Posts Tagged ‘romance’

Screen Shot 2014-04-22 at 12.33.03 PMAs author Lindsay Stanberry-Flynn, author of The Piano Player’s Son, points out in another stop on this tour, “the blog tour is the electronic progeny of the old chain letter, where you’d receive a letter and have to pass it on to ten of your friends to make something magical happen.” Here, the writer’s hope is to spread the word and attract readers along the way — in other words, make something magical happen!

I was asked to take part in this Writing Process Blog Tour by Chioma Iwunze Ibiam, a fellow writer in my Internet Writing Workshop group. The IWW, comprised of writers across the world, is good like this. Not only do we, as participants, nudge each other to greatness in our writing endeavors, but we look after each other’s marketing efforts. As everyone knows, the only way to sell books is word-of-mouth and good press. I thank Chioma for looking out for me. 

Chioma has a new novel slated for publication in September of this year. You can read more about her work here 


This tour requires answers to four questions about my writing and my process.


Marketing, marketing, and more marketing!

My second novel THE SECRET MISS RABBIT KEPT  was recently published and sadly, those characters are still inhabiting my head. I can’t seem to move on from their lives and into another story. I trust this will happen soon, but in the meantime, marketing calls. Books don’t get sold unless the word gets out.

Being a bit of an all-or-nothing gal, I’m hyper-focused while writing, and marketing is a distraction. I spent many weeks preparing my pitch and manuscript for the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award contest. This last week, I learned that Miss Rabbit is now among the Quarter Finalists in the General Fiction category! While marketing and promoting are not among my favorite activities, this ABNA achievement lends credibility to my efforts.


Screen Shot 2013-11-12 at 12.38.12 PMTHE SECRET MISS RABBIT KEPT is quite unlike anything out there in the General Fiction genre (in my very humble opinion, of course). Told in first person POV by sixteen-year-old Sophie, the story centers around her work in a nursing home. Someone not familiar with the story might scoff and say that’s not the kind of stuff anyone wants to read. Though there are some heartbreaking scenes, the story revolves around Sophie’s quest for answers to her abandonment as a newborn,  her frustration with Miss Mable Rabbit’s refusal to speak, and the life lessons Sophie learns along the way.  The book is a bit of a coming-of-age story, but the questions posed speak to readers of all ages.  Ripe with poignancy and humor, it’s a story of unexpected friendships and second chances.  As one of Amazon’s contest ‘expert reviewers’ said, “The psychology of this piece is brilliant.”


This particular book came about as a result of many things: my experience with adoption, my own work in a nursing home when I was sixteen, and the political climate of this country (as it relates to women’s issues). I wanted to offer my readers food for thought, as well as immortalize some of the dear souls who entrusted me with their care on their final journeys so many years ago.

I hope after reading my book, readers come away with a new respect for the elderly, as well as respect for the choices others make. I find we, as a nation, are often too quick to judge these days. Everyone has their burdens, yet so few take the time to consider this.  As my mother always liked to say, “Never judge a person until you’ve walked a day in their shoes.”


In this case, the title of the book arrived out of the clear blue. I had a vision of Miss Rabbit, but she refused to speak. From there, I used creative license in crafting the reasons for her silence. I built characters around her and filled in the blanks. As for the actual mechanics, I start in longhand on blank, unlined paper and flesh out the plot basics.  I transfer my rough work to a WORD file, where I spend days, weeks, and often months, writing, editing, and tossing what doesn’t fit. With Miss Rabbit, I subbed a chapter at a time to the writers at IWW, then made changes based on their feedback.

There are likely more efficient ways to craft a story, but none of them work for me. Every writer has their own system. The key is finding what works.

If I’ve sparked your interest in my latest book, I encourage you to download a sample at Amazon, or visit my website www.robincain.com

For the next stop on the ‘Writing Process Blog Tour’ please visit these participating authors. I’m certain you’ll find your next great read!



PETER BERNHARDT: Having grown up in Stuttgart, Germany, Peter spent the first twenty-three years of his life writing in German. That changed when he emigrated to the United States. After learning a new language in college and law school and after a civil litigation career with the U.S. Department of Justice, he finally found the time to harness the creative juices necessary for writing fiction. The combination of a German upbringing, a lifelong love of opera, and his experiences as an attorney inspired Peter to write ‘what he knew’. Now the best-selling author of The Stasi File:Opera and Espionage: A Deadly Combination — a spy thriller that takes place during the collapse of the East German police state after the fall of the Berlin Wall. The Stasi File was a finalist for Book of the Year by the British Arts Council and a quarter finalist in the 2011 Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award Contest. There is also a German edition Die Stasi-Akte -Oper und Spionage: Eine todliche Kombination. Peter also wrote Kiss of the Shaman’s Daughter , a tense mystery/thriller that interweaves the activities of a vicious gang of smugglers in Santa Fe, New Mexico, with the story of a lost treasure and a Native American family’s struggles during The Peublo Indian Revolt of 1680.

You can learn more about Peter and his work here. Read his contribution to this Blog Tour here.



DELLANI OAKES : Dellani Oakes makes her home in Florida, but she grew up in Western Nebraska. Bitten by the writing bug early in life, Dellani first pursued poetry as her medium of self-expression. Soon, she moved onto song parodies, short stories, and humorous essays until she took up writing full time when her youngest son started kindergarten. Since then, she has published five books: The Ninja Tattoo, Lone Wolf, Indian Summer, Under The Western Sky,and Shakazhan. Her two romantic suspense novels are with Tirgearr Publishing, though she has a historical romance and two sci-fi novels with Second Wind Publishing. She has also contributed to several anthologies, MJ Magazine, and shares her unpublished works on her blog. Dellani hosts two talk shows a month on Blog Talk Radio. Listen in every second Monday of the month at 4:00 PM Eastern for Dellani’s Tea Time, and every fourth Wednesday, at 4:00 PM Eastern for What’s Write for Me. You can learn more about Dellani here




BRIAN HEFFRON: Poet and novelist, Brian is a staff writer/director/producer at Public Television where he creates educational programming.  He has worked in Los Angles since the early nineties as a screenwriter and TV producer/director. A winner of Telly Awards, Aurora Awards, Videographer Awards, Emmys, and the Davis Award, he is also credited with creating the first animated web series on AOL entitled “Hollywood Nights”. Brian is the author of Sustain Me with Your Breath (a handmade poetry chapbook), a  poetry CD entitled, “Something You Could Touch”, and the novel Colorado Mandala. You can learn more about Brian and his work here.




© Robin Cain 2014

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Solving all the world’s problems is a bit of a task, wouldn’t you say?  Therefore, today, and only today, I am going to do something a bit different. Something a little sexy…something a little naughty… just to see if you’re paying attention. I mean, who has time to read all these blogs anyway and can’t they just be fun for once?

I’m posting a condensed excerpt from my last book, When Dreams Bleed. One doesn’t have to know the entire story or even the characters. This is just meant as a tease, a little ‘sexy’ to liven up your day.  Hope you enjoy –

Warning: Contains graphic material

Upstairs packing for her red-eye flight and unable to decide on which pair of black slacks to take, she hears the doorbell ring. Not expecting anyone this time of night, she tightens the belt of her silk robe and goes to see who is at the door. Peering through the tiny peephole, she fully expects to find a stranger. But much to her surprise, it’s him.

It has been awhile since he’s come to her door like this. After having parted ways on a bad note, she came to realize their attraction and desire had become too great a strain on their individual lives. With so much at stake, she’d decided – albeit reluctantly – to give their anger some time to subside. And though she had understood the logic of it, in principle, she knew she would miss him desperately. She’d forced herself to play this game – pretending to be strong, acting like it didn’t matter – but she continually felt as if someone had stolen a part of her heart.

She makes one last adjustment to her robe, takes a deep breath before unfastening the lock and opening the door to greet him.

“Well, what brings you here, stranger?” She isn’t sure what’s expected in a situation like this. It’s been awhile since he’s come knocking at her door.

“Hi,” he says, looking part-man, part-boy, and very ill at ease. “Can I come in?”

She steps aside to let him in, detecting the smell of alcohol as he brushes past her. She begins to wonder if maybe this hasn’t all gone too far.

“Have I caught you at a bad time?” he asks, gesturing to her robe. He seems uncomfortable, a little unsteady on his feet.

“No, no, not at all. I just took a shower and was packing for my flight when I heard the door. Are you okay?”

“Yes, I just needed some company. I hope that’s okay. I know we – well, I – told you I wouldn’t do this anymore.”

“You’ve always been welcome.” She lets her admission linger between them. “What are you doing out on a night like this anyway?” 

“The streets aren’t too bad yet. I thought you might like a ride to the airport.”

She ignores his suggestion. “Can I get you something to drink? I’m having a quick glass of wine.”

“No, thanks. I’m good.”

He follows her into the kitchen where she pulls a glass from an overhead cabinet. Grabbing a bottle of wine out of the fridge, she pours herself a drink. He wants to join her – take the edge off – but he knows he can’t. He sits and simply watches. She moves around the kitchen, her nakedness scarcely concealed by her short robe, but eventually sits down on the bar stool by the counter and crosses her legs. Their slenderness and length tease his senses. He imagines them wrapped around his torso.

“So, it’s nice to see you…here..again. Is something wrong?” She gestures for him to take a seat, but he doesn’t move.

“I’m fine. I just needed to see you.”

His forthrightness is a welcome change from the past, but she sees the tired look in his eyes, his slightly rumpled clothes and tussled hair, and wonders what he’s thinking. He doesn’t look well – like a man with too much on his plate. She longs to reach out and hold him, wishing he could extinguish the uncertainty she sees in his eyes. The memory of the unhappiness they have created for each other takes center stage in her thoughts, chasing all the “bitch” out of her, despite all she wants to say. The desire that remains between them is painful.

“Is there something you want to talk about?” Already sensing what he’ll say, she takes a long slow sip of wine and hopes it will bring some courage and some calm.

“No, I just wanted to see you. I’ve missed you.” His eyes shift to the floor, uncertain if his words are welcome. He can no longer make sense of the rules. Self-imposed rules, he knows, but rules nonetheless.

These words of his create a familiar charge for her, giving birth to another generation of his butterflies, which now flutter feverishly in the pit of her stomach.

“I’ve missed you, too, but you know that.” Their bond has now made it damn near impossible to do without the other.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

With the distance between them seemingly impossible to cross, he continues to stand a few feet away, with his hands uncomfortably stuffed in his pants pockets. He wants to take her in his arms, but awkwardly unsure of himself for the first time, he stands very still, watching her fidget with her wine glass.

“Haven’t we had enough of sorry?” Their promises to each other have yet to be kept.

“Yes, I’m sor…I mean, yes.”

They laugh, in clumsy acknowledgement of their mutual discomfort. He moves to take the seat next to hers while she tries to get the conversation going in another direction.

“They’re predicting this rain could break a record.” Suddenly aware of how silly she must sound discussing the weather, she knows neither of them has ever been good at small talk.

“I think it’s already starting to,” he says, unable to focus on the words. He wonders if she’s as uncomfortable as he is and walks over to sit by her, nudging his bar stool farther from hers before taking a seat. She smirks and rolls her eyes.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me. I don’t bite.”

“I know. I just didn’t want you to think…” Unsure how to finish the sentence, he stands again and slides his chair to a point halfway between them. “There, how’s that?”

“Okay, stop. This is silly. We’re both adults,”

He nods and they both fall silent for a time.

“Is it really alright that I’m here?” He isn’t convinced that showing up unannounced at her front door this time of night, after all this time of their playing other roles, is, in fact, something she wants.

“Yes, of course.”

Her eyes reveal what her words will not. He sees the fire that once burned between them and knows it’s still very much alive. No longer giving a damn about the consequences, he can’t do without her for a moment longer. Reaching out to take a hold of her waist, he won’t let her pull away this time. The silk of her robe feels as wonderful as he imagined. He pulls her close, trying to imprint the sweet aroma of her hair into his senses.

“Damn, I’ve missed you.”

Both of them fully understand the questions that linger between them, just as they know there are no answers. Yet they willingly and silently agree to go forward. Their desire has waited too long. She takes his hand and slowly slides it underneath the hem of her robe. She closes her eyes and leans into his touch, doing so without reservation or regret. 

He hears the sharp intake of his own breath.

His hands trace a slow deliberate path up her thighs and they find her skin to be as soft as the silk she wears. She moves to stand, allowing her robe to part, her tanned and tones body now exposed. She reaches up for his face and leans in to softly kiss him.

His arms climb inside her open robe and wrap themselves around her nakedness. As his tongue begins to explore her mouth, his hands seek the firm roundness of her backside. When he pulls her tighter, he hears her quiet seductive moan.

Sweet Jesus.

Her robe acquiesces and slides off her shoulders, falling on the floor, creating a small black pool that surrounds her bare feet. She now stands completely naked and still before him, but she doesn’t shy away as she sees him stare at her hardening rosy-pink nipples. A slow covetous expression spreads across his face and she smiles.

Now unable and unwilling to stop the appetite of her own desires, she reaches out and slowly unfastens his belt buckle. He stands very still and allows her to take charge. The painful strain of his throbbing cock against the ever-tightening fabric of his pants will not allow him to even conceive of a valid reason to stop her now.

She sinks to her knees and guides him into the warmth of her mouth. She grazes the tight skin of his buttocks with her fingernails and hears him groan. With very deliberate calculated strokes, she caresses the tensed muscles of his powerful thighs. She looks up at him, gently cradling him with her hands and mouth, and gazing into his lust-filled eyes, she slowly teases him with the tip of her tongue. She loves the power she now possesses.

His heart pounds and his body aches as a rush begins to build up deep within him. He lowers himself onto his knees and lays her down to float in the silky black pool of her discarded robe beside him. His eager, hungry flesh seeks the wet warmth of sustenance she now offers between her quivering thighs. It is then that they wordlessly yield to the urgency of their illicit desires.

Some things are just too hard to do without.

2010, When Dreams Bleed

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