Please welcome author Nancy Wythe into the moonlight this Supernatural Sunday. Nancy’s newest release is Nostos the Homecoming. To learn more, keep reading!
~~~~~
GRACEN: Speaking of taxes, are you’re taxes finished, or do you procrastinate with them? Do you do them yourself or do you have a taxman do them for you?
NANCY: Hi, and thanks for having me! Taxes? I am the best procrastinator in the world, so I’ve got a kind tax-person who takes care of all that for me.
GRACEN: As it says, “April showers bring May flowers”. What flowers do you hope to see the first thing in spring?
NANCY: My husband’s the one with the green thumb, and he’s already planted fuchsias, irises, freesias and a wonderful citrus plant called citronella that has aromatic leaves. I always put a few leaves in my purse. Good as a breath freshener, too!
GRACEN: Do you plant your own garden? Why or why not and where is it (are they) located? What type(s) will it (they) be and where is it (are they) located on your property?
NANCY: We have jasmines and roses under our bedroom window, mint, parsley and basil outside the kitchen door, along with agapanthus and pithosphorous that blossoms in April and smells like orange and lemon blossoms.
GRACEN: Do you prefer plants or seeds? Does it matter where you get them, or do you have a favorite place to go? What’s the name of the place and why do you prefer there over other places?
NANCY: I like results pretty quick, so I prefer plants that are already beautiful and colorful. I brought back some red hot pokers from Marks and Spencer’s in Ireland for my husband who loooves perennials.
GRACEN: What will you plant (or have already planted) this year and why?
NANCY: He’s got Lily of the Valley and geraniums scattered all over the place plus delphiniums ready to go.
GRACEN: Do you have any plants that are must haves for your garden, ones that it just won’t be complete without?
NANCY: Absolutely. Jasmine flowers- my favorite!
GRACEN: Now, let’s get to your writing, Nancy…What is your main genre (erotica, erotic romance, romantic suspense, etc.)? What was the draw for you?
NANCY: My fave genre is romantic suspense. I love to read and wonder how those two are ever going to get together in the end!
GRACEN: Besides your main genre we just discussed, what elements do you prefer to use in a story and why those elements over others?
NANCY: I think suspense and uncertainty are the essence of romance. Think how boring a book would be if there were never any problems! If it were always ‘yes, dear’ and ‘no, dear’!
GRACEN: Do you prefer red roses or black roses? If so, does that show in your writing? If so, how? If roses aren’t your style, what flowers are? Do they influence your writing? If so, how?
NANCY: Only Sicilian plants influence my style because most of my stories are set on this magnificent island where I live and I can always smell the different fragrances that are omnipresent in my stories. Each fragrance or flower corresponds to a different mood or moment.
GRACEN: The jury’s still out on this question, so we’re still asking it! - Who decides what you write about, you or your muse? What kind of influence do you have over your story, or is the muse always the one planting the seeds? How do you cultivate those seeds regardless of who plants them?
NANCY: My hero/ine dictates the story- They boss me around and tell me what’s happening. I have absolutely no control over what they’re going to do. But I get the last laugh- do they live…or die?
GRACEN: In your opinion, what author had the most influence on your writing? What about their writing did you find so influential and why?
NANCY: I like lots of authors, like Sidney Sheldon, but having a Uni degree in English Literature, I also love the oldies like J.M Synge and his Riders to the Sea, a magnificent play. I love T.S Eliot, David Lodge (not so old!) and James Joyce who’s an absolute genius!
GRACEN: While authors can definitely influence us, inspiration can be everywhere for a writer, but specific people, places and events can inspire certain characters, personality traits or things that happen in our stories. In your current story that we’re promoting here today, NOSTOS- THE HOMECOMING, did any one particular person, place or event inspire you? If so who/what was it (were they), how did it/they inspire you and how is this inspiration reflected in your story?
NANCY: My husband inspired me for the British hero. I made him just a touch more arrogant and bingo- the irresistible hero! Also, in Nostos, I loved the heroine’s sense of disdain for Aidan, but I also enjoyed seeing her fight against her attraction to him. She has strong moral principles and succumbing to her passion and the ‘other’ woman inside her took a lot of courage.
GRACEN: Without giving away anything pertinent to the story, tell us about the hero and heroine (s) of your story. What do they look like? How do they meet (or “did” if this is a second book with these same characters)? What are their personalities – Are they comical cut-ups, are they serious or are they a mix of the two? Please give us a little bit of dialogue from the story that can illustrate this. (Not much, but just a few lines and from a different section than the main excerpt – Thanks!)
NANCY: Sure, I’d love to! Aidan Hartland is a noble Englishman who collects art. He is dashing, tall, handsome and unbearably arrogant. He knows she is destined to be his, and finds her resistance amusing and endearing. Any woman would love to be mocked by him, I think!
My heroine is an FBI agent with the task of unmasking him for his violent murders. Everything inside her tells her to cuff him up and take him in, but the other woman inside her tells her to let go and give in to her instincts which she has always repressed.
GRACEN: The main characters are usually great, but sometimes, secondary and tertiary characters are known to steal the scenes. Who are the secondary/tertiary characters in your story and what do they look like? What’s unique about them? What is their relationship to the hero/heroine? Have any of these gone on to become scene-stealers? If so, who and how did they do it? (Again, please give us a small bit of dialogue to illustrate this – thanks!)
NANCY: The other characters are secondary but I have purposely kept them that way to surprise my readers in my sequel to Nostos. I’m taking notes and waking up in the middle of the night so I can jot down snatches of conversation, expressions, etc. I can’t wait!
GRACEN: Please send us pictures whenever possible of the favorite flowers you’ve planted, favorite fruits/vegetables you’ve grown, or maybe even a pic of your local farmer’s market as well as an image of yourself and your current release (or a couple if it’s part of a series and they are out and about to be had right now). Thanks!
NANCY: Thank You for having me! Here is a picture of myself and my covers so far. I’d love to hear from you! Please write me at nancybaronewythe@yahoo.com !
Happy reading!
Nancy
NANCY: My husband’s the one with the green thumb, and he’s already planted fuchsias, irises, freesias and a wonderful citrus plant called citronella that has aromatic leaves. I always put a few leaves in my purse. Good as a breath freshener, too!
GRACEN: Do you plant your own garden? Why or why not and where is it (are they) located? What type(s) will it (they) be and where is it (are they) located on your property?
NANCY: We have jasmines and roses under our bedroom window, mint, parsley and basil outside the kitchen door, along with agapanthus and pithosphorous that blossoms in April and smells like orange and lemon blossoms.
GRACEN: Do you prefer plants or seeds? Does it matter where you get them, or do you have a favorite place to go? What’s the name of the place and why do you prefer there over other places?
NANCY: I like results pretty quick, so I prefer plants that are already beautiful and colorful. I brought back some red hot pokers from Marks and Spencer’s in Ireland for my husband who loooves perennials.
GRACEN: What will you plant (or have already planted) this year and why?
NANCY: He’s got Lily of the Valley and geraniums scattered all over the place plus delphiniums ready to go.
GRACEN: Do you have any plants that are must haves for your garden, ones that it just won’t be complete without?
NANCY: Absolutely. Jasmine flowers- my favorite!
GRACEN: Now, let’s get to your writing, Nancy…What is your main genre (erotica, erotic romance, romantic suspense, etc.)? What was the draw for you?
NANCY: My fave genre is romantic suspense. I love to read and wonder how those two are ever going to get together in the end!
GRACEN: Besides your main genre we just discussed, what elements do you prefer to use in a story and why those elements over others?
NANCY: I think suspense and uncertainty are the essence of romance. Think how boring a book would be if there were never any problems! If it were always ‘yes, dear’ and ‘no, dear’!
GRACEN: Do you prefer red roses or black roses? If so, does that show in your writing? If so, how? If roses aren’t your style, what flowers are? Do they influence your writing? If so, how?
NANCY: Only Sicilian plants influence my style because most of my stories are set on this magnificent island where I live and I can always smell the different fragrances that are omnipresent in my stories. Each fragrance or flower corresponds to a different mood or moment.
GRACEN: The jury’s still out on this question, so we’re still asking it! - Who decides what you write about, you or your muse? What kind of influence do you have over your story, or is the muse always the one planting the seeds? How do you cultivate those seeds regardless of who plants them?
NANCY: My hero/ine dictates the story- They boss me around and tell me what’s happening. I have absolutely no control over what they’re going to do. But I get the last laugh- do they live…or die?
GRACEN: In your opinion, what author had the most influence on your writing? What about their writing did you find so influential and why?
NANCY: I like lots of authors, like Sidney Sheldon, but having a Uni degree in English Literature, I also love the oldies like J.M Synge and his Riders to the Sea, a magnificent play. I love T.S Eliot, David Lodge (not so old!) and James Joyce who’s an absolute genius!
GRACEN: While authors can definitely influence us, inspiration can be everywhere for a writer, but specific people, places and events can inspire certain characters, personality traits or things that happen in our stories. In your current story that we’re promoting here today, NOSTOS- THE HOMECOMING, did any one particular person, place or event inspire you? If so who/what was it (were they), how did it/they inspire you and how is this inspiration reflected in your story?
NANCY: My husband inspired me for the British hero. I made him just a touch more arrogant and bingo- the irresistible hero! Also, in Nostos, I loved the heroine’s sense of disdain for Aidan, but I also enjoyed seeing her fight against her attraction to him. She has strong moral principles and succumbing to her passion and the ‘other’ woman inside her took a lot of courage.
GRACEN: Without giving away anything pertinent to the story, tell us about the hero and heroine (s) of your story. What do they look like? How do they meet (or “did” if this is a second book with these same characters)? What are their personalities – Are they comical cut-ups, are they serious or are they a mix of the two? Please give us a little bit of dialogue from the story that can illustrate this. (Not much, but just a few lines and from a different section than the main excerpt – Thanks!)
NANCY: Sure, I’d love to! Aidan Hartland is a noble Englishman who collects art. He is dashing, tall, handsome and unbearably arrogant. He knows she is destined to be his, and finds her resistance amusing and endearing. Any woman would love to be mocked by him, I think!
My heroine is an FBI agent with the task of unmasking him for his violent murders. Everything inside her tells her to cuff him up and take him in, but the other woman inside her tells her to let go and give in to her instincts which she has always repressed.
GRACEN: The main characters are usually great, but sometimes, secondary and tertiary characters are known to steal the scenes. Who are the secondary/tertiary characters in your story and what do they look like? What’s unique about them? What is their relationship to the hero/heroine? Have any of these gone on to become scene-stealers? If so, who and how did they do it? (Again, please give us a small bit of dialogue to illustrate this – thanks!)
NANCY: The other characters are secondary but I have purposely kept them that way to surprise my readers in my sequel to Nostos. I’m taking notes and waking up in the middle of the night so I can jot down snatches of conversation, expressions, etc. I can’t wait!
GRACEN: Please send us pictures whenever possible of the favorite flowers you’ve planted, favorite fruits/vegetables you’ve grown, or maybe even a pic of your local farmer’s market as well as an image of yourself and your current release (or a couple if it’s part of a series and they are out and about to be had right now). Thanks!
NANCY: Thank You for having me! Here is a picture of myself and my covers so far. I’d love to hear from you! Please write me at nancybaronewythe@yahoo.com !
Happy reading!
Nancy
BLURB:
For over a thousand years, LORD AIDAN HARTLAND OF WESTLAKE and his lover have in turn been eating each other’s hearts in order to regenerate. Now he’s back with his new identity- and the perpetual mission of protecting his woman and mankind from the demon Zendor that has no mate and eats human hearts at random to survive.
FBI agent ROBYN WAINRIGHT, assigned to investigate the strange deaths, is still unaware of her past, and determined to nail Westlake, with his mad tales of demons, paranormal powers and his eternal love for her. But the erotic visions she keeps having are driving her insane…
EXCERPT:
CHAPTER ONE
Present Day. Westlake Manor, Somerset, England.
Special Agent Robyn Wainright ducked under the ticker tape and knelt to the ground to examine the spot where a female corpse had laid stomach down the morning before. Her chest had been ripped open and her heart removed, presumably consumed on the spot just like the Delaware case. A pool of blood had seeped into the well-kept, ancient grounds. Her fingers caught at a small shard of bone staked into the soil.
Scotland Yard Detective Sergeant Stephen Archer stood over her, stomping his feet trying to calm the cold. It was a damp, grey early December morning and the sun had seemed to give up its ascent, hanging mid-sky in a pale semblance of its better days.
“Christ, what an animal,” she muttered under her breath.
“Oh, it was no animal, Agent Wainright. Those teeth marks are human.”
Another similarity. A copycat? She looked up and saw her colleague’s pale face as he stared at her. He quickly averted his eyes.
“You alright, Archer?”
“No, Madam, I knew Sarah Jennings,” he answered, stealing another indecipherable glance at her. “She was Lord Westlake’s companion.”
“The owner of this place, right?”
“Yes. He found the body.”
She leafed through the report. “How come there’s no picture of the victim?”
He studied his frozen feet. “Oh, isn’t there?”
She stood up to sniff the air. She could smell more rain coming. At the top of the hill, wrapped in a blanket of white fog, stood Westlake Manor, a dark, turreted three-storey stone building. In the north behind the building, an ancient forest so deep into the valley she could only distinguish the treetops waving from above the towers. To the east was a cluster of lakes. It was all magnificent, but the place gave her the creeps. She always boasted of having nerves of steel, at least until Richard had left her.
She lifted the collar of her anorak against the cold and turned her head to the faint sound of dogs barking in the distance. Robyn involuntarily stiffened; she was more of a cat person.
“Where is Mr. Hartland-Westlake now?” Robyn asked Archer.
“Lord Westlake,” he corrected, nodding towards the horizon.
As they watched, four enormous Great Danes leapt over the hill followed by their master. Tall and erect, he held their leashes with each hand as if driving a chariot. The man looked majestic, his black wavy hair whipping against his forehead, his powerful arms easily keeping the animals at bay as they plodded downhill in their direction.
“He comes from a very old family and very old money, but he made his personal fortune as an antique art critic. He’s a bit odd, though.” Archer whispered.
“Oh?”
“He wasn’t perturbed in the least when he reported her death. They say he has,” he paused, “paranormal powers.”
“I don’t believe in that kind of crap,” she huffed, and then groaned. “What kind?”
“He’s said to be able to read people’s minds.”
Yeah, right! She didn’t believe it one bit.
“…nor was he much help when we questioned him. Some think he did it.”
“If you have evidence why don’t you arrest him?” Robyn asked.
“That’s the thing, without a shred of proof no one dares accuse him. He’s extremely influential, with friends in Parliament and all. But he’s known to roam the countryside at night with his Great Danes. God knows what for.”
Lord Westlake stopped before them, staring at her with puzzled slate grey eyes.
She stared back. Was it the FBI’s presence he didn’t appreciate? Or was he expecting a male agent? Either way it was his problem.
She stared him down, or tried to. An uneasy feeling of familiarity set in on her, so disturbingly strong she was positive she had met him before. But where?
After a moment, a grin split his overwhelmingly handsome and arrogant face.
Great, she thought grimly. Just what I need, another jerk. Look at him; he’s got an ego the size of a cathedral.
“I heard that,” he said without taking his eyes off her and she blinked, thinking for a moment that he was referring to her thoughts. His British accent was crisp and although he pronounced each word clearly, to Robyn it seemed like a different language.
Archer stared back and forth between them, obviously ill at ease, and she knew he hadn’t told her everything.
“Perhaps you should be a bit brighter as to understand that even whispers carry in the breeze. No wonder you people haven’t caught it yet.”
She raised her eyebrows at him, unsure whether his tone was directed to her. Robyn was about to give him a piece of her mind when Archer stiffened. “My apologies, Lord Westlake. This is Special Agent Robyn Wainright from The United States.”
Their eyes met again and she stood her ground under his scrutiny although he made her extremely uncomfortable. He was arrogant and breathtakingly masculine, with dark olive skin. His eyes were magnetic, glimmering. She could see a hint of a five o’clock shadow. Damn, she hated gorgeous men! And this one took the cake. His deep, gravelly voice sent a tingling sensation zapping down her spine. Too bad he was a suspect. She pulled her anorak closer and stared back. He regarded her with an arrogant knowing smile, as if they had just put their clothes back on.
Ah, she was still so beautiful. The past millennium had not marred her youth. Her luxuriant red mane was pulled back into a ponytail, and dark trousers did not hide the hips he knew so well. Her fiery emerald eyes were assessing him in turn through the long lashes he had so often kissed. And now she was hurting for another man who had left her because she couldn’t have children. Mortals knew nothing about true everlasting love. But he would bring her back to him, even if it took him another thousand years.
Buy Link: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/13198
Scotland Yard Detective Sergeant Stephen Archer stood over her, stomping his feet trying to calm the cold. It was a damp, grey early December morning and the sun had seemed to give up its ascent, hanging mid-sky in a pale semblance of its better days.
“Christ, what an animal,” she muttered under her breath.
“Oh, it was no animal, Agent Wainright. Those teeth marks are human.”
Another similarity. A copycat? She looked up and saw her colleague’s pale face as he stared at her. He quickly averted his eyes.
“You alright, Archer?”
“No, Madam, I knew Sarah Jennings,” he answered, stealing another indecipherable glance at her. “She was Lord Westlake’s companion.”
“The owner of this place, right?”
“Yes. He found the body.”
She leafed through the report. “How come there’s no picture of the victim?”
He studied his frozen feet. “Oh, isn’t there?”
She stood up to sniff the air. She could smell more rain coming. At the top of the hill, wrapped in a blanket of white fog, stood Westlake Manor, a dark, turreted three-storey stone building. In the north behind the building, an ancient forest so deep into the valley she could only distinguish the treetops waving from above the towers. To the east was a cluster of lakes. It was all magnificent, but the place gave her the creeps. She always boasted of having nerves of steel, at least until Richard had left her.
She lifted the collar of her anorak against the cold and turned her head to the faint sound of dogs barking in the distance. Robyn involuntarily stiffened; she was more of a cat person.
“Where is Mr. Hartland-Westlake now?” Robyn asked Archer.
“Lord Westlake,” he corrected, nodding towards the horizon.
As they watched, four enormous Great Danes leapt over the hill followed by their master. Tall and erect, he held their leashes with each hand as if driving a chariot. The man looked majestic, his black wavy hair whipping against his forehead, his powerful arms easily keeping the animals at bay as they plodded downhill in their direction.
“He comes from a very old family and very old money, but he made his personal fortune as an antique art critic. He’s a bit odd, though.” Archer whispered.
“Oh?”
“He wasn’t perturbed in the least when he reported her death. They say he has,” he paused, “paranormal powers.”
“I don’t believe in that kind of crap,” she huffed, and then groaned. “What kind?”
“He’s said to be able to read people’s minds.”
Yeah, right! She didn’t believe it one bit.
“…nor was he much help when we questioned him. Some think he did it.”
“If you have evidence why don’t you arrest him?” Robyn asked.
“That’s the thing, without a shred of proof no one dares accuse him. He’s extremely influential, with friends in Parliament and all. But he’s known to roam the countryside at night with his Great Danes. God knows what for.”
Lord Westlake stopped before them, staring at her with puzzled slate grey eyes.
She stared back. Was it the FBI’s presence he didn’t appreciate? Or was he expecting a male agent? Either way it was his problem.
She stared him down, or tried to. An uneasy feeling of familiarity set in on her, so disturbingly strong she was positive she had met him before. But where?
After a moment, a grin split his overwhelmingly handsome and arrogant face.
Great, she thought grimly. Just what I need, another jerk. Look at him; he’s got an ego the size of a cathedral.
“I heard that,” he said without taking his eyes off her and she blinked, thinking for a moment that he was referring to her thoughts. His British accent was crisp and although he pronounced each word clearly, to Robyn it seemed like a different language.
Archer stared back and forth between them, obviously ill at ease, and she knew he hadn’t told her everything.
“Perhaps you should be a bit brighter as to understand that even whispers carry in the breeze. No wonder you people haven’t caught it yet.”
She raised her eyebrows at him, unsure whether his tone was directed to her. Robyn was about to give him a piece of her mind when Archer stiffened. “My apologies, Lord Westlake. This is Special Agent Robyn Wainright from The United States.”
Their eyes met again and she stood her ground under his scrutiny although he made her extremely uncomfortable. He was arrogant and breathtakingly masculine, with dark olive skin. His eyes were magnetic, glimmering. She could see a hint of a five o’clock shadow. Damn, she hated gorgeous men! And this one took the cake. His deep, gravelly voice sent a tingling sensation zapping down her spine. Too bad he was a suspect. She pulled her anorak closer and stared back. He regarded her with an arrogant knowing smile, as if they had just put their clothes back on.
Ah, she was still so beautiful. The past millennium had not marred her youth. Her luxuriant red mane was pulled back into a ponytail, and dark trousers did not hide the hips he knew so well. Her fiery emerald eyes were assessing him in turn through the long lashes he had so often kissed. And now she was hurting for another man who had left her because she couldn’t have children. Mortals knew nothing about true everlasting love. But he would bring her back to him, even if it took him another thousand years.
Buy Link: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/13198
COMING SOON, MY SICILIAN LOVERS SERIES!
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