Installment #3 is posted!

Allison is now at the castle and facing four sword-wielding men. You'll find the story on the new blog.
http://kathleenmaciver.com/blog/index.php/2008/12/installment-3/

If you haven't updated your RSS reader subscription, please update it to:
http://kathleenmaciver.com/blog/index.php/feed/

Installment #2 is posted!

Again, I've moved my blog, so you'll find the new installment on the new blog.

http://kathleenmaciver.com/blog/index.php/2008/11/installment-2/

Moving Blog/Happy Thanksgiving!

First... I've moved my blog from blogger onto my website, so the new location is:
http://www.KathleenMacIver.com/blog

If you're reading this through a feed reader, please update your subscription to:
http://kathleenmaciver.com/blog/index.php/feed/

Finally, in-between cooking pies and desserts, I'm working on the next installment for Allison and Gabe's story. So the installment will be waiting for over on the new blog when you're finished with your Black Friday shopping.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Help me write a story!

In the Highlands of Scotland…

. . . Allison Tyler fingered the class ring around her neck as she gazed at Duncarragh. The castle rose up from a huge rock on the banks of the Loch Rhoswen, a silent testimony to times long gone.
. . . A lot must have happened in and around the castle’s walls over the centuries, she supposed. But none of that interested her all that much. She only wanted to know if those silent walls had witnessed one particular event. An event that hadn’t been explained in the six years since it had happened.
. . . If only walls could talk….
. . . She sighed and turned away.
. . . “Allison, dearie! Will you be wanting your breakfast now?”
. . . She looked up to find the keeper of this funny little inn beaming at her, a spatula in one hand and a towel in the other, as usual.
. . . She smiled. “Yes, Mrs. Murchieson. I’m coming.”
. . . The old woman nodded approvingly and led the way into the kitchen. “What will you do now?” she asked as she laid the plates on the table.
. . . Allison sat down and studied her toast. What should she do? Quite honestly? She didn't know. Her only idea had failed miserably. But perhaps that wasn’t too surprising. She would never have known that Gabe had planned on visiting this place if she hadn’t found that letter last month.
. . . “Well?”
. . . She looked up. “Huh?”
. . . “What will you do now?” Mrs. Murchieson repeated.
. . . “Oh!” She hesitated. “I…uh…don’t know.”
. . . The innkeeper helped herself to a seat at the table and a slice of toast. “How about this,” she said. “You tell me what you’re trying to do, and I’ll see if I can’t give you a few ideas.”
. . . Allison shrugged. Why not? The inn was Gossip Central. Who knew what Mrs. Murchieson might have heard.

_________________________________________________

I've moved my blog, including the rest of the story, off of Blogger and onto my own website. You'll find the rest of this post and the comments here:
http://KathleenMacIver.com/blog

A gift certificate giveaway...

Does free money for books sound good?

I hope so, because I've decided to hold a small contest when my story is released. The prize? A $25 gift card for Borders?

So... as I work on edits, I'll also be working on a website update to announce this and host it. (Yes, I'm a website designer, too.) It'll be announced here on this blog, so stay tuned!

And if you want to make sure you don't miss it, use the links over there on the right to either subscribe to this blog through email or through the preferred reader of your choice.

"When Time Stands Still" is sold!

A short while ago, I learned that an epublisher, Freya's Bower, was thinking about launching a "sweet" line of romance stories. They were looking for writers who were interested in contributing to an anthology to possibly launch this.

(Two quick definitions for those those who might not be familiar with publishing terms.

"Sweet" romance means more traditional romance, where there is either no sleeping together, or if so, it's behind closed doors. My stories all fall under this category.

Epublishers are publishers who primarily offer their books in electronic format. In other words, you read them on e-readers or on your computer, cell phone, and anything else which can display a PDF document. E-books are quickly growing in popularity, sales, and numbers every month.)

Anyway, I decided that it might be fun to take the challenge... and I'm happy to announce that my story was accepted!

"When Time Stands Still" will be part of this anthology titled One Glance, One Touch, which is scheduled to be available as an e-book before the end of the year.

I will post a link when it's released. In the meantime, feel free to read the first two and a half pages, which are on last week's blog post here.

(And thank you to everyone who emailed me, saying that you'd love to read the rest of the story!)

A new beginning...

Here's the first few paragraphs to a new short story I'm working on. I'm curious to know whether it is enough to interest anyone in the story...

______________________________________________________


. . . Mathew Garlinn sat on a stone wall under a sign that read Alec MacCoinneach, Swordsmith, and wondered that he found himself where he was.
. . . He was, of course, outside the shop because the door was locked and his key inside. But even that wouldn’t have stopped him a few years ago. As it was, only his determination not to fall back into his old ways kept him from undoing the quite easy-to-pick lock that guarded the back door.
. . . No, what he found ironic was that he was not in the good old USA, not in a city, and not using either his wits or his taekwando skills to make a living. Instead, he was in the Scottish Highlands, staying in a village no bigger than one LA neighborhood, and learning the ancient art of swordsmithing. Definitely not where he thought he’d end up.
. . . What surprised him most was how he liked the life here. The mountains were harsh and unyielding, but beautiful. The people were friendly.
. . . And then there was her. The woman whose song haunted his dreams. Whose face had placed her in danger he’d been privileged to rescue her from. Who'd fled when he asked for her name.
. . . Maybe tonight, if he hung around the grocery store long enough, she’d come back, and he’d see her again.
. . . If his boss would show up so they could start the day’s work early enough to finish before the store closed.
. . . He glanced at his watched and wondered what had happened. Alec was the kind of guy you could depend on. Not the kind of boss to tell you to be at the shop at eleven to start work on a new sword, and then leave you sitting outside on a stone wall for an hour.
. . . He got out his knife and whittled on a piece of wood. He walked half a mile down the road and back again. He weeded the tiny flower bed.
. . . Then he gave up. He was going to open that back door. It wasn’t like he was breaking in. He had been given a key, and Alec probably assumed he’d been smart enough to put it on his keychain.
. . . He hopped off the wall, wiped his hands on his jeans, and sauntered around back. It took him longer than it should have, but finally the latch gave way. He permitted himself a small smile and started to open the door.
. . . Then suddenly, he found an arm around his neck and his own arm pinned behind him.
. . . “Thief!”
. . . The words were muttered in his ear, but he didn’t bother to stop and explain himself. That wasn’t Alec’s voice, and no one else had the right to tackle him here.
. . . He shifted his weight, spun, and found himself surprised when his assailant didn’t land unceremoniously on the ground.
. . . Two seconds later, he realized that whoever this guy was, he knew taekwando as well. And was quite good at it.
. . . He opted for a few moves that fell under the street fighting category, and still found himself equally matched.
. . . Then he found a sword at his throat.
. . . He froze.
. . . Yes, this was a sword smith shop, and there were dozens of swords inside. But that didn’t explain why the guy holding the other end of this one looked so comfortable pointing it at people. No doubt he knew how to do other things with it as well. Things that he, Matthew, should obviously have learned before now.
. . . “What are you doing?” the man demanded. “Trying to—”
. . . “Tristan!” The command exploded from around the corner of the building, and Matthew sighed in relief as Alec appeared. “That’s Matthew, my apprentice!”
. . . The sword dropped, and the guy named Tristan took a step backward.
. . . “What’s going on, Matthew?” Alec asked.
. . . “I left my key inside.”
. . . Alec glanced to the open door, and his eyebrows went up.
...


Anyone interested in more?

Theme songs...

First, a note regarding my last post. I'm not sure I'll be able to share the story of my romance, as my husband is very private and it's obviously his story, too. We'll see. On to today's post...

Do any of you ever read a book and think of a song that could be the theme song for that book?

I haven't. At least not as a reader. But as a writer, I'm finding that it's amazing how much more passionate my writing is when I've found a song that embodies the romance in my story. I'm still working on To Know Who You Are, adding the new dimension I've mentioned. I've been working madly on it lately and making a lot of progress.

Then, just last night, my daughter watched Ever After again. I've always loved the sound track and the score to that movie, but I don't think I ever appreciated the song that's played during the credits. Well... I was in a back room working on a beautiful scene that leads up to that moment when he realizes he's in love. Then the door drifted open, just as the closing credits began. And just as the music swelled for the chorus, I realized that THIS is the theme song for this book. The words don't fit it exactly, but the spirit of the song is oh-so-perfect. All I can say to how the scene is unfolding is wow.

I found a YouTube video of it to share, and I'm also going to share a little clip from my book for you (as it stands right now). So click play and start reading. Enjoy!



“I’d better go,” she said.

He reluctantly released her hand. She slipped behind the wheel, and he shut the door for her. “I’ll see you in two hours or so.”

She smiled. “See ya.”

He stepped back and watched her drive away. Two hours. He didn’t want to let her go even that long. Which showed just how much trouble he was in.

He put his truck into gear and headed for home, his thoughts tumbling.

He wanted to be with her; he wanted to run. He wanted to pull her into his arms and never let her go, but he also wanted to keep her at arm’s length until he had answers for the myriad of questions pounding through his brain.

Did he love her? He didn’t know. All he knew was that she was by far the most fascinating woman he’d ever met. And she seemed to find his company tolerable, which certainly added to her attraction.

But that didn’t have to mean anything, did it? Whoever said that a man had to fall in love with the first woman that came along?

Never mind that she was the most enchanting thing ever to walk God’s green earth. Never mind that just the thought of her thrilled him like nothing else... that he spent every moment with her wishing it could last forever, and every moment away from her counting the hours until they were together again.

He may as well admit that he was in serious danger of falling in love with her. In fact, he probably had been from the beginning. And that wasn’t good. She still didn’t know who and what he was, and there was no guarantee that she wouldn’t go running in the opposite direction when she found out. He still had no idea how to go about telling her, either.

He made his way home, showered, and dragged his thoughts away from her long enough to find something suitable to wear. He flipped through his closet and found a black pair of slacks and a black silk shirt. That would do.

He slipped them on, ran his fingers through his hair with a quick glance in the mirror, then turned to the clock. One hour gone; another to go.

Was there any chance she’d be there early? He thought it over for a moment and made up his mind. He would leave now. The worse that could happen was that he would find himself pacing a country club sidewalk instead of his porch, which was all he’d end up doing if he stayed here.

Half an hour later, he was there, but it seemed ages before he thought he caught a glimpse of her getting out of a black BMW. Yes, those were definitely her parents, and that was Kyra, dressed in—

His mouth went dry. She was gorgeous. Stunning. A vision in some soft color between silver and blue that reminded him of the mists in the Highlands.

He headed toward the entrance, wanting her to know that he was there but not quite ready to face her parents yet. He wanted her to himself for a moment. For hours. Heck, for the rest of his life.

She didn’t seem to notice him as she followed her parents inside. The doors closed, and he took a deep breath. Maybe he should wait a moment before going in. And maybe through a back door would be best.

He moved around the building and found another entrance in the shadows of a large fir tree. He drew near, just as the door opened and someone in misty blue slipped out.

“Hey,” he called softly.

She whirled around, and the last of the daylight caught her face. “Jason!”

Her smile nearly knocked him off his feet.

And then he knew...

Real-life romance stories

How often do you come across a real-life romance story? Specifically, one that has actually been written out, in all its passionate glory?

I don't happen across them all that often. In fact, My Sergei, Ekaterina Gordeeva's story of how she and her husband fell in love amid the world of Russian world championship figure skating, was the first I'd ever read.

Until yesterday.

Somehow I happened across The Pioneer Woman's blog site yesterday, and of course, when I saw "Love Story," I had to read it.

An hour and a half later I emerged from the land of "High Heels to Tractor Wheels," her exquisitely well-told story of how she, a LA city girl, met and fell madly in love with a real-life modern cowboy whose life was tied to the ranch in the middle of nowhere that his family had owned for generations.

There are several reasons why this story seems so special to me. One is definitely in the writing. This woman, who calls herself Ree online, is a very, VERY good writer. Another is that she only set out to tell a simpler story as a celebration of her fourteenth anniversary, last fall. But the story told itself over the course of months, and she's still not quite finished.

Yet another thing that makes this story pop off the computer screen is her love and passion for "Marlboro Man." It shows not only in the story, but on page after page of blog posts, before and since. She is still, fourteen years later, crazy in love with her cowboy husband... almost as crazy as I am about my husband. And that's soooo nice to see! She loves him for his voice and his kisses. She loves him for his simple take-charge yet generous ways. She loves him for the father he is to their four children. She loves him for his strength. She loves him for his chaps. Kind of like I love my husband for his devotion to me, and the way that he is a father to our three kids, and his strength, and the way he looks when he's all dressed in black. (Actually, he looks fantastic in any color, but he's irresistible when he's all in black.)

So if anyone reading this is interested, here's the link to the list of blog posts as she writes them, installment-style. If you'd prefer to read all but the last installment (as of the moment), all on one page, then click on "Black Heels" over on the left, and then on "Black Heels-Complete." Just go back to the link I gave you to see if there are any new posts that aren't included yet.

And now, I'm wondering something. I know this blog has precious few readers at the moment (because I haven't written much, most likely), but is there anyone out there who would be interested in my story? I've been meaning to write it out for years, but never got around to it until today. Now, inspired by Ree, I've got 15 pages of it written, and I'm searching for details I don't remember. I don't want to forget more than I already have.

My story isn't a fast and furious romance like Ree and Marlboro Man had. It's a friends-becoming more story, and it starts, "I was twelve, the first time I saw him."

Anyone interested, now or in the future if/when you happen across this blog?

What is romance?

A while back, on a forum I visit, someone asked the question, "What does romance mean to you?"

Romance means different things to each of us at different times in our lives. I would have answered this question differently when I was a young teenager, and differently still when I was falling in love with my husband. I'm sure it changed yet again when we hit the rough years, just as it changed when we pulled through.

Most romance books focus on the initial falling in love, of course. But to me, the seeds for romance that will last a lifetime need to be there in the beginning. Far too many marriages fail in today's difficult world for me to believe in a story's happily-ever-after if those seeds aren't there.

So what does romance mean to me now, as a married woman?


Romance, to me, is when you and your husband love each other so much that you can't imagine your life without him in it, and he can't imagine his life without you. It's when you want to share your life with him - when something exciting happens and he's the first one you want to tell, and when something sad happens and his shoulder is the one you want to cry on. Romance is when you even find his faults endearing because they're part of who he is, and it's when he tells you that even though you mess up sometimes (and you know it's really lots of times) he still thinks of you as perfect because you are perfect for him.

Romance is when you wake up in the morning, and you know your eyes aren't completely open and your hair is sticking out all over the place, and he smiles in delight and calls you 'Beautiful.' It's when he comes home from work so exhausted that he falls asleep on the floor and you can't help smiling to see him sleeping like a child, even though he's a grown man. It's that private smile that you share when you're in a crowd of people, and you meet his eyes across the room. It's when you're standing in line in McDonalds, a bunch of other men come in, and he steps closer to you and sneaks an arm around your waist because he wants to make it plain that you're his.

REAL romance is the expression of the love that binds a man and woman together. It is, perhaps, one of the most beautiful things that God has ever created. I'm going on 13 years of marriage - 16 years of loving the same man - and it just gets sweeter with every year that goes by.

It's been awhile...

Well, I discovered what all authors discover, and realized some aspects of To Know Who You Are that have major room for improvement. That is what I've been working on these past eight months... that and a 1200-mile move (which understandably took from my writing time).

You will hopefully be pleased to note that my book will be stronger for the re-write, and future books will be stronger as well.

I am also working on a re-telling of Sleeping Beauty. This has always been my favorite fairy tale, but I've never yet found a book version that fleshes out the romance that way my imagination paints it! Hence, my version of it. *smiles*

Thank you to all of you who have expressed interest in my stories so far. Some of you have said that you're having trouble signing up for the mailing list. I apologize for that. I haven't been able to duplicate the problem, so I don't know if they're random problems or not. But to anyone who is reading this and who hasn't been able to sign up, just send me an note and I'll manually add you to the list.

Thank you all!