Running With Quills! 
Drop by to read Susan's blog where she will blog every other week. Catch Susan's sister Quillers Jayne Anne Krentz, Stella Cameron, Ann Maxwell, Suzanne Simmons and Lori Foster as well.

Within a week after each of Susan's blogs, they will get posted on this page. Keep checking back regularly if you can't make it to Running With Quills on blogging day.

posted online at Running With Quills January 18, 2010

Susan Welcomes Lucy Monroe!

I first met Lucy in--I don't remember when exactly, but it must have been around the beginning of the millennium. She'd invited me and my brainstorming partner, Caroline Cross, to talk with the Olympia RWA chapter. Lucy was unpubbed at the time, but I just knew she would sell one day--and probably sooner rather than later--for she was professional, focused and filled with perseverance, three very important traits in this business.

And once she did sell--Lordy, Lordy, the girl took off like a rocket. Lucy's published just shy of 50 books since 2004, from publishers and lines ranging from Harlequin Presents to Samhain Inspirationals to Berkley Sensations.

Shew! It makes me tired just thinking about it. But for those of you new to Lucy's books this is kinda like hitting the lottery, because what a backlist, eh? So, please, everyone, join me in giving Lucy Monroe a big, Quills welcome!

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Two Weddings and a Deadline

Thanks so much to Susan for having me as a guest. You know I'm a fan of your books, just like the other readers here, but I think you rock as a person too. I'm sure everyone who visits here feels the same. :) You are, as someone wise and lovely once said, one of the good people. :)

On to my musings...

With all the reality TV shows exposing the most bizarre, indulgent and negative side of weddings, it's a little surprising elopements aren't on the rise. Weddings are on my brain in a big way right now because my youngest is getting married on January 31st. That just happens to be the day before my latest manuscript is due and two days before my next release, Moon Craving, hits the shelves. Timing is everything!

My daughter had originally planned to be a June bride, but she and her fiance decided they wanted a winter wedding instead. So, my carefully plotted schedule with all the time in the world to be Mother of the Bride went out the window right along with my sanity. I can't say I mind. No amount of stress can diminish my excitement over the upcoming ceremony and celebration. My oldest married last March, so we've got more recent experience with wedding preparations than we did for hers.

Weddings are wrought with meaning and potential and social context. They're also romantic and special and a reminder to every married person who attends about their own love stories.

Many of our current wedding traditions only date back as far as the Victorian era. For instance, bridal white? Not everywhere. In Japan the color associated with love is purple. In China white is a color for mourning. But here, yep, the most common color for a wedding dress is white. And why? Queen Victoria's break with tradtional bridal silver and the common practice of wearing one's best gown rather than a special bridal gown to get married in. (My daughter would be so disappointed if she didn't have that excuse to buy the Oleg Cassini gown and trundle down the aisle at the Adrianna Hill Ballroom in it.) Speaking of walking down the aisle, it is still common practice in many places for the bride and groom to meet at the front of the church without the bride's slow march down the aisle on the arm of her father.

The exchange of rings is also a fairly recent wedding practice and one I personally love. While some men and women still opt not to wear weading rings, it is definitely the exception, not the norm. (You don't want to hear the horror stories of cutting fingers off in emergency my oldest daughter told her sister when she found out the fiance wants a titanium ring. The fiance wasn't swayed however and his ring is gorgeous.) Did you know that in Greece the wedding ring is worn on the right hand? In some cultures the practice of wearing the ring on the left thumb as a symbol of devout love is still used. I don't really care what finger I wear it on, I just like that little symbol of my lifelong love for my dh.

I'm also partial to the whole "removing the garter and tossing it" tradition. Do you see the look on my dh's face as he removes mine? That man had some seriously kinky thoughts going through his head in that moment. LOL But tossing the garter and the bouquet came about because brides didn't want to be chased down for torn strips of their "lucky wedding dresses" (circa Middle Ages). Yeah, I'm thinking traumatic, how about you? And we thought it was stressful to catch the bouquet! It would certainly justify buying a pair of good running shoes before the wedding.

I love writing weddings as much as I love attending them. In fact, I've been known to write two ceremonies into my stories for different reasons. Below you can find a shortish excerpt of Abigail and Talorc's wedding in Moon Craving. I had a lot of fun writing that scene, but the one that moved me to tears is the private Chrechte (the name of my shapechangers) ceremony later in the book.

Yep, I'm a sucker for a good wedding and it's a good thing too...or I think I might be losing my mind right about now. :)

What are your favorite wedding traditions? The ones you find most bizarre?

Excerpt © 2009 Lucy Monroe

Talorc stood before the English priest in the small chapel. The MacDonald warriors and most of the English baron’s soldiers had to remain outside. His own warriors, the MacDonald and five of his men, his bride’s family and a few English soldiers were the only witnesses for the wedding to come.

There were no flowers, no pomp and ceremony for this royally dictated marriage. That should not have bothered him, but the soft-spoken woman he had met the night before seemed to deserve more. Even if she was English. She had been so vulnerable, and yet when he had demanded to know if she planned to marry him, she had taken her time replying.

She had weighed him. He could feel her doing it, and she hadn’t been adding up the size of his lands in her head. She’d been judging him personally and something inside him had refused to be found wanting.

She was nothing like Emily, which was both good and bad. He did not relish the prospect of being likened to a goat by another Englishwoman, but he had no desire to see Abigail Hamilton eaten up and spit out by his clan. Emily had come to the Highlands to protect this very sister from such a fate. He could not help believing her fears had been justified.

Abigail spoke in whispers, seemed oblivious to her beauty and had a nervous habit of holding her hand over her throat when she talked. As if she was preventing the wrong words from coming out. His wolf felt protective toward her like he had no other besides family. Since the only one left, his younger sister Caitriona, was now mated to the Balmoral’s second-in-command, it had been a long time since Talorc had felt those instincts stir so restlessly.

He wanted to believe it was only because the woman was slated to be his wife, but his wolf had shown no such concern for her sister when King David had originally instructed Talorc to marry Emily. The wolf had wanted to howl at the evidence of bruising on Abigail’s pale skin.

And then hunt.

Talorc spent his time waiting for his bride’s arrival glaring at the woman’s mother and forcing down the wolf’s threatening growls.

Lady Hamilton had that same greedy, unreasonable look to her that his stepmother Tamara had had. As if she expected the world to do her bidding and woe betide anyone who refused. At first, the bitch had attempted a smile, but Talorc merely warned her with his eyes how close to death she had come by mistreating the woman that was his.

The fact he had not wanted an English bride made no difference. The kings had dictated that Abigail was to be his and no one dared to mistreat a Sinclair. He was still tempted to kill Lady Hamilton, despite his bride’s pleas to the contrary. His wolf clamored for retribution, if not death.

Eventually, the English lady began to squirm under his hostile regard.

Good. She had no place in Abigail’s life and he meant her to know it.

Niall cleared his throat, but Talorc did not need the prompting. He had picked up Abigail’s scent the moment she entered the chapel. Fragrant herbs, known to heal, mixed with her own unique perfume creating a heady fragrance that called to his beast. It was all Talorc could do not to turn to watch his bride walk up the aisle.

It would not do to show such interest though. The English baron might take it as a courtesy. Not that his wolf seemed to care that Abigail herself was English. The beast never took notice of women, but he certainly noticed Abigail.

And wanted her.

With a ferocity that forced Talorc to keep strict control of the semi-stiff member under his kilt.

The wolf fought to get out and make itself known to the woman about to marry the man. Talorc had to concentrate harder than he ever had on keeping his wolf inside while he waited for Abigail to make her silent trek up the aisle on the arm of the baron.

Finally, he turned, if only to appease the wolf.

Abigail was not smiling, but she did not hesitate in her slow procession toward him. She looked scared, but determined and he respected that.

It was easy to face battle without fear, much harder to face it with uncertainty of the outcome. Eyes the color of rich earth reflected fear, but not terror. That was something. He should not care, but he did not like the idea that marriage to him would terrify her. It was natural for her to be somewhat worried about her future.

She was leaving England for the Highlands. Her life would never be the same.

Nor would his, a low voice inside him insisted. One that sounded suspiciously like his wolf.

Her long ringlets, the color of pure, sweet honey swayed just above her hips with each step she took. Talorc experienced an unfamiliar desire, nay need, to reach out and run his fingers through the silky strands.

He bit back a curse. Where had that thought come from? He had never wanted to touch Emily. Or any other woman. Not since the years during which his body had transitioned from boy to man. His sexual urges had run rampant then, but he had not acted on them.

He had not been ready for a wife and had not found a mate. He would never dishonor his family by not following through on the promises of the flesh either.

Unlike the Balmoral, the Chrechte among the Sinclairs believed sex a binding act. The Balmoral held more lax standards so their warriors could gain control of their ability to shift at will at a younger age.

Luckily for Talorc, his father had had the good sense to mate a white wolf who passed that ability at birth on to their children.

That control over the beast within him had never been truly tested until now.

The wolf wanted Talorc to claim Abigail in the way of his people, but he had no intention of doing that in front of a chapel full of people. Nor did he intend to mate her on anyone’s land but his own.

It was bloody frustrating, but for an Englishwoman, Abigail was beautiful and all too alluring. She had perfect bow-shaped lips in a feminine, oval face. Her nose was small and straight and her brown eyes were big and expressive. She’d tried to hide her body’s allure in the English clothes she had donned that morning.

She wore her father’s colors for the last time. The female tunic over the long dress covered every inch of her skin from her neck to her dainty feet. At least she wasn’t wearing the awful cowl-thing her mother had donned. He thought the English women called them wimples. Tamara had insisted on wearing one with the Sinclair, constantly reminding the clan she would not relinquish her English ways.

If Abigail thought to dress so, she would soon learn her mistake.

He would not allow it.

A question came over her lovely features and the baron blanched beside her. Talorc realized he was scowling. He smoothed his features into expressionless repose and put his hand out to take her from her stepfather.

The priest cleared his throat. “We are not yet to that part of the ceremony, my lord.”

Since the man spoke English, Talorc chose to ignore him.

He lifted a brow to his bride, asking why she had not complied with his request.

In a move that surprised him and clearly Sir Reuben as well, she dropped her stepfather’s arm, stepped around him and took Talorc’s hand.

He nodded, grasping her hand firmly and turned to face the priest.

The man looked flustered and took several moments to collect himself before beginning the service. In Gaelic after only one false start.

Talorc spoke the vows of his people in Chrechte when the time came, ignoring the murmurs around him.

When his bride’s turn came, he moved her so the saw only each other, not the rest of the congregation gathered as witnesses. He told her the vows to speak, speaking slowly so she would not stumble on the unfamiliar words.

Her expression puzzled, but accepting, she whispered them back to him, making lifetime promises he was determined she would keep.

If you'd like to read the rest of the scene, follow this link to my webpage: http://lucymonroecotm.com/excerpt_mc.htm

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posted online at Running With Quills January 5, 2010

Reads for the new year.

I'd intended to write about New Year resolutions...but, really, has anyone ever stuck to one of those? Me, not so much, no matter how sincere my intentions going in. Not being fond of that I'm-such-a-failure feeling, I've long since given them up. So I decided to write about books instead. Because, hey, we're all big-time readers here, yes?

I got to read a lot in December. I won't bore you with the reasons for my sudden free time (HQN!) but depite not planning on it, it was nice to have time off during the holidays. I particularly enjoyed having guilt-free reading time. I'm on one of my usual genre-within-the-genre streaks--this one paranormal--so I read the entire Lynn Viehl Darkyn series before Christmas. Then my sweet baby boy bought me the newest Charlaine Harris "Grave" mystery and the 2nd and 3rd in the Devon Monk Magic series, which I read mostly over the long New Year weekend while snowed in at our cabin. I'm currently reading J.R. Ward's Covet. I can honestly recommend them all--but am particularly pumped over Monk's books. She's got a terrific voice and interesting plots and they're set in Portland, Oregon, which for me just makes them that much more fun.

I'm heading out to get Jayne and Kate's new January releases--after which I think I'll probably be ready to move on to a new genre. Maybe I'll look into historical romance.

Hmmm. I wonder if Suzanne Enoch, Sherry Thomas or Elizabeth Hoyt have anything new. I'll have to check that out.

So what about you? Have any hot recommendations for me for 2010?

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posted online at Running With Quills December 7, 2009

Susan finds the perfect tree

Every year at Christmas time I say the same thing. "This is the prettiest tree we've ever had."

This time I really mean it.

Okay, I always mean it. But back in the 70s, when we first bought our house, I used to pick Christmas trees to fit the 9 foot ceilings. The problem was, they had a correspondingly giant circumference that took up half of the living room. Not to mention that in those days I had about 12 ornaments. It wasn't a happy marriage of circumstances and eventually I discovered Frasier firs and started getting beautiful little trees around 6 feet tall.

I didn't head out for the annual Christmas Tree Slaughter last Saturday with a new agenda in mind. The soul mate and I make a game of finding a tree with a yellow tag size that sports a red tag, which is less expensive. (Hey, have you seen the prices of fresh trees these days?) And the selection at the tree farm was outstanding this year. I guess closing a field for a year really pays off because I'm telling ya, every tree looked prettier than the last. I liked the first one I saw, but of course you can't just buy that without looking at a selection.

And I'm so glad I did. Our tree was nine feet tall before S cut five inches off the trunk, and it's full without taking up every inch of space. My ornament collection has grown over the years and with the smaller trees I usually have quite a few that I leave in the box. This tree took every single one and I could have used some bigger models.

At first I feared it was too big, but as I looked at the proportions I realized it was...perfect. And this really is the prettiest tree we've ever had.

Lights and trees are a couple of my favorite parts of the holiday season. That, and my copy of A Cup of Christmas Tea that my auntie Jean gave me in '88 and which I always put under the tree once it's decorated.

How about you? Do you have a favorite aspect of the holiday or decoration, ornament or book?

Happy holidays, from my family to yours. I'm taking a little hiatus but will be back the first part of the new year.

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posted online at Running With Quills November 23, 2009

Susan Presents: Margaret Mallory

Dont'cha miss the good old days when you could get your hands on a books about knights and kings and kirtles and stuff? Well, I have a treat for you, because today's guest blogger is Margaret Mallory, and she writes medieval romances. Knight of Pleasure, which is hitting the shelves as we speak, is the second in her series, ALL THE KING'S MEN, and--whoo-hoo!--she's giving away autographed copies to two lucky posters. Take it away, Margaret!

(Oh, wait, wait! I forgot to mention the pic below the star line. That's Caen Castle--there are several scenes in the book set here. Pretty cool, huh?)

Okay, now take it away!

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Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! Thanks so much for inviting me, Susan. I’m thrilled to be rubbing quills with such wonderful authors.

Tell me, when you are a bestseller, do your relatives still give you a hard time about your love scenes? It’s not that my family members don’t read plenty of books with sex scenes…but knowing I write them is something else altogether.

Shortly after my first book came out in July, I did a book signing at my sister’s library. She is the librarian in the town where we went to high school, so between relatives, old family friends, and library patrons, a lot of people showed up. Every time someone said they were buying my book for a daughter or niece, my mother would shriek, “She better be over 18!” My mother, who is not young, was prepared to wrestle the person to the ground if the answer was no.

With my second book coming out, I have visions of my mom standing in the romance section of her local bookstore checking ID’s to be sure no one underage picks up my book.

And then there are my in-laws. When they kept joking about how hot they were going to get reading my book, my 19-year-old son had to leave the house. (It was hard, but I refrained from going with him.) He told me later that thinking about “old people” having sex—and I suspect he meant his parents as well as his grandparents—was just too “disturbing.”

Your children, of course, don’t want to know that you ever had sex, let alone that you write love scenes for all the world to read. My son’s friends did not help matters when they threatened to read my love scenes aloud to the freshman dorm. How mature. I considered advising these young men that reading romance novels could save them years and years of missteps with women, but I bit my tongue.

Really, don’t you think romance novels should be required for college freshmen?

My son asked me to cut the love scenes from his copy of my book. Paper-clipping the pages or blacking them out was not sufficient; the offending pages had to be removed completely. He still hasn’t read it—probably because I warned him I could not possibly cut out all the places where my characters are THINKING about sex. It is a romance, after all. :)

While I have family members who want the love scenes removed, a number of men friends want to read ONLY the love scenes. They pretend to be joking when they ask for the page numbers—ha ha—but I don’t believe them. Yes, it is a little weird.

My daughter, at least, stopped being embarrassed after she saw how enthusiastic her girlfriends were about my books. Luckily, her friends are all over eighteen, so my mother won’t have to track them down and rip the copies out of their hands.

All kidding aside, my family and friends have been amazing in their support of my new career as a romance writer. I am sure every one of them accosts strangers in the grocery store to tell them about my books, and I am grateful. In fact, I dedicated my new release, Knight of Pleasure, to my parents. All the same, I hope they don’t read past the dedication.

It’s a good thing I don’t write my books for the relatives. If I did, they wouldn’t be fun at all.

I would love to hear your advice and comments!

~Margaret

www.margaretmallory.com

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posted online at Running With Quills November 10, 2009

Sister Susan Says: It's never too early to give thanks

Friday night we had a storm in Seattle. I was sacked out on the couch, finishing up Linda Howard's Burn, when around midnight lightening lit up the window next to me. Right on its heels came a horrendous clap of thunder. Electrical storms in this area are mostly seen over the Cascades, not downtown, so it was a rare event. But that was just the opening act, for the skies then opened up in a torrential downpour.

I knew Mojo was in but thought Boo must still be out as I hadn't seen him for awhile and he's a fool for the outdoors. I figured he'd want in out of this, however, and, boy, it was blowing when I opened the front door! Rain poured down in silvery sheets.

But Boo wasn't in his usual spot on the balustrade on the covered front porch. He wasn't perched atop the big blue flowerpot (which I've given up planting flowers in as he seems to think its his personal lookout post). So I headed for the door between our kitchen and the basement, since The Boys' backup stay-dry spot is under the back porch right outside of it.

The minute I opened that door, however, I got soaked in a deluge that blew literally sideways from the west--something else we don't often see. I heard the next day that winds got up to 60 miles an hour.

I abandoned Boo Radley to his fate and wrestled the door shut--and not a second too soon as the rain turned to hail. It sounded as if each individual pellet was the size of a golf ball, but I didn't reopen the door to check. Popular opinion to the contrary, I am not as dumb as I look.

As it turned out, Boo must have gone up to bed with the soul mate that evening, because by the time I got back to the kitchen, leaving little puddles of water everywhere I stepped, there he was, perfectly dry and looking sleep-rumpled. The hail probably woke him up.

I snuggled back on the couch and found it incredibly cozy being inside while the elements raged all around us. It reminded me of how lucky I am to have a nice dry house when so many people have no home at all. And that got me counting my blessings.

Ordinarily, I'd save this post for the day before Thanksgiving, but I've got a guest author in that time slot. And I'm thankful for the same things today that I will be in two weeks, anyhow, since they're pretty much what I try hard every day not to take for granted: a home and the people who fill it, steady work, good friends, brothers and a sister- in-law who help in the ongoing effort to take care of my mother and keep her in her home for as long as it's safe to do so. I'm so fortunate in the people around me, truly blessed.

How about you? What are you thankful for in your day to day life? You know me. Nosy--er, that is inquiring-- minds always want to know.

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