I’ve gutted and redone two houses. I love it! Well, not the guting part, but the point where the sheetrock is newly primed and the floors are bare. And it doesn’t matter if it’s a bedroom or the living room, the possibilities are endless on which way to take the mood and color scheme.
The first time I had a room to decorate I panicked. It was only the bathroom, but still, it felt daunting. I had no idea where to start. The floor? The paint on the walls? The shower curtain and towels? Ahhh, my head was going to explode with possibilities. I really didn’t know what to do. So I started with the shower curtain. Think about it, besides the fixtures (which were neutral), your curtain sets the tone for the whole bathroom. So I poured through the local bathroom retailers trying to decide a color scheme. Once I’d chosen the curtain everything fell into place from the ceramic tiles to the pictures on the wall.
But every room I’ve redecorated since then seems to have started in a different place. Sometimes it was an area rug I just had to have. In another room it was a picture I knew would display perfectly over the mantle of the fireplace that decided the mood of the room. I once did a whole room around an antique chair. Truth-be-told, I’m sort of all over the place when it comes to decorating.
And what does this have to do with writing? Everything!
One of the first questions people ask me when they find out I’m a writer is, “how did you come up with that idea?” And I wish I had one answer for them. But my writing (much like my decorating) is just kind of this weird conglomeration of stuff that comes together. I really couldn’t tell you if a particular story started with a dream, a cool picture I saw, a setting I just couldn’t resist or the “What If …” question. My brain just sort of plays with all of the elements until it comes together on the page.
I’m what’s called a “pantser”. That is, I don’t know the full extent of my story or my characters until I’m writing. Then slowly after I’ve written a chapter or two, like painting the walls and laying the floor, my story has a foundation. The quirky details my characters develop, like the knick knacks in a room, (hopefully) pull the whole thing together to make a well rounded story for the reader.
My newest release “Love’s Bounty” is the second book in the Tilling Passions erotic suspense series about three sisters from Maine. Though it is written as a standalone story, there is an overarching story about the Tilling family that can be enjoyed through all three books.
A woman determined to protect her heart…
Landscaping in Delmont, Maine hasn’t been DEIRDRE TILLING’s only passion. Up until two months ago, it had included a live-in lover. Jilted for the third time in as many years, Deirdre’s decided to give up on love. With her feet firmly planted on the path of one night stands, she finds herself heating up the sheets with a dark haired stranger she met at her new employer’s party. But one night with the man who is both sexy as hell and compassionate, may not be enough.
An agent hell bent on proving himself…
DEA agent, AYDEN SCOTT, has a lot to prove after a disastrous drug bust in Miami three years earlier that left a member of his team dead. Working undercover as lead investigator, he’s determined to bring down an elusive drug cartel smuggling heroin into central Maine. He’ll use any means necessary to complete his objective, including sleeping with the suspected drug Lord’s landscaper, Deirdre. He just hadn’t expected the feisty redhead to be so much more than long legs and dangerous curves.
One night neither of them can forget…
Deirdre and Ayden both thought one sexually explosive romp in the sack would be the end of their relationship. But Deirdre’s arrest for heroin possession and her father’s near-fatal heart attack prompts Ayden to confess his true identity. When Deirdre is kidnapped by the drug cartel and used as a pawn, Ayden is forced to choose between his heart and his mission. The question is…who will survive his decision?
As fast as Jameson’s lawyer had gotten her out if the interrogation room, it had taken nearly an hour for the Cutler police to process her. She’d second-guessed her decision not to go with Jameson countless times while the wheels of justice rolled at a snail’s pace. She wasn’t naïve enough to think that Jameson hadn’t somehow managed to throw a wrench into her release.
Unwilling to wait for a ride at the police station, Deirdre had walked out the front door, called the only cab in town on her cell phone and come straight to the condo.
Now Austin stood in his kitchen, fixing her dinner and offering her help she didn’t deserve.
“Deirdre, here, drink this while I finish up the spaghetti. You’re still shaking.” Austin leaned over the bar and handed her the glass of scotch he’d just poured.
She attempted to smile, but her mouth, like every other muscle in her body, only trembled. Deirdre sat on the stool at the bar of the kitchen, sipping the scotch, hoping the liquid warming its way to her belly would take away the cold fear and confusion. Despite the heavy wool sweater Austin had pulled over her head, Deirdre was chilled straight to her core. She knew it had nothing to do with the night air.
“What did Mark have to say when you called him?” Austin asked. He stood at the stove absently sipping his drink and occasionally stirring the two pots.
“He thought it could’ve been one of the kids as well. It’s the only thing that makes any sense in this whole mess. I dump the refuse from my jobs at the school, and they use it as mulch on their farm project. Most of the time I leave the one-ton right there on school grounds.”
Deirdre shrugged before continuing. “They could’ve planned to pick up the drugs tonight while the truck was parked. Everyone knows I don’t bother to lock the equipment. There’s never been a reason.” She sipped absently at the scotch.
“With all the places that truck’s been and the number of people having access to it, it was no wonder Jameson’s lawyer kept them from arresting you. Anyone could get you off with the holes in that evidence. So what, the drugs were in your truck. There’s no way to prove they were yours.” Austin shrugged.
“At the moment my guilt or innocence doesn’t matter. Mark’s pulled the kids from the job. They won’t be going back to the Jameson estate. He’s figuring, with the arrest, we’ll likely lose the job anyway. I hadn’t thought that far ahead, but he’s probably right.” Deirdre thought about all the things she’d intended to do with the extra money. She knew better than to make plans. It only caused heartache.
Deirdre looked at Austin. “It’ll be for the best,” she said. “But it makes me feel like shit. I suppose I should call Shawn before I go traipsing up there tomorrow.” Tipping her head back, Deirdre downed the scotch. She knew it wasn’t the answer, but the numbing wash of alcohol would be a welcome relief from the overwhelming sense of doom beginning to envelope her.
“And to top it off, I’m bringing all this here to you.” Heat crawled up her cheeks. “After the way I treated you Saturday, I’m surprised you didn’t slam the door in my face.”
He turned to look at her, leaning against the counter. “Not in my nature to turn away a woman in need.”
“Even after she treats you like crap?”
“I’m a grown man, Deirdre. I knew the score that night when I brought you here.”
“But leaving the way I did was cowardly.” She toyed with the glass. “Would you believe me if I told you if I could do it all over again I’d do things differently?”
BUY Link for Kindle Lovers: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0057XV0F4
BUY Link for Nook Lovers: http://tinyurl.com/6a8fqvy
BUY Link for all other formats: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/68862
Award winning author, Nina Pierce, is finished gutting houses, but will no doubt continue to find interesting situations, pictures and “what if” scenarios to entertain her muse for years to come. You can find all her books on her website (http://www.NinaPierce.com) or follow her happenings on her blog (http://www.NinaPierce.com/blog), twitter (http://www.twitter.com/NinaPierce), or facebook (http://www.facebook.com/Nina.Pierce ) .