Calling Paranormal fans. I’m sure you’ve heard of Moira Rogers. Right?

You’re in for a treat because today I’ve got a wee excerpt from Cipher.

Cipher is the fourth book in Rogers’ Southern Arcana series.

Fourteen months ago, Kat Gabriel learned a brutal truth. Under the wrong circumstances, her empathic ability is no gift. It’s a deadly weapon. Now her soul bears the inescapable weight of those deaths—and it aches for the loss of the easy relationship she once shared with Andrew Callaghan. Unleashing her power saved his life, but she couldn’t save his humanity.

Since the attack that turned him into a werewolf, Andrew’s sole focus has been to make himself stronger. Pushing her away hurt like hell, but Kat doesn’t need a friend. She needs a protector strong enough to shield her from the supernatural world that forced her to kill. Strong enough to resist their volatile connection.

As Kat’s quest to understand the violent legacy of her past leads her into the darkest underbelly of the psychic world, Andrew is at her side. Yet every step forward rips open old emotional wounds and shakes their control. Where they’re headed, distractions of any kind can be fatal—especially when the greatest threat they pose is to each other.

Oh, and a word of warning:

The book contains a dangerous shapeshifter who could kill you with his bare hands, an empathic hacker who could kill you with her mind, a psychic cult determined to kill everyone, a lot of violence, a little bit of hope, and a happily-ever-after seven years in the making.

Get your copy: Amazon, Barnes & Noble, iTunes, Samhain Publishing, Sony eBook Store, Books on Board, Kobo, All Romance Ebooks

Enjoy!

Kat stormed the Southeast council’s newly acquired headquarters armed with a laptop, a printout of the offending email, and all of her arguments carefully marshaled. Then she went in search of Miguel’s brother.

When she knocked, an unintelligible shout from inside beckoned her. She found Julio stirring a big pot of something on the industrial range, and he waved her over as she walked into the kitchen. “I guess those wards Mari put up work. Unless…” He eyed her as he wiped his hands on a towel. “You’re not here to kill me, are you?”

She flinched, and hated herself for it. Julio was joking. He wasn’t afraid of her–sometimes she thought the damn man wasn’t afraid of anyone–and even knowing it in her bones, with the confidence only empathy could bring…she flinched. If she closed her eyes, she might see the office, echoes of the nightmare that still woke her in a cold sweat. Walls painted in blood, wolves howling in challenge–

“You hungry? I got a head start on lunch.”

Kat dragged in an unsteady breath and used Julio’s confidence to ground herself. He wasn’t afraid of her, and the easy strength that surrounded him was better than a warm blanket for a jumpy empath. “No, I was force-fed waffles before I left the apartment.”

He laughed. “I know my brother was there, but I’m guessing he wasn’t the one who made breakfast.”

Of course he knew. Kat had rolled from her bed into the shower, but one shower wouldn’t be enough to erase Miguel’s scent from her skin, not when he’d spent the night hogging more than half of the bed. Kat felt her cheeks heat and compensated by dropping her laptop bag onto the wide island in the kitchen. “He kept me and Sera company last night and didn’t want to drive home.”

One dark eyebrow shot up. “Tell the truth–he didn’t want to go home, full stop.”

Kat eased her laptop out of its case and shrugged. “You know Miguel. He’s not all that interested in the shapeshifter new world order.”

“That’s putting it mildly. Joke’s on him, though, because I was here all night.” Julio slid onto a stool and propped his elbows on the countertop. “What’s up?”

She’d thought of all of the arguments to convince him to help, but the one thing she hadn’t considered was where to begin. “You know my parents died a while ago, right? My parents and my aunt and uncle, all at the same time.”

“Andrew told me about it, yeah. He said that’s how Derek ended up taking care of you.”

Andrew’s name shouldn’t make her heart twist, not after this long. “Derek came down to New Orleans when his parents died, because I was already living here. With his parents, I mean. My mother…” There was no good way to put it, though her father had always tried. Your mother’s not feeling so great right now, munchkin. “My mom was a little nuts.”

Get your copy: Amazon, Barnes & Noble, iTunes, Samhain Publishing, Sony eBook Store, Books on Board, Kobo, All Romance Ebooks

This week’s Featured This Friday is none other than Donna Grant with her latest release (a rerelease for you DG fans) Forever Mine.

A Highlander bent on revenge…
Braden MacAlister only has vengeance on his mind. It has consumed him since the murder of his family. His every thought, every action is in bringing down the man responsible. Until he lays eyes on Jean.

A lass who dared to challenge her heart…
Jean MacKay’s entire existence is turned upside down when her clan is invaded by Niall MacDougall and he takes her prisoner. Yet, everything changes when Niall and his men are surrounded by The Ghost.

A union of two hearts…
Whispers of Braden MacAlister run rampant through the Highlands, but it isn’t until Jean sees the imposing warrior for herself that she realizes he is the answer to all their prayers. Jean defies everything to stand next to Braden and the love developing between them. But will it be enough to put an end to Niall once and for all?

If the blurb was enough for you, get your copy now:

Nook: www.barnesandnoble.com/w/forever-mine-donna-grant/1105684968?ean=2940013380806&itm=16&usri=donna%2bgrant
Kindle: astore.amazon.com/donnagranthis-20/detail/B005NI5XUG
Smashwords: www.smashwords.com/books/view/89145

Or, read the excerpt…

The silence hung heavy and thick in the air. Just like the mist that swirled eerily, almost unnaturally, around the group of men lying in wait for their deadly enemy.

Braden MacAlister knew the time was right. He would attack and kill Niall MacDougall once and for all. Order would be restored to the land again.

And maybe then Braden could plan more than ambushes.

A horse snorted in the distance, the sound carrying in the stillness of the predawn hour. His foe was right on schedule. Braden had waited for this day for two years. He had planned and plotted and planned some more. All had to go perfectly.

His men, all marked outlaws like himself, were fierce Highlanders and vicious, brutal opponents in battle. They would be the ones to set things right. They would be the ones to end the malevolence.

The pass where Naill had to travel was narrow, confining him and his men between two mountains. Most would have gone around but Naill was a man who liked to prove he couldn’t be taken.

A slow smile spread Braden’s lips. Today, things were going to change.

The soft, four toned whistle sliced through the early morning air. It was the signal from Keith that Naill neared.

Braden had seen this moment many times in his mind. He’d thought out every instance. Every move. Every countermove. He was as prepared as he could ever be.

He released a long breath when he caught sight of the first horse as it came around the bend. Behind the guard Braden spotted Naill dark head, his hair tied in a neat queue at his neck. And with Naill was his company of twenty men.

Naill never traveled alone. He knew how much he was despised throughout Scotland. Everyone said it was just a matter of time before he was killed.

Another whistle, softer, but in the two tone that meant trouble. Braden narrowed his gaze on his opponent. What was Naill up to?

And then Braden saw the wagon. The metal bars on the small upper windows told him all he needed to know about the occupants.

They were prisoners.

Braden glanced across the road to his men. He waited for their nod of agreement to continue with their mission before he looked at the men beside and behind him.

Naill had taken from all of them in one form or another. Each warrior wanted his revenge, needed retribution for the atrocities. Each man wanted to be the one to strike the killing blow.

Braden tightened his grip on his sword and dagger he held in each hand. The smirk on Naill’s all too perfect face was too much to bear. But before this day ended, Braden would see that smile erased. Forever.

Naill jerked his horse to a halt almost even with Braden. Naill was tall and blessed with exceptional looks that made women do all sorts of things to gain his attention.

But he had a heart as evil as the devil.

Braden knew Naill couldn’t see him in the thick grass and plentiful boulders. Yet, the way Naill’s eyes searched the mountain sides, he was looking for something.

“Come out, come out wherever you are, Braden MacAlister,” Naill taunted.

Braden stiffened. There was no way Naill could have discovered his plans. Braden trusted his men explicably. None of them would have betrayed him.

Braden didn’t move. His men stayed as motionless as he. Braden didn’t have long to wait before Naill lifted a hand to one of the guards near the wagon.

The door at the back of the wagon opened, the squeak was loud but soon drowned out by a startled cry.

“They have women,” Rory whispered as he leaned next to Braden.

Braden couldn’t see who was taken from the wagon as the guard pushed the prisoner through the throng of horses and men. With a shove from the guard, the prisoner stumbled and fell to her knees in a whirl of lavender skirts and hair as black as midnight.

Naill jumped from his mount and grabbed the woman by the hair atop her head. Her hands instantly went around his to try and lessen the pull as she hurried to climb to her feet.

“I would see you now, Braden. Show yourself or I kill the wench,” Naill bellowed.

The mist had moved away from Naill and his men, as if it knew the black depths of their hearts and wanted no part of it.

Braden had no choice but to help the woman. Too many innocents had already died. He wouldn’t have her death on his soul, wouldn’t add the weight of another innocent life ended to his shoulders.

“Be ready,” Braden murmured to Rory.

Braden sheathed his sword, but kept his dagger in his left hand, the blade tucked against his forearm. He leapt atop the boulder he’d been hiding behind and glared down at the man who dared to call himself a Scot, much less a Highlander.

Ready to get your copy now? Here are those links again.

Nook: www.barnesandnoble.com/w/forever-mine-donna-grant/1105684968?ean=2940013380806&itm=16&usri=donna%2bgrant
Kindle: astore.amazon.com/donnagranthis-20/detail/B005NI5XUG
Smashwords: www.smashwords.com/books/view/89145

I’ve been writing stories since I was very young, pretty much as long as I can remember. My mom has all of them packed away in an attic somewhere, I’m sure—spiral-bound notebooks filled with handwritten tales of unicorns, dragons and little-girl detectives. I don’t know what inspired me at that time, except that I could read from a very early age, and undoubtedly books helped my imagination to bloom. I don’t think it occurred to me that the people who wrote those books did so for a living; for me, it was always an intrinsic sort of call, and I guess I’ve always assumed—then and now—that anyone else who did it, too, felt the same way.

When I was in second grade, my uncle Pete gave me a paperback set of The Lord of the Rings trilogy, and I read them cover to cover, until they were falling apart, literally taped back together. I remember realizing as I dove into Tolkien’s world of Middle Earth that this was what I wanted to do—I wanted to be a storyteller, a writer; I wanted other people to read and enjoy my work.

Throughout my childhood from that point forward, I went through a series of typewriters. My parents bought me a play one when I first told them I wanted to be a writer. As they watched me pound out stories on its little keyboard, I guess they eventually figured I was serious, so they bought me a real one—a huge steel-cased manual that probably weighed as much as I did. I’d lug it from room to room, pecking and typing. At some point over the years, my family got sick of the racket and bought me a (silent) electric one. By high school, I’d upgraded to word processors, and in college, I bought my first laptop.

The tools of the trade may have changed over the years, but the desire behind them has always remained the same. I love to write. I would write stories even if no one else ever read a single word of them. That I get to share them with readers—that other people enjoy them—is an added bonus and one of the greatest sources of satisfaction I know.

Read an excerpt of Sara’s latest, Dark Passages.

ABOUT SARA
“Definitely an author to watch.” That’s how Romantic Times Book Reviews magazine describesSara Reinke. New York Times best-selling author Karen Robards calls Reinke “a new paranormalstar” and Love Romances and More hails her as “a fresh new voice to a genre that has grownstale.” Find out more at www.sarareinke.com.

CONNECT WITH SARA

Blog: http://sarareinke.blogspot.com

Facebook: www.facebook.com/people/Sara-Reinke/100001807057213

Twitter: https://twitter.com/SaraReinke

You probably know her through fabulous (soon to be finished) series The Gospel of Love or perhaps from her sultry tales published by Aphrodisia. Then again, you may know her from her free reads or her contribution to The Mammoth Book of Scottish Romance. Fairly soon you’re going to know Jackie Barbosa by her latest tale of love and lust, Grace Under Fire (SpiceBriefs.)

I sat down with her for a twitterview recently and asked the question any good interviewer would ask:

SB: Paper or plastic?

JB: What? Not paper or digital? How about “depends?” (And no, I don’t mean adult diapers.) But mostly, paper, bc it’s recyclable.

SB: Hey, my kindle is made of plastic.

JB: Haha. So that WAS a book question? In which case, I still say “depends.” I love instant gratification of digital.

But I like having the print book, too, esp. for author’s signature and also because I can read at takeoff and landing.

SB: How about the “new book smell?”

JB: Not that so much. I actually prefer the “old book” smell. You know, a little musty and dusty. I could snort that scent all day.

SB: Tell us about your new book! So…that’s not really a question.

JB: Grace Under Fire is about a clumsy young lady who discovers, with the help of a couple of very good men, that she’s…much better in bed than on the dance floor.

SB: Mmmm… When and where is it set?

JB: London, 1795. Wanna see the book video? It’s not as awesome as a Dareling Room Video, but I like it. http://vimeo.com/21029602

SB: I like it! So it’s available from Spice Briefs. And I saw you’ve already made #1 on preorders at Amazon.

JB: Well, #1 in coming soon Erotica (there’s a double entendre for you), yes. I’m only #25 in coming fiction, last I checked.

SB: #25 is still awesome! There’s another book on your website listed under Coming Soon. Care to tell us about that?

JB: Well, that’s something I plan to self-publish, but I have no real timeline for it. I got a request for a full from Blaze which sort of knocked my off my original writing schedule for the year.

SB: Oh how exciting! So you’re going to straddle the line then? Traditional publishing and Indie?

JB: I can promise, barring injury or death, that the third Gospel of Love novella, According to Mark, will be out in June.

SB: Thank goodness for that. I’ve been waiting on Mark’s book.

JB: As for #25 being good–well, a cricketer’s REISSUED memoir (which isn’t even fiction) & Thomas the Tank Engine are beating me.

SB: Hey now, I know some little boys who love Thomas the Train. And I’ve bought a few copies of those myself.

JB: Yeah, but Thomas the Tank Engine in KINDLE? That has me scratching my head!

SB: How about a few fill in the blank questions? My favorite TV show (at the moment) is ___?

JB: You want me to pick ONE favorite TV show? Gah, that’s like asking me to pick ONE favorite book.

That said, I’d probably have to choose DETROIT 1-8-7. Phenomenal writing/characters & brilliant acting. Gut-wrenching but good

SB: Oh, I love that show too. But I still haven’t forgiven them for killing detective hottie. Personally, I think he faked it.

I think he’s going back under cover!

JB: Yeah, the night they killed Detective Hottie, I couldn’t sleep. One of the reason I have to say the show works.

SB: And you’re welcome to pick a favorite book if you want. *evil grin* If I could have lunch with any author, dead or alive, it would be ____?

JB: I gotta pick the ancient lyric poet, Sappho. I want to find out what the heck she wrote (most of her work is fragments)! For favorite book, I inevitably fall back on ALICE IN WONDERLAND. It’s just one of those that gives me happy memories, I guess.

SB: When I was little I wanted to be a _____ when I grew up?

JB: That one’s easy. Writer.

SB: Let’s make sure the readers can find you. Website, Facebook, Goodreads?

JB: Website: http://www.jackiebarbosa.com; Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/jackiebarbosa; Goodreads: Jackie Barbosa

SB: Bookmark those links ppl!

JB: Also, I’ll give away a copy of Behind the Red Door (print anthology) and some swag (#romancetradingcards, pretty notepads).

SB: WOO HOO! Prizes! Any final thoughts? (Or suggestions for my lousy Twitterviewing skills? )

JB: Final thoughts sound so final . (And your Twitterview skills are darned good.) But in parting, I hope your readers will check out GRACE UNDER FIRE. I promise hot menage-y goodness and and HEA!

SB: Excellent. We readers like hot menage-y goodness and HEA! Thanks for the twitterview!

JB: No no, thank YOU!

You heard the lady… PRIZES! Leave a comment and I’ll draw a winner on Monday.

Please help me welcome my special guest Jude Liebermann.  We’re swapping blogs for the day, which means I’m over here: www.judesplace.com/blog Once you get done here, hop over and see me.

I had a few quick getting to know you question’s and then on to Jude’s new book. Read on:

How old were you when you knew you wanted to be a writer and how did that decision affect your life?

This wasn’t really a conscious decision, since I’ve been writing for as long as I can remember: poetry before the age of 10, fiction at the age of 11, first romance at 13 and first novel at 18. I’ve never known a time when I didn’t want to write. Since it isn’t my career though, writing hasn’t impacted my life. Accounting pays the bills.

Who do you think are some of the most under appreciated writers, either contemporary or in history?

Self published authors are the most under appreciated, that’s for sure. Of course, it doesn’t help that some of these writers shouldn’t publish, but there are many more who work hard but find it hard to get recognized. I guess I’m biased since I am one of those self published authors. Luckily, I have had my work recognized by Cobblestone Press, but it’s still hard to be taken seriously as a writer if you don’t have a major book publisher backing you.

What’s a typical writing day like for you?

A typical writing day? What’s that? I’ve never had one of those. When I’m inspired to write, I will be at my keyboard every day for hours at a time. Other times I can go months, even years, without writing a word. When I force myself to write, I may try to get a few hundred words a week, just to keep the creative juices flowing. I currently have two writing projects that are on hold, and who knows when I will be inspired enough to continue either.

Jude’s current release is Pandora’s Box, available now from Cobblestone Press.

Pandora was a successful career woman. She had it all, a nice job and a live-in boyfriend, but something was missing. She then gets the surprise of her life on her birthday, a gigolo.

Cameron is everything she’s ever wanted in a lover, and he shows her what true passion really is. Can she go back to the sedate life she had with Brian? Will she want to?

Read an excerpt

Most of you know that my writing buddy Leila Brown also writes for LooseId. Her latest release is out now. Check out Solstice Heat. You won’t be disappointed.

After an injury left Jason in a wheelchair he gave up the pack Alpha position, thinking he was no longer fit to lead. But the injury didn’t change his desire for a mate, companionship, a woman’s touch.

Giovanni is furious when she finds secret emails on her computer between her baby sister and Jason. Gio takes her sister’s place and shows up at Jason’s cabin. They’ve both been duped but before they can sort it out Gio ignites Jason’s temper and he snaps and sparks fly.

One little bite and their futures are forever changed. She survived his bite, but will they survive the solstice inferno their lust creates?

Leila will be here next month to share more about Gio and Jason. So check back.

Here’s another special excerpt for your reading enjoyment.

Haley let her IM friends talk her into summoning a demon lover, but every spell has its price!

Demon Lovers: Haley’s Demon

by Leila Brown

Tired of being alone, Haley Dixon’s let her IM friends talk her into something really crazy — casting a spell to trap a demon lover for the night. She doesn’t really expect the spell to work, but when it does she gets more than she ever bargained for.

Haley Dixon’s trapped a demon — but every spell has its price, and turn about’s fair play. Taron, the fifth heir of the Severin Dynasty, just may be exactly what she needs.

Excerpt:

Haley Dixon looked over the website one last time. Candles, check. Salt circle around the bed, check. One blood red rose in full bloom, check. Okay, she was ready. Or as ready as she would ever be.

She glanced at the clock on the wall. Five minutes until midnight. Taking a deep breath, she wondered if she was crazy. Yeah, crazy, lonely, and most of all horny. At least she wasn’t alone. Her two best IM friends should be doing the same spell. If this spell worked she would have her own fantasy man to please her all night long. Hell, if it didn’t she hoped it would at least inspire her subconscious to give her a good erotic dream. Not to mention they would laugh and blog about it tomorrow.

Raising her wineglass to her lips, she downed the rest of the sweet golden liquid. She had to be the most desperate woman in the world to resort to conjuring up a man to satisfy her. Doubts pounded her. What was she doing? She could just go out and find any man off the street.

No, he might expect more than she had to give, and right now she wanted a no-strings-attached night of bliss. She had enough to worry about. Family, friends, co-workers — the list went on and on. There was no way she was going to add one more responsibility to her already overcrowded life.

Her alarm clock went off, making her jump and spill a few drops of wine over the rim of her glass. Too late for doubts now. Suck it up and just do it. She pulled the paper from the counter beside the empty wine bottle.

From deep beneath the surface rise Demon lover, heed my call Come satisfy my heady lust Stay until my passions wane Come to me in all your glory Provide a happily ever after To my bedtime story

That was the dumbest sounding spell she’d ever seen. Not that she’d ever seen one before. She shook her head. Had she really expected this to work?

A slight breeze blew through the room ruffling the red sheer curtains of her bedroom. The candlelight flickered for a second before blinking completely out. She didn’t have a window open, did she? No. She never kept her windows open at night.

Where the hell had that gust of air come from then?

“Where am I?” A deep voice asked. A very male voice.

Her chest caved in as every muscle in her body froze. There was someone here, in the room. It would be more than ironic if a burglar had chosen this exact moment to break in. Haley broke out of her terror induced stupor and tripped over her computer chair in a rush to turn on the lights. Wasn’t that how the stupid woman always died in the movies? New plan. Run for the door and don’t look back.

She hurried toward the door, flicking on the lights on her way out. Chancing a glance over her shoulder what she saw almost stopped her in her tracks. There in the center of her bed crouched a man, naked from the waist up. Her jaw dropped and she stumbled over her own feet. She’d seen naked men before, but they were a poor imitation to the one currently staring at her. He crawled across to the edge of the bed and stood.

Oh my God. The skintight black pants he wore outlined a massive bulge. That could not be real. Saliva pooled in her mouth as her mind burned his image into her memory. The chances of her ever seeing such masculine perfection again were approximately zilch to none.

“Human. Did you summon me?” His question was full of righteous indignation.

This had to be a joke. It had to be. If it were possible to conjure a man up just for sex, every woman in her right mind would be doing it. No muss, no fuss, do the spell, do him then make him disappear.

“Did you summon me, human?”

“Tell me this is a joke. It just isn’t possible.” Her mouth went dry and her throat closed up.

“Why did you summon me, human?” His eyebrows slanted as his gaze turned threatening.

“I just read a stupid spell. I didn’t think it would work.” She inched her feet backward.

The man’s head turned as he looked toward the candles surrounding him then to the rose lying in the center of the bed. “This looks like more than just a spell to me.”

“I didn’t think it would work,” she repeated. Her voice was getting smaller and she was getting closer to getting the hell out of here.

“Well, obviously it did. Now tell me why I’m here so I can go home.” Pissed was too mild a word to describe his tone. A muscle jumped up and down at the base of his jaw.

Haley swallowed but couldn’t budge the lump in her throat. There was no way she was going anywhere near the guy. “I don’t know…”

The man clenched his hands at his sides. “How about you read the spell to me then?”

She bit her lip. If she said the spell again she ran the risk of conjuring another male. And that was simply not acceptable. Definitely not acceptable. No way. No shape. No form.

“Human, I will not wait forever.” He took a step away from the bed.

If he took one more step toward her she was out of here. Fuck trying to be subtle. The man moved to take another step but ran into an invisible wall. He stumbled back into the bed. Thank goodness she’d followed the spell to a tee. She hated to imagine what would’ve happened if she’d omitted that circle of salt.

“So, you took precautions did you?”

“Look, I’m sorry I called you. You can go home now.” Concentrating hard, she just barely kept the tremor out of her voice.

“The magic does not work that way. I am stuck here until I fulfill the original request.” Disgust flowed right alongside his anger now.

“Totally not necessary. You go away. I’ll stay here. It’s a win-win.” Hell, she wasn’t even horny anymore. Not really.

I’ve got a special excerpt to share… I’ve just started reading the book. So far… awesome! Enjoy the excerpt!

Amethyst Bound

I’ve got a special guest today here on my blog. Thanks to Rebecca Goings for taking over and talking about one of my very favorite subjects. *insert swoon here* Cowboys! Take it away, Becka…

What is it about my obsession with cowboys? I’ve always loved them. Ever since I became a fan of romance novels (at the tender age of twelve), I’ve been in love with one cowboy or another. Perhaps it was the fact I grew up in Nevada, a state that embraces its Wild West past. There’s nothing quite like seeing a REAL herd of wild horses or walking the streets of Virginia City while learning about the silver rush of the Comstock Lode.

Whatever the reason, I can’t get enough of them; men who ride the range, who are kind to animals, polite to women, and who are the ultimate gentleman. Of course, there are bad boys of the range as well, men who aren’t repentant in the least for ravishing you under the stars…

I think it’s the combination of knowing cowboys can be unpredictable coupled with the love they have for their animals. They’ve got guns, and they’re not afraid to use ‘em. They’re wild and untamed, and can do amazing things on the back of a horse (SAVAGE THUNDER by Johanna Lindsey, anyone??). But they’re also carefree, they don’t live by the rules of society, and they symbolize (for me) shucking convention to ride the range with them.

I also believe my love for cowboys stems from my own love of animals and nature. Moreso than stuffy dukes and viscounts, cowboys seem to be more in tune with nature and the great outdoors. In a way, they are stewards of the land, and they’ll defend their woman until their last breath, defending her honor with their own brand of justice.

I’m saddened at the lack of Western historicals there are out there. It seems historical England reigns supreme. I know a handful of authors who are trying to bring them “back” and make cowboys popular again.

I want to be one of them.

YEEHAW!!

She’s here! Say hello to my good friend Lissa Matthews.
” title=”http://www.lissamatthews.com\”>” target=”_blank”>www.lissamatthews.com”> Learn more about Lissa and all her awesome (and I should mention smokin’ hot books).

It’s early morning and I’m sitting at the coffee shop writing this blog post for Selena. I have an hour to work relatively undistracted before I need to leave and head home. This is a normal morning routine for me. I get up, shower, take my daughter to school, and come here to Caribou Coffee. I sit in the corner, away from the window because it’s just too damn cold right there.

You must wonder why I come here and why I just don’t go back home and write. The answer is simple. Focus. Right frame of mind. That’s what the coffee shop first thing in the morning is for me. The shop is empty, no one is here save for the stream of people walking in to get their own jolt of caffeine.

I have my netbook out, open, and ready to go. And the netbook, it goes everywhere with me. I can sit in the car and write while I wait for my daughter’s school to let out. I can write at the coffee shop, Panera, a friend’s house, in my own bathroom if I just need to get away and there’s no way to leave the house. But back to the routine… That’s what this is, too. A routine. I don’t do it every morning, but I do try for at least 3 days a week. I typically order a regular coffee or hot tea and an oatmeal. It’s soooooo very good.

After I get breakfast, I sit and start working. Usually by this time, I’ve got a good 45-50 minutes that I can write, but, I make the most of it. The music on the mp3 player drowns out any other noises and I rarely look up from the screen. If I’m really into the scene, I can usually make a pretty good dent in my daily word count.

This is how I have started 2010. I needed a routine, something to focus me, to get me and keep me going and this is what I have chosen to do. I don’t have a designated home office, so this little corner in the coffee shop is used as such. It’s mindset. I have found that when I follow this routine, I get a lot more done both in writing and in my homes life with housework, kids, etc…

And yes, this habit is expensive, but as a way to combat this, I budget every month for it. I put a certain amount on a Caribou card and when it’s empty, well, let’s hope it’s near payday. I know I can’t deduct it from taxes, but, if it helps me start my day and put me in the frame of mind I need to be in, then, it’s worth it.

We all have a routine we need to follow, a regimen that centers us, focus’ us on what we need to do. Some people need to shower and shave and dress the part. Some people need just get out of bed and grab the laptop from the floor beside the bed. Some need an assistant, a time clock, an office. We all have something different we need to do in order to get us where we need or want to be.

It’s not the same as having a nine to five job, but some need and do treat it like one. I don’t. I get up, do what I need to do, write what I need to write. And I love writing. I love this job, this choice I made but I have to be serious about it if I want to make it. So, I go to the coffee shop in the morning a few days a week to draw myself into the writer mind, though to be honest, my mind is always working, always thinking, always wondering about the story. But, it’s all in how I use my time that will get me where I want to go as an author.

It’s easy to squander money and time. We find ourselves buying more books than we write and spending more time on social media writing 140 characters than we do on our 40K novellas.

It takes discipline and structure to stick to or even come up with a routine, a ritual, a regimen. It’s different than having a to-do list, it’s having goals and accomplishing them. Sometimes the only way to accomplish our goals is to have the routine. Like me and my coffee shop and speaking of which, I should get back to my writing before I have to leave.

What is yours?

Thanks Selena for having me!

~lissa