maybe some of you have heard my tale about flying home from holiday with Virgin in their upper class. The seat configuration means you all face the aisle at an angle, so there's no clambering over feet to get out. So I left my lap-top open on the footrest and nipped to the loo. When I Got back there was a guy reading what I'd just written. I did the excuse me stuff...he moved in to let me past. I said sorry, my seat, and he moved away without a word. Maybe half an hour later I went to get a drink from the bar. The cabin crew asked me if I was the last in seat *** I said yes. She rolled her eyes. "Well the two guys in seats *** and *** want to know what happens when she gets onto the bed and faces the wall…"

I have a lovely reditor. No that's not a typo. It's short for Red Pen Editor… Or nowadays Red Type editor. The lovely and talented Ms. Doris O'Connor. We both redit for each other, and boy we can be ruthless. That's good though. You need someone to be brutally honest, who you really trust.

I love wine and chocolate. Hate liver and midges. (nothing to do with writing I just thought I'd add that.)

Trite but true, I don't get writers block as such. If as sometimes happens, the characters go stubborn on me, I leave them to stew and write something else.

Yes I can have several m/s on the go at once. Of different genres and even YA and adult. I just switch hats.

Edits… Do you know I can moan and groan, but truthfully, I welcome them (mostly). They mean it’s the next step on the route to publication. I'm old ( haha yup really) and although I did get a good grade in English language exams at school, it was a long time ago! Edits help me here…

If you ever read any of my books, you'll find in almost everyone, the description of my characters is very limited. This is on purpose. I was once told that the detailed description I gave of a hero put my reader off. She didn't see Johnny Depp she saw a young David Essex. Oh dear. (therefore she wasn't keen on the cover and I love it.) She said she'd cope with the covers as long as inside she could dream her own people.

I don't use real people as inspiration. Hence my limited pinterest boards.

I still maintain edits and also it seems my books are like London buses. Nothing for ages, and then several at once.

Lastly, I could soon as stop writing as fly to the moon, though I have slowed down. Okay stop shouting I know it's four stories this month… but hey, two are in anthos.

Talking of which, The latest, A Rose Between The Thornes is out today….. WOO HOOO

How's that? Psst OY .. shouts you can wake up now…

I won't say wake u and smell the roses bwaha… but you can read the blurb…

Propriety is a lonely bedfellow, until twin delights show this lady her true desires.

At three and forty Rose Sophia, Lady Symonds has resigned herself to life passing her by. Overhearing her protégée in the throes of passion with not one but two lovers, leaves her wanting and wishing.

That is until she is accosted at a ball by Jasper and Nathaniel Thorne. Newly back in the county the eccentric and much younger twins, have set their sights on Rose, and they are determined to have her, even it means cheating at cards.

Will accepting their wager free Rose and lead her to the heights of passion she craves? Or will their desired drive her away?

Buy Here

About Raven:

Raven lives in Scotland, along with her husband and their two cats—their children having flown the nest—surrounded by beautiful scenery, which inspires a lot of the settings in her books.

She is used to sharing her life with the occasional deer, red squirrel, and lost tourist, to say nothing of the scourge of Scotland—the midge.

A lover of reading, she appreciates the history inside a book, and the chance to peek into the lives of those from years ago. Raven admits that she enjoys the research for her books almost as much as the writing; so much so, that sometimes she realizes she's strayed way past the information she needs to know, and not a paragraph has been added to her WIP.

http://www.ravenmcallan.com

http://www.ravenmcallan.blogspot.com

https://www.facebook.com/rmcallan        (my page)

https://www.facebook.com/ravenmcallan            (author page)

https://twitter.com/RavenMcAllan

A Shimmer of Silk by Raven McAllan

Today I have the lovely Raven McAllan talking with us about her new release A Shimmer of Silk.

Raven: Hi Megan, thanks for inviting me. Hi anyone who has dropped by. Have a cookie. (Gluten free choc chip, home made if you're wondering. Don't dunk them though they're very crumbly.)

On the 17^th, A Shimmer Of Silk book two of my series The House On Silk Street was published. I'm really excited about this, because if book one: Silver Silk Ties, pushed my writing boundaries, this one broke through them like a dam bursting. (However no one was hurt in the writing of this story unless you count DH's stomach due to burnt dinners.)

Each book can be read as a stand alone, although you won't find out one special thing until the last book of the series....

Buy on Amazon

Blurb…

 Deborah may not know the full truth of her childhood, but she knows she needs to find her soul.

During one of her performances at Silk Street, she attracts the attention of Oliver, Lord Craster. Known for his extreme tastes, he sensed a kindred soul in Deborah.

Persuading her that their needs mesh proves a challenge, even to a man of his experience. Will Oliver be the man she needs to unlock her secrets? Or will his dominance scare her too much to even try?

Are the nightmares simply too strong?

And to make you wonder…here's an excerpt…

It was one thing to agree to accompany Oliver; it was another to do it with insouciance and style. Deborah hung onto her composure by a thread. One word out of place, one unaccustomed challenge, and she feared she would fall to pieces. But deep inside her was an excitement she had never felt before. The recognition of hope and arousal that she sensed would over come any negative feelings, or doubts, within her.

He took her hand and tucked it into his as they walked along a brightly lit, deserted corridor. There were no doors to break the flow of the walls, just lamps at regular intervals. "We will see no one unless you wish it. My apartments are mine alone. Nevertheless, Felton knows you are with me, and I have given him my word, as I did to Luc, we will do nothing without your acceptance. I promise you this also. Our life will be ours. Not for us anything others want, it will be as we desire." He stopped suddenly and pulled her into his arms.

 His cock pressed against her quim, and Deborah's breath hitched. Her mouth was dry, as she felt her juices run. It seemed preferable not to look down, for she was sure the pantaloons she wore would show the marks of her excitement. As Oliver's lips touched hers, she opened her mouth and let his tongue in, to mimic the act she knew they would enjoy later. As he thrust, she couldn't help but grind her cunt against his prick.

Oliver lifted his head. "Soon, love. You taste of nectar."

He tastes of hope.

Within minutes she was standing in a small entrance hall. Deborah looked round her, hoping to get an idea of the preferences of the man. It was bland, almost conventional with cream walls and a pale green a chaise set next to a drum table against one wall. The only splash of color was a bright gold and red cushion thrown carelessly to one end of the chaise. Oliver had evidently picked up on her puzzlement.

"This is for servants to deliver food etcetera. For visitors to wait in and for us to pass through as swift as we can. Are you ready? If not now is the time to say so. You can pull the rope and a servant will escort you to your room."

Her stomach was churning but with excitement not fear. The shivers she felt were those of anticipation, not worry.

"I thought this was now my room? To share with you? Are you reneging, my lord?" His face was a picture of astonishment. 

Deborah couldn’t help herself; she burst into laugher. "Oh, my lord, you should see your expression. It is a sight to behold. Truly, if I ever feel threatened, uncomfortable, or unable to sustain aught we do, I will say so. My safe word is sauf."

"Your safe word?" he said slowly. "What do you know of safe words?"

"Nothing except if we are to discover my limits, we need to decide on one. A word which if I utter, you will desist immediately in whatever activity we are partaking. That is not to say you will not return to the, er subject at a later date, once we have discussed any reluctance or questions I may have. Ah, Oliver, do you think I did not know the reasons why this house exists? Even if our, that is mine and Luc's enquiries, had not told us enough, Lord Dalrey was insistent we knew where and the likes of whom we were entertaining."

 "And you are happy with this?"

She giggled. "Until I taste what you have in mind for us, how do I know?" Deborah thought it was a reasonable question in the circumstances. "In theory, I know some activities will be good, some will push me, and strain my thoughts and mind. Indeed, some things may be beyond my endurance and I cry stop. But which fits where has yet to be determined. Nevertheless, I wish to see what you deem suitable for us. I need, I must, discover myself." She dare not say more. Indeed, she would have been hard pressed to do so. Deborah had no idea how to describe the turmoil her emotions were in.

He gave her a sharp glance but didn't comment.
"Sauf it is." Oliver pushed open a door. "After you."
An imp of mischief made her curtsey and she saw the glint in his eyes. 

"One day, your sauce will be your undoing, my love, I will remember." 

She was sure he would. In a strange way she looked forward to it.

About the Author:

Raven lives in Scotland, along with her husband and their two cats—their children having flown the nest—surrounded by beautiful scenery, which inspires a lot of the settings in her books.
She is used to sharing her life with the occasional deer, red squirrel, and lost tourist, to say nothing of the scourge of Scotland—the midge.
A lover of reading, she appreciates the history inside a book, and the chance to peek into the lives of those from years ago. Raven admits that she enjoys the research for her books almost as much as the writing; so much so, that sometimes she realizes she's strayed way past the information she needs to know, and not a paragraph has been added to her WIP.

You can find all about her on

www.ravenmcallan.com

Raven McAllan on Love Stories and not Growing Old Gracefully.

Today I have the pleasure of enjoying the wonderful Raven McAllan. Sit down, get comfy and listen while Raven tells us about not growing old gracefully and her sexy new release: Teaching Teacher.

Raven: A few (well a few more than a few) years ago, we were on holiday, visiting our daughter who was having a gap year in New Zeland. (I must say I do the love the way all my kids took time to go abroad, China, New Zeland and Australia are great places to visit.) For some reason the talk turned to tattoos.

"I thought about getting one." (daughter)

"So did I." (me)

"Oh I was thinking of getting you a voucher for one, but didn't." (dh to me)

Two female faces looked at one male one in astonishment.

He laughed. I forgot about it, until our wedding anniversary came around.

My present was a voucher to a well-known Tattoo parlor.

I gulped. I mean it's one thing talking about it, another thing going through with it. I know I've always said I refuse to grow old gracefully, and that still stands but I don't do pain.

So how come a couple of months later was I doing what I call Yoga breathing (think long deep calming breaths), leaning forward in a special chair and enduring lots of tiny pain-pricks on my bum?

I booked the appointment, made sure what I wanted imprinted on me for ever was as it should be. (I wasn't going to risk having I love Elvis or some such thing on me when I really wanted a tiny rose or some such thing…no I'm not telling what I really got.)

So combined with my ankle chain, and often arsy attitude, I've decided I'm not growing old gracefully… not at all.

Take writing, It took me a long while to realize my voice is not sweet and delicate. Oh no… it's hot, spicy and well you'll have to decide that for yourselves.

I always knew I had to write love stories of some sort. Love, in all its guises is a part of each and every one of us, whether we choose to admit it or not.

Someone asked me how I, as a hetero woman could write a romance about two men. Well, a love story is just that. Well no not just that, but seriously, whether you're talking about men, women, both, or lots, if you're exploring their emotions and how they interact, you're exploring their feelings. And sometimes that's love.

Teaching Teacher is a love story. The love affair between two men, from differing backgrounds, but with one common goal. For their love to have a chance to grow and succeed. Do they manage it? You'll have to read the book to find out. To tickle your fancy here's the blurb and an excerpt…

Blurb

Finding love in a new town had not been in Seb's plans. But life has a tendency to throw you curveballs – like Ruari.

When the new head teacher walks into his bar, Ruari knows he has to have him, and damn the consequences. When lust turns to love, nothing else matters. Together they will overcome, no matter what. Or will circumstances drive them apart?

Have I got you interested yet?

Here's an excerpt… (Adults only)

Coffee or merlot?”

“Er, is either of them a euphemism?” Seb raised an eyebrow. Ruari choked as Seb went on. “Because I’d like a glass of merlot, and I’m fucking sure I’d love the euphemism.”

“I’m fucking sure we both would,” Ruari said frankly. “Not yet, though. First we’ll have the merlot. I’ll tell you a little bit more about my weird and, er, some would say wonderful family. Then you can decide if you still want to have the euphemism. If you do, great. If you don’t, no hard feelings. Well, maybe.”

Seb took the glass of wine Ruari handed over and then pulled him down so they could sit close together. “Surely, it can’t be that bad?” Seb asked.

“I’ll let you make your own mind up.” Ruari fortified his courage with a healthy swallow of the smooth liquid. It tasted of walnuts and spices. He relished the warmth that spread as it slid down his throat. As the last flavor left his taste buds, he took a deep breath.

Seb put a finger over his mouth. “Nope, enough already. Let’s just see where these tingles and hard cocks are taking us. Hopefully not to anymore cold showers. Hell, it’s a wonder I’m not shriveled to the size of a chipolata instead of hot, hard, and throbbing.”

Ruari burst out laughing. “You too? Thank God. I thought I was the only sappy one. I wasn’t going to jerk off until...well...”

“You decided I was a jerk or not? Yeah, me too, so are we jerks, jerking, or joining?”

Ruari shook his head, amused at the pair of them, and had an- other sip of wine. He could see Seb watching the play of his throat as he swallowed. He imagined it was Seb’s cum he was swallowing; he could almost taste and smell its salty flavor and scent. He cleared his throat rapidly. “So in the interest of not causing any droughts, human or otherwise?”

You can find out all about me and my books on www.ravenmcallan.com

And Teaching Teacher at http://www.breathlesspress.com/index.php?main_page=product_free_shipping_info&cPath=1&products_id=391&zenid=5st7b6d3kicahtt2fccknra6l2

Happy reading

R x