Sarah And Ty Drop In For A Visit

      Down here in sunny Florida, fall is (barely) in the air. No, we haven’t turned off the air conditioner. At our house, it runs practically twenty-four/seven twelve months a year. But the temperatures outside have dropped into the very pleasant mid-seventies, and the humidity isn’t quite as oppressive as it was in the middle of the summer.  With palm trees and evergreens dominating the landscape, the occasional flame tree provides a burst of bright red against all that green. 

 

Citrus ripens on the neighbor’s orange and grapefruit trees. The fruit promises a taste of sunshine when the temperatures drop lower.  

      Which they’ll do for, maybe, a day or two.  

      In January or February.   

      In the midst of all this fall-ish Florida weather the Chinese Ting that grows outside my office window has produced a bumper crop of berries.  Flocks of robins and butterbutts that have escaped colder, northern temperatures are drawn to the tree.  The birds cover the ground and roost in the wooded lot behind my house. 

      All these visitors remind me of the way I get the heroes and heroines for my books.  They drop in sometimes when I’m going about my business.  That’s how it was with heroine in Rancher’s Son, available later this month.  You’ve all met social worker Sarah Magarity before.  She played minor roles in The Daddy Catch and Rodeo Daughter.  But, when I sat down to draft the proposal for Rancher’s Son, Sarah practically took up residence in my visitor’s chair.    

      Over tea she told me about the cattle drive she’d sent two older foster kids on, and how a certain hunky cowboy had let her down when he abruptly returned the boys to DCF’s custody.  She showed me how passionate she was about improving the foster care system.  Unfortunately, her tendency to go out on a limb for the children in her care had not only broken her heart, but jeopardized her job.  So, she’d sworn to remain aloof, to keep her distance the way her boss insisted.  All her pent-up love went into raising orchids and plumeria instead. 

      The more she “talked” the more I thought Sarah deserved her own Happily Ever After.  But to give it to her, I needed a hero.  And I didn’t have one.

      I was at a loss until the Christmas Eve a five-year-old orphan landed on DCF’s doorstep with nothing but a birth certificate naming Ty Parker as his father.  Right away, I knew my hero had arrived on the scene. 

      Of course, a piece of paper didn’t prove anything in Ty’s book.  Any more than the protests of a self-righteous social worker.  A fourth-generation Florida rancher, this cowboy demanded paternity tests.  And as much as he insisted the child couldn’t be his, on the off-chance he was wrong, Ty refused to let the little boy go into foster care while they waited for the results. 

      Taking a young boy on Ty’s cattle drive made perfectly good sense to someone who’d grown up on a ranch.  But not to a city girl like Sarah.  She insisted on accompanying the boy.  To watch out for his safety, and see for herself if Ty Parker was daddy material.

      Clearly, Ty and Sarah both needed each other as much as they needed the little boy who’d been dumped in their laps.  That’s where my job—and a cattle drive through Florida’s version of the Old West—came in.  The result was Rancher’s Son, a book I hope you’ll enjoy when it’s released, just in time for the holidays, on November 27th.

 

 

      Don’t forget—we give away copies of recent Harlequin American releases by drawing the names of people who comment out of a proverbial hat each month.  So leave a comment to be included in the drawing. 

 

     Oh, and another surprise—the printer sent a double order of bookmarks for Rancher’s Son!  Would you like one?  Or a dozen?  (LOL)  If so, send me an email (leigh@leighduncan.com). Include your snail mail addy in the email—not here on this loop—and I’ll drop a signed bookmark in the mail to you.    

     

The First Day of School

Oh, that first day your little one goes to school. You hold their hand, tell them everything will be okay and secretly cross your fingers, praying that you’re right. Your mind runs a million miles an hour. Have you done everything to get them ready to solo in the big, wide world? Do they know their manners? Are they wearing the right clothes? Will the other kids like them? Finally, the time arrives. You see them off. Tears gather, and you’re not sure who cries the most—them or you.

Release day for THE DADDY CATCH, my second book for Harlequin American, was earlier this week. Its launch felt an awful lot like the first day I sent my little one off to school.

By the time this book appeared on store shelves, I’d lived with the story for several years. I nurtured Jess, a fly fishing guide, from a vague image of blonde hair and sun-drenched skin into a fully-fledged single mom, a widow who wants to preserve a piece of old Florida as a legacy for her little boy. Dan burst onto the page fully-formed, but we still went through a few rough patches until he learned that Jess’s love was worth more than the acceptance of his peers. There were edits, lots of edits. They made the book stronger, better. The Art Department dressed it in a beautiful cover. And the day finally arrived when the book was out there, on its own.

Fortunately, the early reviews of THE DADDY CATCH have been great. Romantic Times gave it 4 stars, calling it “a charming romance with a solid plot.” It was voted Book of the Week at Long and Short Reviews. Dear Author listed it as a “Recommended Read” for June.

Like a mom on the first day of school, I’m relieved my little one is off to a good start. And tomorrow, I’ve been asked to talk a little more about THE DADDY CATCH on the Harlequin blog (www.harlequinblog.com). Join me there, won’t you?

A Different Kind of Launch Day

Usually, when we talk about launches on this website, we're talking about our newest Harlequin American releases. Today, though, let's talk about a different kind of launch.

That’s a NASA photo of the shuttle Discovery sitting on the launch pad at Cape Kennedy. As I’m writing this, it’s lift-off day on Florida’s Space Coast. The shuttle Discovery is set to blast off on its final trip to the International Space Station a little before five pm. And that means tourists and visitors have thronged Brevard County. Titusville, especially, has taken on a carnival-like atmosphere.

There’s not a hotel to be had—for love or money—between New Smyrna and Palm Bay. Campers, tents and motor homes line the shore along the rivers. They crowd the parking lots at the beaches. Restaurants are jam-packed, and souvenir stands have popped up on every street corner.

Any rocket launch is an awe-inspiring sight, and a shuttle launch is extraordinarily spectacular. The thunder of a thousand freight trains fills the air. The ground literally shakes as more than two million pounds of rocket fuel provides nearly seven million pounds of thrust to get the big bird off the ground. Flames spew from the huge engines, creating a fiery trajectory that can be seen from as far away as Orlando.

But if you still have a shuttle launch on your Bucket List, you’ll want to book your travel plans soon. Discovery will be moth-balled when it returns from this flight. Endeavor makes its final trip to the Space Station in April. And after Atlantis lifts off in June, that’s it. Now that our space program is headed in a new direction, who knows when—or if—there’ll ever be another manned flight.

Pictures of Discovery on the launch pad and at lift-off courtesy of the National Air and Space Administration. View these and additional photos at www.nasa.gov


Discovery at Lift-off on 2/24/11

Here, Kitty

It’s a jungle out there. In my back yard.

When we moved from beachside to mainland eight years ago, Dear Hubby and I made the decision not to clear the back half of our one-acre lot. I have to admit, initially I envisioned something a little different from a wild abandon of palmetto and pepper trees. My original plan for the back yard included paths winding through the wilderness, hostas edging the line between grass and growth. Maybe a tree house and a swing. But since neither DH or I particularly like working outside in Central Florida’s ever-present ninety degree heat, yard work is, yeah, a problem.

Instead, we’ve decided to let Nature do her thing and hired people who mow the grass and keep the jungle behind a line that ever wants to creep forward. Some of my neighbors have clear-cut their back yards. They mow an acre of sod in straight rows. Not us.

We love the birds, I exclaim to anyone who bold enough to ask why. Our plot of overgrown jungle is on the map handed out to various species before they take off on their annual migration. So, twice a year—coming and going—every tree limb fills with robins, and the ground becomes a carpet of tiny little butterbutts. (See my Tipsy Robins post from 2/25/10.) We enjoy watching the squirrels, I tell neighbors who complain about torn screens and furry animals that can outwit the smartest bird feeder. I’m not so crazy about the raccoons, but once we wrapped our enormous hobo in bungee cords, those scavengers left the garbage alone.

Lately, there’s been a new addition to the menagerie of birds and opossums, armadillos and raccoons, squirrels and the occasional red fox that live in our back yard. A bobcat. Who, apparently, thinks we’ve laid out the welcome mat. He’s certainly made himself at home. This week, he prowled through the back yard, sniffed at the screen door, and bounded into the woods.

Pretty, isn’t he? I hope he doesn’t expect a bowl of milk ‘cause that’s one kitty who won’t be invited indoors.

Oh, What A Mess!

This is a picture of my office a week before I turned in The Daddy Catch. I have to admit, the last few days before I turn in a book are crazy busy. It doesn’t matter whether I’ve charted my progress throughout the process. It doesn’t matter whether I’ve stuck to “the plan.” Or if I actually finished writing ahead of time. Those last few days still lengthen into thirteen, fifteen, and sixteen-hour stretches.

As you can see in the photograph, piles of paper grow on my desk top. The box of revisions below it overflows. The calendar practically shouts the day’s assignment. And I can never find a pencil because they’re always buried under the last print-out—the one with all the yellow stickies and heavy marks. As for housework, forget about it. Dinner comes from the only restaurant that still delivers at ten pm.

Of course, the most important thing that happens the week before delivery is that I fall in love with the book all over again. Yes, I loved these characters from the very beginning. I've loved their story, loved telling it. Most of the time, though, I write and revise piecemeal--one chapter, one scene, one paragraph at a time. Doing that, it's easy to lose sight of the big picture.

But that last week—it’s magical. I cozy up in a chair and read the story from beginning to end. Little gems appear. I polish them. I see patterns and themes I wasn’t aware existed. At the end, there’s that “aaaahhh” moment when I'm sure this hero and heroine have the happily-ever-after they deserve.

And then…I deliver the manuscript, fix the world’s most understanding husband a celebratory dinner and clean my office.

See? All ready to do it over again.

Tipsy Robins

I had planned to regale you with stories about our drunken robins today. This winter’s record lows froze the berries on our palm trees. When that happened, the palm berries fermented on the vine or, in this case, on the frond. Those same record lows sent huge flocks of robins into our heavily wooded, Central Florida back yard, and kept them there longer than usual. The birds gorged on the berries. Result—a goodly number of tipsy robins. So, we were going to talk about my drunken birds who, when they do manage to get off the ground, can’t fly straight. But…

I set off the house alarm at five a.m. this morning. So, instead of tipsy robins, I have some heavy duty apologies to make.

Especially to Dear Hubby. Last night was one of “those nights” when insomnia got the best of him. He was finally drifting off to sleep when the claxon sounded loud enough to give us both heart attacks.

I am sooo sorry about that.

I’m sorry, too, that, even though I punched the code and hit the cancel button, the monitoring company called…an hour later.

And I’m very sorry that by then I was on the treadmill and didn’t hear the phone ring. I’m sure that nice young police officer was just doing his job when he banged on our door. And no, it wasn’t my idea to invite him on a tour of the house. He just wanted to make sure no one was holding a gun to anyone’s head.

As long as I’m apologizing, I’m sorry that thieves broke into our car just before Christmas and that the house behind ours was robbed. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have had the security system installed in the first place.

Most of all, I’m sorry that, despite living in a normally quiet neighborhood in a very small and very quiet town, we also live in a world where security systems are necessary.

I promise not to set ours off at five a.m. anymore. All that racket disturbs the robins. And if there’s one thing worse than a drunken robin, it’s a tipsy robin with a hangover.

Meet Leigh Duncan, HAR New Author

Please Welcome Leigh Duncan to the Harlequin American Line. Leigh’s debut book, The Officer’s Girl, will be available in April, 2010.

Thanks for the warm welcome. It’s an honor to be here.

Leigh, tell us a little about your family and where you're from.
I consider myself a Florida girl, even though I haven’t always lived in the Sunshine State. I grew up on the east coast of Central Florida and met the love of my life at the University of Florida—go Gators!—and we’ve been together, well…let’s just say a long, long time. We moved around quite a bit—14 different places in the first 10 years of married life—and spent some time in Guam and Los Angeles, and a number of years in the DC area before we came back “home.”

I have two kids, a son and a daughter, who remind me quite often that they’re all grown up now.

What did you want to be when you grew up? Have you always wanted to be a writer?
I’ve been making up stories and putting them on paper ever since I learned my letters in kindergarten. In fact, I still have one of those early stories—about a blind princess who wound up rescuing the handsome prince who rode to her rescue. So, I’ve always known I wanted to be a writer, even when I was working as a teacher, a secretary or a government contractor, I found time to write. I used to set my alarm for 4 AM so I could get in a couple hours of writing time before I had to get the kids—and myself—out the door. Now that the kids are grown and I’m not paying college tuition, I’ve quit my “day job,” and those 4 AM alarm clocks are over. Thank goodness.

So, you’re an early riser then? What’s your writing routine?
Yes, I still get up with the chickens. I’m normally out of bed and drinking the first of many cups of coffee by 5:30. I usually sit down at the computer around 8, finish with email and “surfing” and am ready for my writing day by 9. I meet with my critique partners once a week, but most days I write till my hubby calls to say he’s on his way home, usually about 6:30 or so. The next 30 minutes or so, I kick into high gear, fix dinner and straighten up the house if it needs it (there’s just the two of us at home now, so housework is minimal). Evenings we hang out, watch TV or visit with friends.

Sounds like you spend a most of your daytime writing. What were you doing at midnight last night?
Sleeping. Always. I leave the staying up late and worrying to my hubby. Those are his strengths.

Do you have any talents readers might find interesting?
Riflery and fly fishing. My parents thought an “involved” kid stayed out of trouble so my sister and I were “involved”. In the chess club (I haven’t played in years), and the drill team and the rifle club. I lettered in riflery at UF, and I shot in the National Matches in Camp Perry, Ohio. I didn’t win, but I shot respectable scores. But I’ve never been hunting. Not ever. For me, it was all about the competitiveness, the precision required to put ten rounds in the bull’s-eye.

I don’t shoot much anymore. My eyes aren’t sharp enough. I like fishing though. Especially the precision and symmetry of fly fishing. And if the fish I catch and release is bigger than my husband’s, so much the better. Hmmm. I’m sensing a pattern with competitiveness.

When did you consider yourself a writer?
Always. When the kids were little, I concentrated on children’s literature. Later, when my son was in school, I wrote the newsletter for his college baseball team. For a while, I wrote a workout journal for our local newspaper. I completed quite a few manuscripts that the publishing world is better off without. (They live in a time capsule to be dug up when I’m gone.) Along the way, I sold a few essays and a magazine article, but I have to admit, I didn’t consider myself “an author” till the day my editor called to say Harlequin American was buying my book.

Can you tell us one thing about yourself that would surprise your friends and family?
No more roosters! No more fairies! I’m done with those. Gifts are always appreciated, but think e-readers, luxury cars and expensive jewelry. LOL!

Why did you target the American Romance Line, Leigh?
I’ve been a fan of Harlequin romances ever since I stumbled across a stash of them at the house where I babysat in high school. Believe me, once I made that discovery, I was always available to babysit for that family. Once the kids were settled in for the night, I’d settle down too—with a glass of soda and a Harlequin romance.

Growing up in a small town in Florida, I loved reading about all the wealthy men and beautiful women, their fascinating loves and lives. The stories resonated with me because, even though the heroes and heroines were rich and powerful, the problems they faced were the same ones as the ones my friends and family dealt with.

Community, family and friendships always play an important role in the stories I love to read, as well as the ones I write. That’s why I was so drawn to Harlequin American Romance. I think it’s why my work found a home here.

If you could wish for anything, what would you wish for?
A book launch party like Richard Castle…champagne and fan-fare. But I’ll settle for everyone liking my book.

One last question before we let you go, Leigh. Tell us a little bit about “The Officer’s Girl” and how you came to write it.
I grew up calling the beaches just that—Cocoa Beach, Melbourne Beach, Indian Harbor Beach. But times, and terminology, change. After twenty years of living anywhere but Florida, we bought a home in Satellite Beach where, all too soon, up went the familiar hurricane warnings along with not-so-familiar evacuation orders for the “barrier islands.” Of course, I knew about the Keys, but they were hundreds of miles south of us. It didn’t make sense that my radio and TV were blaring orders to “get out, get out” every five minutes. Puzzled, I called my dear hubby at his office and asked him where these islands were off the coast of Florida.

“Our house sits on a barrier island,” he said dryly. “Start packing.”

After the hurricane safely passed, I started thinking, “What if?” What if Florida’s newest resident didn’t heed the orders to evacuate? What if she was a career girl with all her hopes and dreams dependent on her staying put? What if a hunky, but disillusioned, cop showed up on her doorstep? Would he take her into custody if it meant ensuring her safety? Could this unlikely pair fall in love?

That set the stage for “The Officer’s Girl.” When it’s released in April, I hope you’ll have as much fun reading Stephanie and Brett’s story as I did writing it.