Good Tuesday morning, Cynthia! Coffee, hot tea, or hot chocolate? You have been one busy lady lately.

Cynthia Woolf stopped by to share the fireplace! She has published books in her Centuari series and now has book 3 ready for us. There won't be a test at the end of her blog, but she is giving away a free book. You will need to read to the end to learn the details. (evil grin)

What advice do you have for other authors wanting to self-publish?

I think you should go for it. But make sure you do it right. Get a good cover, get an editor or at least have someone who can edit well read it for you. I read each of my books through 3 times before I give it in full to my critique partners for beta reading. I also have other beta readers who read it before it gets published.

Do you have critique partners?

I have the most amazing critique partners. They each have their strengths and the are all incredibly talented writers. All but one is currently published and that person will publish by the end of January.

What is your favorite dessert/food?

I love anything with chocolate, but my favorite dessert is carrot cake. My mother made the most amazing carrot cake with real cream cheese icing. It was to die for.

How likely are people you meet to end up in your next book?

It’s not really very likely unless they have something that makes them stand out from the crowd. Some character trait that I can see when I meet them.

What is most difficult for you to write? Characters, conflict or emotions? Why?

The hardest for me to write is conflict. I avoid conflict in my real like as though it was the plague. So I tend to try and do that with my characters as well. Thank goodness for my critique group who are like an enforcer and make me put in the conflict the story needs.

Was your road to publication fraught with peril or a walk in the park?

Well it definitely wasn’t a walk in the park. I’ve been writing seriously, with the goal of publication since 1990. It’s been a long hard process, that culminated with me publishing my books on my own. So I’d have to say it was fraught with peril.

BIO

Cynthia Woolf was born in Denver, Colorado and raised in the mountains west of Golden. She spent her early years running wild around the mountain side with her friends.

Their closest neighbor was one quarter of a mile away, so her little brother was her playmate and her best friend. That fierce friendship lasted until his death in 2006.

Cynthia was and is an avid reader. Her mother was a librarian and brought new books home each week. This is where young Cynthia first got the storytelling bug. She wrote her first story at the age of ten. A romance about a little boy she liked at the time.

She worked her way through college and went to work full time straight after graduation and there was little time to write. Then in 1990 she and two friends started a round robin writing a story about pirates. She found that she missed the writing and kept on with other stories. In 1992 she joined Colorado Romance Writers and Romance Writers of America. Unfortunately, the loss of her job demanded the she not renew her memberships and her writing stagnated for many years.

In 2000, she saw an ad in the paper for a writers conference being put on by CRW and decided she'd attend. One of her favorite authors, Catherine Coulter, was the keynote speaker. Cynthia was lucky enough to have a seat at Ms. Coulter's table at the luncheon and after talking with her, decided she needed to get back to her writing. She rejoined both CRW and RWA that day and hasn't looked back.

Cynthia credits her wonderfully supportive husband Jim and the great friends she's made at CRW for saving her sanity and allowing her to explore her creativity.

TAME A WILD HEART from Amazon http://amzn.to/uEoTO0

CENTAURI DAWN from Amazon http://amzn.to/uwGgHo

CENTAURI TWILIGHT from Amazon http://amzn.to/t3Um6q

EXCERPT FROM CENTAURI MIDNIGHT

“Audra, please. You’re my queen but you’re also my friend. You must grant me this last request. Let me go after him.” Tensign Kiti Dolana paced the beautiful sitting room. Bile rose in her throat threatened to strangle her. Finally, she collapsed into a chair it’s soft cushions swallowing her as she sat across the small, highly polished and gleaming, coffee table from the Queen of Centauri, her friend.

The Queen, pregnant with triplets, her beautifully distended tummy disallowing much frivolous movement, reclined on the couch. She sat up to pour the tea but had trouble reaching the tea pot in the middle of the coffee table. “Kiti would you pour our tea, I’m a bit like a beached whale right now.” Audra was anything but a beached whale. Kiti knew the colloquial term from her study of Earth.

Her queen was radiant. Her long, chestnut hair falling in waves to her waist was gathered on one side of her head. Her clear gray eyes shone bright in her pale face. She wore a beautiful royal purple empire waisted dress that highlighted her pale features. She was beautiful. Kiti remembered a time, on their way back to Centauri from Earth, when she’d not thought so, because she was jealous.

That was before Audra’s marriage to Darius and when she’d still be betrothed to Anton. Kiti had been in love with Anton, at least she thought she was, and was jealous of Audra. Some of the things she said were unkind, but Audra had seen them for what they were, jealousy and forgiven her the words. They were now the best of friends.

Kiti poured the tea and continued to beseech her queen. “Audra, you have to let me go after him. He killed my brother Joridan, his actions led to Anton being captured and tortured. I need to see they get justice, they deserve it.”

“And you are sure it is only justice you seek?” Audra softly asked.

“Damn it, Audra.” Kiti was up and pacing the room again. Her long black hair was tied in a high pony tail and swung back and forth with each step she took. The thick, plush carpet kept her boots from clicking on the floor. “I’m begging you to let me go with Garrick Marcus. It’s not just revenge I need. I need closure. I’m the one who should deliver Tybold to the authorities. Garrick Marcus is the best captain in the fleet and I know Darius is sending him after Tybold. Joridan needs us both to avenge his death. To bring his murderer back to Centauri for justice to be served.”

“Kiti, are you combat trained? We don’t know what to expect from the Proconians. By this time, Tybold could have convinced them we are conquerors and he’s their only salvation. We don’t know. It could be a suicide mission. I don’t want to lose my best friend.” She went on. “I know you’re grieving. Joridan’s loss and Lara’s return has been very hard on you.”

“Stop.” Kiti jumped up and started to pace again. “I know what my life has been like. I mourn the loss of Joridan life and Anton’s capture and torture by Slavarien. Joridan was my little brother. Even though he was a head taller than me he will always be my little brother. I still smell Joridan’s scent in his room. Sometimes it’s so fresh it’s like he just passed by.” Her eyes filled with tears, “I miss the closeness that Anton and I once shared but I do not bemoan him finding Lara. I’m very happy he found his lifemate. It was something he never thought to be able to do. After the torture that both Anton and Lara suffered at the hands of the Slavariens, it’s amazing that they found each other. I wish I had a lifemate out there somewhere.

“Audra, I’m a historian and anthropologist, but first I’m Dragonera. Of course, I am combat trained. All Dragonera are. We are the Royal Guard. We are the best.”

“Yes. You’re right, but I worry anyway. Must be my maternal instinct.” Audra patted her belly.

“You know that the people of Procon are centuries behind us technologically. I’m the only person who can go on this mission that knows anything about their culture.”

“I don’t know,” Audra hesitated.

“Admit it. Garrick needs me.”

“We don’t interfere in the development of other planets’ civilizations. You know that.”

“Tybold has already interfered. I say we’ll be evening the odds for the tribes involved. And it’s not as though Procon doesn’t know we exist. They already trade with other planets. Just because they’re not our technological equals doesn’t mean they aren’t advanced.”

Kiti saw Audra hesitate before she answered. “I must confer with Darius before I can give you my answer.”

At that moment Darius came in accompanied by Garrick, Anton and Lara. The three men were in their Dragonera uniforms as was Kiti. The only differences being the color blocking. Darius and Garrick wore amethyst uniforms with cream colored sleeves, denoting their status as starship Captains. Darius’ uniform also had a cream colored stripe from the left shoulder to the waist, denoting that he was Captain of the Royal Guard. As a general in the Royal Army, Anton’s uniform was solid amethyst. Lara, Audra’s twin sister, still had the tanned skin from someone who’s spent too much time in the sun. She wore the House of Danexx royal colors like everyone else did. Hers were an amethyst jumpsuit and long cream colored duster. Kiti’s uniform was solid cream. Her rank as Tensign was denoted by a patch on her left arm.

“What do you need to discuss with me?” Darius asked as he took his wife’s arm and helped her to rise from the couch. She gave him a quick kiss. Darius rubbed her stomach then bent and said, “Hello, my children. Are you being nice to your mommy today?”

Kiti swore he expected an answer.

“If you don’t quit that people are going to think you’re crazy,” said Audra.

Darius laughed and kissed her belly.

“I am. Crazy in love with my wife.”

Lara made gagging sounds. ‘Will you two remember that you have an audience?”

“All right. But you and Anton are just as bad as we are.” Darius said to his soon to be twice over sister-in-law.”

“Never,” retorted Lara. “No one is as over the moons as you two.

“I don’t know, I’m pretty much over the moons about you,” said Anton waggling his eyebrows at her.

The banter was not aimed at Kiti. She didn’t think the two couples even remembered they were not alone. Kiti glanced at Garrick, who rolled his eyes at her. “Audra, the mission.” She reminded her queen tapping her wrist to hurry her.

“Oh yes. Darius, Kiti has requested to be assigned to go with Garrick to Procon, to apprehend Lord Tybold. I told her I would discuss it with you.”

“I don’t know if she will be needed,” Darius responded.

Garrick spoke for the first time since entering the room. “I think an anthropologist would be very useful on this particular mission. Tensign Dolana would be a definite asset to me in bringing in Tybold.”

“Thank you, Garrick. “ Kiti was warmed by his words and agreed with him one hundred percent. To her way of thinking, this mission would only succeed with her help. No one could understand the Proconians better than she could.

“Very well,” said Darius. “You will receive your orders tomorrow. In the mean time, can we eat dinner? I’m a starving man.”

Now that you made it to the end, you must ask a question or make a comment to be entered in a drawing for an ebook or a paperback copy of this book.

He’s the HERO, tall, drop-dead handsome, and a brave warrior to boot, the warrior in the kingdom if the truth be known, dedicated to fighting and nothing more. Perhaps he’s a womanizer par excellence, also, renowned for his prowess in that other battlefield, the boudoir, or maybe he’s kept celibate by his vows to the Goddess. Either way, he’s a Man among men. She’s the HEROINE, the royal female he’s hired to protect, lovely, delicate, and spoiled, already showing signs of an brave, iron will within the butterfly shell. She may be an untouched, innocent treasure, or a bit of a scold, but she's selective in her choice of men, until she beholds the Man in the flesh…and plenty of it…and then, she loses her heart…and no one but the hero can claim it...

Sound familiar? How many times and ways has this theme played out? My novel The King’s Swordswoman was to be written along similar lines, with one exception…my “hero” was the weak and sheltered one…

His name is Crispin du Lance, invalid son of the Lion of Purdha. Bedridden since birth, Crispin’s been seen by his subjects only once and has left his sickroom twice in all his seventeen years. His survival that long is a miracle. He isn’t expected to last past his coronation, and he certainly will never lead his armies into battle against the now-attacking Nords. He’s an innocent, shielded from the world, his universe bounded by the draperies of his bed, a helpless child-man not expected to live. He’s never seen a dog, never rough-housed with his brothers, never eaten anything stronger than unseasoned gruel.

My “heroine” is Janel Redhu, also seventeen, daughter of Jan Redhu the Mercenary and his warrior wife Mariah TruBlud, joint commanders of the king’s armies. She’s the best warrior in Sword Squad. She lives, bathes, and fights with her twenty-two brothers, and considers herself one of them though she remains chaste and dedicated to the Goddess, while they carouse and womanize. She’d brave, beautiful, and filled with pity for this lonely royal boy, in his feather-bed prison.

When King Leonelle dies, the odd laws of the kingdom give the throne to his youngest son, so Crispin is now the new sovereign. His older, more able brothers ask the Joint Commanders to send them their best swordsman to protect His Majesty. Thus these two so very opposite characters meet. Bodyguard and charge become friends, playmates, if you will, and confidants, and begin to have feelings for each other that even they--in their enforced chastity--don’t recognize. She becomes his gateway to the world outside his bedchamber.

Then, the unexpected happens. Janel overhears a partial conversation between Crispin’s brothers who are the ones really protecting the realm, and believes they’re plotting the king’s overthrow. She’s expected to stand aside while they do away with the helpless invalid, but they don’t count on her integrity.

Janel’s sworn to protect the king and that’s what she does. Though fearing to expose him to the outside world, she dares carry—quite literally—the sick young man to safety, to a neutral kingdom where they’ll wait out the war. But, as usual, Fate intervenes… Janel sees Crispin killed and she allows herself to be taken prisoner by the Nords, as punishment for allowing her charge, her sovereign, her friend, to die…

The King’s Swordswoman is the first of three novels set in the city of Leonesse. It’s told in three parts, the first by Janel, the second by Crispin, the third is an omniscient POV. Together, they mesh into a love story that I hope is unique enough to be called different, while still being entertaining.

Excerpt:

At first, I thought we had walked into a library. There were books everywhere, the walls lined with shelves on which they were stacked. To our right, a door opened into another room. In front of the closest bookcase, a table held a chess board and pieces, other gameboards piled upon it. At the other end of the room, a high-arched, mullioned window let in bright sunlight.

On the opposite side of the room stood a large four-poster bedstead, its headboard against the wall. It was swathed so thickly in translucent draperies its occupant was little more than a faceless figure. Two people stood beside the bed, Prince Carel and the Queen Mother, both painted and draped in the heaviest of mourning.

“So you’ve finally arrived,” Carel greeted his brother brusquely. He flicked a glance at me. “And is this the Lady Comaunder’s choice?” He sounded as if he couldn’t believe it.

“Linus, who is this person?” Lady Mathilde didn’t give her next-to-youngest a chance to answer his brother. She was a small woman, even shorter than I, now plump with middle age— dumpy, to be truthful—and her voluminous gown with its flowing sleeves making her look even more squat and fat. I could see she’d probably been very comely when she was His Majesty’s bride, and that determined little chin and her bright eyes were probably two of the features catching his eye. Now, however, there was too much willfulness in her expression and her eyes appeared small and cruel. Perhaps king’s consorts become that way over time. All I know is I felt whatever she was thinking didn’t bode well for me.

“This is the soldier Comaunder Mariah sent to guard Crispin,” Carel answered for Linus.

“He seems young.” Standing, she bustled over to me, peering into my face. Shewas shortsighted also, it seemed. I forced myself not to back away. Abruptly, she recoiled. “Carel, this is a girl!”

“Astute of you to notice, Mother.” Carel’s didn’t attempt to keep his answer respectful. That made me frown. Truly, the Royal offspring weren’t acting as I thought they should. Certainly they weren’t deporting themselves as they did on the battlefield. There, they were calm and collected. At the moment, both seemed merely testy, spiteful children. Still, grief affected men in different ways. I hoped that was all it was.

“Comaunder Mariah’s daughter, as a matter of fact,” he went on.

Lady Mathilde stared at her eldest, plainly upset, more than a little angry. Something was wrong, and it appeared to do with my gender.

“She can’t guard His Majesty,” she stated, in a don’t-argue-with-me tone.

“Why not?” Linus spoke up, doing just that. There was so much belligerence in those two words I hoped I wasn’t about to witness a family row.

“She’s a female—” Lady Mathilde began, giving him a glare saying much about a son daring to question his mother’s opinions.

“So?” Carel interrupted. Not letting his mother finish a sentence earned him a scowl.

“Crispin’s guard has to be with him every minute of the day and night. This girl can’t possibly sleep in the same room with His Majesty. It wouldn’t be proper.”

“Janel’s a devotee of the Goddess, Madame.” Carel’s reply was clipped as if attempting to control his anger. A faint rose fragrance hovered in the air. “DeOsse requires chastity of her followers. You needn’t worry about her climbing into bed with him.”

That earned him a shocked look. Both from Mathilde and myself. Linus stifled a chuckle.

“She’s too young, Carel. Your brother requires assistance in bathing and other…necessities. Perhaps if she were more mature… It’s common knowledge young women are susceptible to the sight of bare male bodies, even one as frail as your brother’s…”

At this point, I had to bit my lip to stifle my own laughter. Great DeOsse! She thinks I’ll have designs on the King? On that sickly creature? If I were going to break my vows, it’d certainly be for someone in better health than he. Carel or Linus or… Better end that thought right now.

“Stop this, Madame.” Carel’s snort said it all. “Janel Redhu’s no danger to anyone except those who might harm His Majesty. She’s a soldier first and a female second.”

Carel might be calm but I felt my own cheeks reddening. I studied the floor. Linus fixed an equally interested gaze on the ceiling.

“Nevertheless—”

“Nevertheless, nothing! I asked the Commander for her best soldier and Janel is her choice. She stays.”

There was a sigh and a creaking of the leather straps supporting the mattress. A sleepy murmur, sudden movement from the bed, a body straightening and rolling over.

“M-Mother?” The voice was so shaky and hollow it sounded like an old man rather than a seventeen-year-old boy.

“Yes, my angel.” Mathilde was distracted from further argument as she rushed back to the bedside. She leaned into the draperies, reaching toward the vague figure lying there, assisting His Majesty in sitting upright. Once he was settled and propped on several pillows, she straightened.

“W-we have a v-visitor?” It was asked breathlessly. Crispin sounded as if he’d run a race and couldn’t get his wind. Oh, Goddess, and he stutters, too. I felt my heart dip with pity. He leaned forward slightly. “Who are you, s-soldier?”

“The guard sent from Sword Squad—” Carel began.

I started to supply my name.

“—a female,” Mathilde didn’t let either of us finish. “I’ve told him she isn’t acceptable.”

Oh no. She’s going to talk him out of it. Now I understood Linus’ earlier remark. For some reason, the Queen Mother didn’t want her son to have a guard. I imagined she had enough influence with him to have me sent away. Well, that’d be no reflection on me or my abilities, but it would be an insult. To myself as well as to the Lady Commander my mother for her choice.

“Why not?” It was the whining query of a child being told he couldn’t do something.

“See? Even His Majesty sees there’s no problem,” Carel pointed out, not trying to hide how this pleased him.

Mathilde ignored him, turning back to the bed. “Because your guard must be here at all times. Think about that. You don’t want a female here while you’re being bathed, do you? Seeing you naked? Or watching you relieve yourself into a chamber?”

She emphasized those last words as if this were a crime of the highest order. Crispin cringed. There was no other way to describe the sudden movement the figure behind the draperies made.

“She wouldn’t look…” His voice went up so quickly it became a squeak. There was a loud gulp as he attempted to return it to a more kingly timbre. The shadowy head turned in his elder brother’s direction. “Carel, s-surely she wouldn’t…”

“Of course not.” Where Carel was short with his mother, his tone with his brother was quieter. Matter-of-fact, but slightly pacifying as if he were speaking to someone much, much younger. “Whenever you’re being bathed, Janel will turn her back. And she’ll never be in your company when you perform your other functions. Will you, Prive?” He directed this last question at me so suddenly I nearly jumped.

“C-certainly not, Sire.” It was the first time I’d been addressed directly since entering the room and I grimaced at that brief tremble in my voice. I hoped no one thought I was mocking my king’s stammer. “I swear His Majesty’ll have privacy.”

“Let me remind you, Madame,” Carel went on, pressing the point. “If Prive Redhu’s sent away, the Lady Commander’s next choice may be her son, Marius. You do remember Marius, Mother?”

At mention of my brother’s name, Lady Mathilde shuddered. There was no other way to describe the visible frisson going through that overweight little body. She muttered something. It sounded like “She wouldn’t dare.”

What the hell does that mean?

“Come closer, Prive.” A hand wavered through the draperies. It was waxen-pale, large but bony, almost as white as the lawn sleeve covering it. The arm shook slightly as it extended, beckoning. “What are your orders concerning us?”

Before Lady Mathilde could object, I stepped forward and seized Crispin’s hand. It was as chill as a piece of alabaster, not like a living thing at all. Dropping to one knee, I pressed the cold fingers to my forehead.

“I’m to protect you, Your Majesty, and keep your enemies at bay.”

The hand withdrew, pulling me to my feet as it disappeared back inside the sanctuary of the bed. “Then it’s all right. She can s-stay, Mother.”

“But—” Mathilde wasn’t going to give up so easily.

“His Majesty has spoken, Madame,” Carel pointed out, and the finality in his own voice also held triumph. Got another one past her, it seemed to say. I was beginning to wonder just how much filial devotion there actually was between Mathilde and her sons. Not much that I could see.

Buy Link: http://www.classactbooks.com/Lovers-of-Leonesse-Book-One-The-Kings-Swordswoman-by-Toni-V-Sweeney-Trade_p_331.html

A Fork, Knife and Elephant Means What?

They’re all elements in an old parable where a man feels overwhelmed at the daunting task of eating an elephant. I never heard this story until last July, at the RWA national conference. I think it was either Roxanne St. Clair or Harlen Coben and Lisa Jackson who brought the story up during their discussion.

Writing a book can be much like eating an elephant at one sitting, if we let it be.
First, know writing a quality novel takes thought, sweat and time. A great deal of all three. The project is something you’re not just going to dash off in a weekend. Not even a long weekend. So know your work will take you several months, or a year, or years to accomplish, depending on your time constrictions and ability to type.
It’s less intimidating if you think of a huge job as parts. So size up your project. Is it going to be a novella, a category romance, single title or a series of single titles? Once you know the word count you’re targeting, you can break the project into parts. If you want to write a single title at approximately 90,000 words over ten months, you’ll want to write at least 9000 words in a month or nearly 2400 words a week. Break that down to six days a week (I gave you a day off) and you’ll need to write 400 hundred words a day.

That big elephant isn’t looking too huge now, right?

Now, imagine writing ‘the end’. You did it! Dance. Yell out to the world, yippy. Have some bubbly and chocolate. That’s it. Hold that feeling close. The warm fuzzy memory will urge you on when you think you can’t possibly do this.

Having all the tools you need, will make the task easier. Think about it. Did you ever make a cake batter with all the ingredients at hand? It’s much easier than if you had to grab the flour from this cupboard, egg from the refrigerator and, dang, I’m out of milk and need to run to the store. So gather the tools you’ll need. Computer, document storage (you don’t want to lose your work), any research notes, storyboard, storyline, notecards, whiteboard, and other writer friends. Yes, I said friends. Friends will encourage you and listen to you when you vent, and they’ll also offer up ideas when you need them.

Not every writer writes a book in the same way, or a in a linear fashion. If you hate writing the end, write it first. If the middle seems like a swayback mare to you and you hate facing it, fast draft a few scenes.

Last bit of advice, start eating that elephant. The end is non-existent without the beginning.