AuThursday – Ashlyn Drewek

Tell us a little about yourself and your background?  

My name is Ashlyn Drewek. I live in northern Illinois with my husband and my daughter. I have degrees in American History, but my actual day job is being a first responder. So I channel all of my odd loves, like history, and literature, and macabre things into my writing. 

How do you make time to write?  

It’s hard, especially when you work full time and have a family. When it’s slow at work, I squeeze in as much as I can. I also try to get some of it done either before my daughter wakes up or after she goes to sleep. Even if I’m not physically writing, I’m usually plotting in my head or figuring out scenes, so when I do get time at the computer, I can get it all out quickly. 

Do you believe in writer’s block?  

Yes, and no. I know what it’s like to not be inspired to write, but know you have to do it anyway. I also know what it’s like to have a vague concept/idea for a story or a character or a plot-line and you just have no freaking clue how to weave everything together to get your point across. That’s why I tend to have multiple stories going at once, so if I’m stuck on one, I can bounce to another and at least be productive in some sort of way. 

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

At the heart of it all, I’m a romance writer. I love the interaction between couples, the push, the pull. I love all the warm fuzzies that go along with the newness of a relationship. But, more specifically, I write dark romance. Hallmark will never make one of my books into a movie, that’s for sure. I write about the paranormal, murderers, and mentally ill characters. I love tortured characters and “love” is the ultimate torture method. 

How are you publishing your recent book and why? (*e.g. Indie, traditional) 

Indie all the way. I am too, um, controlling shall we say, to turn my book baby over to an agency. I like working with my cover designer and formatting my own books and all of the behind-the-scenes work that goes along with it. Plus, the larger royalty payment is nice too. 

Are you an Introvert or Extrovert?  

Introvert. It’s great for the actual writing part. I’m quite comfortable sitting at a computer, whiling away the hours making up stories. Being an introvert only becomes an “issue” when it comes to promoting my work. I have a hard time “selling myself,” so that is something I’m working on. 

What is your favorite motivational phrase?  

“To write something you have to risk making a fool of yourself.”

~Anne Rice

What advice would you give to aspiring writers?  

Do it! Don’t hold back. Write your first copy for yourself. Do NOT edit it until it’s finished. Be as crazy and outlandish and terrible as you want. Then, with each successive round of edits, tighten it up and polish it and present your originality to the world. There is literally an audience for every type of book, but you’ll never know if you don’t put your work out there for people to find. 

Where can readers find you on the World Wide Web? 

www.ashlyndrewek.com

www.instagram.com/ashlyndrewek

www.facebook.com/ashlyndrewek 

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

From THE MYSTERY OF LEANDER WELLES, a dark, psychological romance about a criminal psychiatrist who falls in love with her patient.

“It’s ok to be afraid sometimes. Everyone has fears. It’s not a weakness. It’s human — a natural response to the threat of danger programmed into us over a millennia.” 

He tilted his head, considering me. “What are you afraid of, Doctor?” 

Blinking, my brows furrowed. I supposed I walked right into that one. “I don’t know. The usual things I guess. Snakes.”

He smirked. “That’s a phobia.”

Damn it. Leave it to Leander to know the difference. “You tell me since you’re so perceptive.”

“Failure.”

Nodding, I motioned for him to continue. I wanted to see how clever he thought he was. 

He leaned forward, his exquisite gaze fixed on mine. “Surrender.”

The hair on the back of my neck stood up and my breath caught in my throat. “The last time we talked about surrender, we were talking about suicide. Are you having suicidal ideations again?” 

He jumped to his feet. I stood just as swiftly, blocking his path. He moved in the other direction. I sidestepped with him, putting my hands up to help keep him from escaping. He could have easily shoved me away, but something about his mood this morning told me he wouldn’t. 

“Let me see your arms, Leander.” 

He scowled yet remained where he was.

I reached for his left wrist and touched it gently, hoping he didn’t explode. He let me lift his arm and take out the silver cuff-link, flinching only when I began pushing the sleeve out of my way. His chest rose and fell in quick succession the higher the fabric went. There were no new marks on his arms, just dozens of old scars. 

I repeated the process on his other arm, satisfied to find fewer scars than the first. None of them were fresh. Nevertheless, I didn’t feel a sense of relief. “Are you cutting somewhere else? Somewhere you think I won’t look?” 

“Would you like me to undress for you?” His words were so soft that if they weren’t being uttered near my ear, I might not have heard him. 

“That’s—” I cleared my throat, staring straight ahead at the smooth whiteness of his throat. It was safer than looking up at his mouth or his eyes. “That’s not necessary.” 

“I didn’t ask if it was necessary.” His fingertips grazed the side of my hand, trailing down the length of my pinky. He toyed with the very edges of my fingers, sending a spasm of yearning through me. The memory of his body against mine came back, along with the butterflies dive-bombing my stomach. 

“Leander…”

AuThursday – Lainee Cole

Tell us a little about yourself and your background?

I’m a born and bred Midwestern girl who escaped to Southern California for one year during my early 20’s but came home when I missed the change of seasons. Growing up in Ohio, Michigan, and Illinois will do that to you! On cold winter days, my older bones talk to me, as in “What the heck were you thinking?” Now I live in Central Illinois with my husband, who always wants to talk when I’m trying to write. My two kids and one grandchild live nearby, and we see them often.

I’ve been writing for as long as I can remember! I wrote horse stories as a child, then poetry in junior high and high school. My friends and I traded romances starting in high school, and it didn’t take me long to decide I wanted to write them. It took me a lot longer to actually do it, but here I am! My goal is to give readers the same escape I discovered in books.

How do you make time to write? 

I’ve learned it’s important to write every day. My muse is happier that way! I don’t have set writing hours, but usually spend a chunk of afternoons and evenings writing, or doing writing-related tasks. In some respects, it’s easier since I retired from my day job last summer. While my husband is doing outdoor chores or golfing with his buddies, I can write uninterrupted. When I was working, I sometimes struggled to make time to write because it took away family time. But writing has always been important to me. Laptops were a great invention! My laptop allowed me to be on the computer as much as possible, even when my kids were sprawled around the family room watching TV or playing video games.

Do you believe in writer’s block? 

Definitely. If my creative well is low, I struggle to put ideas together, to make words flow the way they should. Self-care is important as well. I try to walk every day for at least an hour. But sometimes the words just aren’t there. In that case, I read, have more conversations with friends, and go for longer walks. Ideas tend to spark for me when I do those things.

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

I write sweet contemporary romance. I love it because I can explore characters and their relationships without being explicit. My characters can have all the feels without restricting their actions to MY imagination. Readers can use their own imaginations for what happens with my characters behind closed doors.

How are you publishing your recent book and why? (*e.g. Indie, traditional or both)

I just Indie published my most recent book in January via Amazon. To be honest, I’ve always wanted to be a traditionally published author, and I haven’t given up on that, but the publishing landscape is open now. I discovered the Common Elements Romance Project (https://commonelementsromanceproject.wordpress.com/) and wanted to be a part of it. All books for the project were required to be self-published, so that’s what I did!

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

I’m an Extrovert, very much a people person. I can talk to almost anyone. Being an extrovert is a blessing and a curse as an author. It’s a blessing because, well, people! Everybody has a story and you never know when someone will trigger an idea, whether from something they say, their behavior, or even just their appearance. People-watching can be interesting! Being an extrovert is also a curse because when I’m working on a book, it’s hard to stay isolated and focused. I crave contact with other people. 

What is your favorite motivational phrase?

“Start writing, no matter what. The water does not flow until the faucet is turned on.” 

— Louis L’Amour

What advice would you give to aspiring writers?

If you are passionate about writing, don’t just take courses or read books – you have to WRITE. The more you actually write, the more you will learn. 

Where can readers find you on the World Wide Web?

Please follow me on Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/LaineeColeAuthor/), Twitter (@LaineeCole), and Amazon (https://amzn.to/2VuobuD). I’d love to hear from you!

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

STORMS OF THE HEART excerpt

Home. She blinked several times. She’d finally grown up and realized people made a place home, not buildings. Her heart climbed into her throat, but she refused to cry. Breathe in, breathe out, she coached herself. You can do this! Despite Uncle Wayne’s pleas and assurances, it had taken a long time to find the courage to return. Now that she was home, she couldn’t wait to feel his firm bear hug.

She straightened her shoulders and pushed away from the house. Yes, she could do this! At twenty-five, she could finally take control of her own life. She could put her past to rest and look forward to her future.

Emerson flinched when another crack of lightning split the air and forked through the sky, illuminating two cars parked at the side of the house. She hadn’t noticed them before. One was a distinctive black and white car with SHERIFF in gold lettering on the side. 

Her breath hitched as she peered through the downpour. Wait. What is the Sheriff doing here? She’d already lost her parents and her aunt. She couldn’t lose Uncle Wayne, too. Not now.

 Swallowing her panicked thoughts, she hurried toward the front door. Her shoes squished cold water between her toes with every step. She stripped off her wet jacket and dropped it in the corner. The dim yellow porch light flickered and went out. 

With her heart beating faster in the darkness, Emerson scrubbed her hands over her wet face. Add cops and power outages to what else could go wrong.

Damn those negative thoughts! She inhaled deeply and shoved them out of her mind. She knocked on the door. The cop car didn’t mean anything. Uncle Wayne was expecting her. Soon she would be warm and cozy inside.

She knocked again, harder this time.

Still no answer. Maybe Uncle Wayne couldn’t hear her over Mother Nature’s cries, but he wouldn’t expect her to stay out in the rain. She tried the knob and found it unlocked.

Another deafening crack of lightning shattered the air. Something hit Emerson’s knee from the side. The momentum tore the doorknob from her hand. Her backpack fell to the ground as the thing brushed by and sent her stumbling through the doorway.

Ooof!

Strong arms caught and cradled her. She froze as earthy cologne with just a hint of citrus filled her nose. A long, whimpering whine sounded before a voice from somewhere above her head ground out, “Get back out there, dog.”

Snug against his chest, her body absorbed the rumble of the man’s words, while her mind struggled to place the oddly familiar scent of his cologne.

“Oh, let him be,” twittered a high, excited voice nearby. “He doesn’t like storms.”

Welcome to the club. It was too dark to see the woman, but she must be the live-in housekeeper Uncle Wayne had mentioned. Mrs. Beresford. This man, though. She inhaled his scent again. His embrace warmed her chilled body as he steadied her, but didn’t let go. She felt strangely safe in his arms.

“I’m sorry. The lightning startled me,” she offered into the darkness as she pushed against the man’s chest. He released her and she shivered.

“It’s not the dog’s fault.”

The man sighed, and then she heard the front door close heavily against the wind. The dog pressed against the back of her legs. Her jeans soaked up his dampness. He whimpered and her heart went out to him. I’m with you, buddy.

The strong odor of sulfur wafted through the air, followed by a welcome glow lighting the room.

“You must be Emerson.” A woman with a short, layered bob of red hair held a lantern as she came forward, reaching out a thin hand. She smiled, and her touch was gentle on Emerson’s arm. “Wayne told me all about you.”

She squeezed the woman’s hand and smiled. “You must be Mrs. Beresford.”

The older woman glowed with pleasure. “Please, call me Irene.” She gestured toward the door and her smile faded. “This is Sheriff Lomax.”

Emerson’s pulse jumped, but she pasted on a smile and turned. 

Max. His hair was darker than the last time she’d seen him, but even in the shadowy light, she knew those grayish-blue eyes, that straight nose, and that little cleft in his chin. It had been seven years, and yet she’d never forgotten the heat between their bodies as she’d pressed against him down by the creek. The tenderness of his kiss had surprised her, had made her feel when she didn’t want to feel anything. 

She’d tried to seduce her crush and failed miserably. What had she been thinking? Oh yeah. That was the problem. She hadn’t been.

“Hello, Emerson.”