What's more wicked than vampires? Romance vampires! Please welcome my guest, R.E. Mullins. Enjoy!
Thank you, Brenda for allowing me to come on your blog today
Thank you, Brenda for allowing me to come on your blog today
But
before we get to me shamelessly plugging my upcoming book, I’ve been asked me
to say something about writing romance. Well, one of the first things I learned
was that, all too frequently, admitting I wrote romance books often resulted in
me stoutly defending the genre.
Yes,
it happens repeatedly. After discovering I’m a romance/vampire/paranormal
writer, it no longer surprises me to see a hint of censure on their faces. It’s
as if I’ve suddenly disclosed something sordid about myself. Though most try to
hide it, their expressions reveal their distaste as they ask the inevitable
question. “Romance? Really?”
It
makes me wonder when vampire/romance became the most menial of all book genres.
Yet
even those who know and love me have cornered me to demand, “Why are you
wasting your talents on fluffy romance books about vampires?” and “You’re too
smart and talented to be writing what you do. I just know you’ve got the next
‘Great American Novel’ somewhere inside you.”
When
faced with such condemnation, I get this mental image. I’m sitting in a crowded
support-style meeting, surrounded by other romance authors.
We
open our session with the pledge which, I believe, our moderator’s, Wreck It
Ralph-loving, daughter must have composed. “I write romance and that is good.
It provides a service that’s not understood. Contemporary, Western, historical,
paranormal, et al. Love is universal, it touches us all.
When
they get to me, I stand, and say, “Hello. My name is Robin and I write vampire
romance.”
“Hello
Robin,” the group solemnly intones as I sit back down.
“Robin,
why don’t you share something with us?” The moderator smiles radiantly as she motions
for me to join her. “Tell us why you write in the romance genre.”
This
is unexpected and does not make me happy. Feeling trapped, I slowly rise, and
reluctantly move to the podium.
I
hesitate, for a long drawn out minute, and then start by saying, “I write
because…well, it’s a like a food craving. You know what I mean? There are stories
bubbling around inside me, and I can’t stop until I get them out.” With that
admission, I look up. I’m hopeful that I’ll see someone among the sea of
faces that can relate. There are several nods of encouragement, and it helps me
to continue in a stronger voice, “Sure I’ve had my share of hardships, and I’ve
overcome a lot of them. I’ve dealt with being broke, body image, psycho
co-workers, divorce, and being a single mother. But I don’t want to write about
my life. I’ve lived my life. Instead
I want the fantasy.” I stop for a moment, and try to gather my thoughts. “So
what if I never receive critical acclaim for writing about falling in love or
vampires or witches…I’m okay with that. All I want is for my books to give both
me and the reader a fun-filled avenue of escape. I consider fluffy romance
books like the weekly sitcoms. They give me, and hopefully
the reader, the opportunity to temporarily forget reality and to be diverted
from our daily woes.”
My
heart feels lodged in my throat, and I swallow, “So I guess what I’m really trying
to say is—I write what I like to read. I want to chuckle, be taken away like
Calgon, and made to feel good. And if that happens for one of my readers? Then
I’ve succeeded, I’ve achieved my goal, and I’m happy.”
So
write on fellow romance writers. Write on.
I’m so excited to give you a sneak
peek into my latest novel, A VAMPIRE TO
BE RECKONED WITH. This is the third installment in the Blautsaugers of
Amber Heights series. It can be read as a standalone but starting from the
beginning might increase your enjoyment.
A VAMPIRE TO BE RECKONED WITH has
its International release on March 23, 2016. However, you can enter the
Goodreads Giveaway now to win one of
ten, autographed copies.
Vampire
Metta Blautsauger is known as the family airhead and she works hard to keep up
the façade. It’s the perfect cover as she goes from dispensing her own brand of
justice as a vigilante to an agent for Orcus, the Nosferatu shadow agency.
Captured, tortured, and left for dead, she is forced to leave both the agency and Lucas O’Cuinn, the mentor she’s grown to love.
For the last century she’s struggled with regret and boredom. Then her life is given new meaning when four mortal ministers ask her help in stopping a human trafficking ring. If Orcus discovers her unsanctioned involvement, they will brand her as a rogue. The penalty is death. It’s only a matter of time before Lucas arrives—stake in hand.
Lucas O’Cuinn has waited ninety-eight years for Metta’s return and he’s run out of patience. It’s time she remembers she belongs to him.
Captured, tortured, and left for dead, she is forced to leave both the agency and Lucas O’Cuinn, the mentor she’s grown to love.
For the last century she’s struggled with regret and boredom. Then her life is given new meaning when four mortal ministers ask her help in stopping a human trafficking ring. If Orcus discovers her unsanctioned involvement, they will brand her as a rogue. The penalty is death. It’s only a matter of time before Lucas arrives—stake in hand.
Lucas O’Cuinn has waited ninety-eight years for Metta’s return and he’s run out of patience. It’s time she remembers she belongs to him.
Excerpt:
It was him. After a hiatus
of ninety-eight years and giving up hope, he now stood a few feet behind her,
having apparently appeared out of nowhere. Her heart stalled, she wheezed from
shock, and stared into a face she’d never thought to see again.
The wretched witch had been right
and her blast from the past had arrived.
The sight of her old field master
set off a myriad of emotions, brutally ripping through her defenses. She
stumbled through the mental minefield and each misstep sent more explosions
surging through her. Hell, she’d rather face Mateo Osvaldo and his entire
Toltec army than her former Orcus Master, Lucas O’Cuinn.
One errant thought kept circling
back through the jumble. Why couldn’t this meeting have happened when she
wasn’t looking like a drowned rat—make that a frozen, drowned rat.
“Metta,” he said her name softly,
almost caressingly.
She refused to acknowledge the
split second of elation the sight of him gave her. Instead she took refuge in
anger as it chased at the heels of joy, clinging to the bitter resentment the
long years had taught her. Of course, where he was concerned such conflicted
feelings were nothing new. Their relationship had been a constant push-pull
series of emotional knots.
In his larger-than-life way, he’d
been both her hero and enemy.
Damn him. What was he
doing there?
“Lucas O’Cuinn,” any effort to
sound tough was ruined by her chattering teeth. She hoped he didn’t see the
wave of hurt, guilt, and fear crushing in on her with all the raw energy and
destructive force of a collapsing dam.
His eyes flashed when she’d said
his name, and the sound of it hung in the air between them. When he finally
spoke, however, he sounded maddeningly calm—his nod so genial they might have
been nothing more than chance acquaintances passing in the park.
“I go by Luke Quinn now.” He
shrugged off her questioning look, “it’s simpler. More in keeping with the
times.”
Run, her mind shouted when
his gaze narrowed, his expression shifting into one that didn’t bode well for
her. But it was too late to flee. The little bit of good sense she had left was
extinguished by emotional flood waters, and the rampaging waves ruthlessly
obliterated each coherent thought in its path.
Maybe that’s why she suddenly
dropped her hands to her sides in a defeated manner. Pure instinct took over
when he got within striking range, and she drove her fist into his gut,
surprising them both. He grunted as air shot out of his lungs, doubling his
body over as he tried to catch his breath.
Her natural predisposition rushed
into play, insisting she take advantage of his forward momentum and bent over
posture. Almost by rote, she thrust her shoulder into his chest, at the same
time grabbing his extended arm. Her knees bent forward as she seamlessly rolled
him up and off her hip.
Much like that first time, his feet
left the ground, and he went flying.
Her self-congratulatory sneer
slackened into shock when he landed on his feet.
Enter the Goodreads Giveaway today through
release day 3/23/16 at: bit.ly/21o8IHb
Or pre-order from:
The Wild Rose Press: bit.ly/1XKBBLj
Amazon: amzn.to/1p0WEh4
Barnes & Noble Online Nook
Books: bit.ly/1Pu7cxD
Kobo: bit.ly/1oFbQ3D
Keep up with the author on her blog
and FB page.
Blog: remullins.blogspot.com
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