AuThursday – Dayna Wayne

Please welcome Dana Wayne to The Clog Blog!  Dana, can you tell us a little about yourself and your background?

Award-winning romance author who didn’t publish her first book until I was 66. My 8th will be out later this year. I’ve also done a cookbook. I write character-driven steamy contemporary, romantic suspense and Western historicals about strong women, second chances, and happily ever after.

How do you make time to write?

I write at a set time each day. If my current “imaginary friends” aren’t talking to me, I still write something by pulling something from my to-be-written file.

Do you believe in writer’s block?

Yes. A writer friend once told me that this happens when you try to influence the story in a direction it doesn’t want to go. You must “listen’ to the story.

Tell us a bit about the genre you write and why you love it.

We live in very hectic, stress-filled times. Reading, especially a romance novel with guaranteed HEA (happily ever after), lets us escape for a while and live vicariously through the author’s words. And since I am a die-hard romantic, I write character-driven stories full of romance, intrigue, and HEA. It’s all about that rocky, curvy, detour-filled road two people travel from I’ll Never Love Again to HEA. My work is steamy with a lot of sexual tension but it’s not sex-filled. There are typically only a couple of love scenes toward the end because I believe true romance is about emotion, not sex. Like they say, it’s the journey–not the destination.

How are you publishing your recent book and why?

I am self-published. After meeting with a couple of agents, I decided traditional would not work for me as I would lose all control over my work.

Are you an Introvert or an Extrovert?  How does this affect your work?

I think I’m a little of both. Sometimes I am happy to sit on the sideline and watch the world go by. Others, I want to be in the middle of whatever is going on. I think that attitude sometimes comes through in my characters.

What is your favorite motivational phrase?

If you can dream it, you can achieve it.

What advice would you give to aspiring writers?

Write. Every day. Write something. You cannot edit a blank page. As the old saying goes, the journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step. So does writing. Write that first word. Then another and another until you reach ‘the end’. Write, study, and write some more. Learn how to write right. And understand up front that not everyone is going to like what you write, regardless of what it is. You cannot be thin-skinned and be a writer. Find a good critique group you are comfortable with. And remember, just because someone says you have to change something doesn’t mean you must. It’s your work, your voice. Write it the way you want.

Where can readers find you on the World Wide Web?

You can connect with me on social media or my website, https:/www.danawayne.com

or YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/@danawayneauth

or Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authordanawayne423

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/author_dana_wayne

(X) Twitter: https://www.twitter.com/authordanawayne

Website: https://www.danawayne.com

Threads: @danawayne423

Do you have an excerpt you’d like to share with us?

This is from my newest book, Texas Winds:

Startled by the man’s deep voice, Lexie swore and spun around, tossing the jar over her shoulder as intense pain shot up her leg. Off-balance, she grabbed the door to keep from falling on her rear as the jug landed with a mushy thump at the stranger’s feet.

The brim of a dark Stetson cast his face in shadow, but there was no disguising his frame. Tall, at least six-two or three, shoulders a mile wide, with long, muscular legs encased in worn jeans. Muddy work boots covered his feet, and well-used leather gloves stuck out of his front pocket. Rain dripping from the brim of his hat left wet trails on his pale blue chambray shirt, and the rolled-up sleeves revealed tanned, muscular forearms.

He hesitated, then picked up the jar, one corner of his mouth curling up as he read the inscription. “I’m guessing that last word is expensive,” he said as he passed her the container before stepping back. His husky, just-woke-up voice raced through her like fine wine, leaving her momentarily speechless.

“It is,” she snapped and took the jug. “Five bucks.” She glanced past him and noted a grime-coated, black Ford F250 crew cab parked behind him on the shoulder of the road. Holy crap. I never heard a thing. She eyed her bag, mentally calculating how long it would take to reach the pistol inside if needed. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people. I have a gun. And I know how to use it.”

He made no effort to approach, just stood there, hands on his hips. “Are you hurt?”

She gripped the door tighter when her throbbing ankle threatened to fold again. “No. I’m good.”

“You have blood on your face. And mud.”