A preview of my May class on writing romance

Hi, guys. This may, I'm teaching an online class on writing love scenes for my RWA Chapter, Carolina Romance Writers. Here's an excerpt that should give you some idea of what to expect if you'd like to take the class.

Introduction:
FROM MILD TO WILD: CREATING SEX SCENES THAT ARE MORE THAN THE SAME OLD BUMP AND GRIND

By Angela Knight

If there’s one aspect of romance that we as a genre have trouble with, it’s love scenes. After all, many of us grew up being told that when it comes to sex, “Good Girls Don’t.” Or if they do, they’re not supposed to like it.

In reality, I think we’d all agree that a sexless marriage would be arid and dysfunctional. Not to mention doomed; what man is going to put up with a wife who doesn’t like sex? Yes, he may love her, but if she hates his body and hers to that extent, somebody’s in desperate need of some serious therapy. And what kind of husband would force his wife to do something she hated? I think the technical term for that is “rapist.”

We don’t publish that sort of thing anymore.

Of course, you could create a heroine who is sexually screwed up to that extent, but readers would expect her to have her head on straight by the end of the book. Otherwise, your couple is not going to get that promised “Happily Ever After.”

Thus we have to assume our heroines like sex with their handsome heroes, no matter how virginal they may be, even in sweet romances where the bedroom door remains firmly closed. So our heroines do enjoy sex.

It’s romance novelists who don’t.

Or at least, many of us don’t like writing about it. All together now: “It’s just Tab A in Slot B!”

I’ll grant you, the mechanics of sliding Tab A into Slot B may be the same, but only if you leave out characterization, emotion and the development of the romance.

My husband and I have been married for 24 years now, and I have no idea how many times we’ve made love. But every single time is different, depending on what happened that day, what mood we’re in, and what we decide to do to spice things up.

Strawberries, anyone? Whipped cream? No chocolate, though: it gave me a rash last time....

THE CRAFT OF LOVE

As a writer, I pride myself on writing love scenes that are vivid and emotionally intense. Readers read romance because they want to experience – or re-experience – the humming thrill of falling in love with an incredible, sensual man.

In fact, romance novelists who expect to find success must pay more attention to love scenes now than ever before. The newest generation of readers were raised on MTV and Sex in the City, and they do not expect us to primly hold back because we’re afraid of being called sluts.

They want us to show them what amazing lovers our heroes are, not just tell them that everybody had a really good time. What’s more, editors know that, and they’re looking for writers who are not afraid to deliver.

But selling books is not the only reason to write good sex. Love scenes provide writers with a way to depict emotional intimacy and romantic intensity with a power that can’t be achieved in any other way.

What’s the first law of writing good fiction? “Show, don’t tell.” There is no better place to show the sweet flowering of a romance than in bed. That’s where our characters are most naked – and not just physically.

Think about it. Why do sex scandals grab headlines? It’s because we all know that a person’s core character is revealed by what he does in bed – or in a men’s room. He can make speeches about family values all he wants, but if he’s assuming a wide stance somewhere, we know what’s really going on in his head.

The way our heroes and heroines make love tells us volumes about what they think of themselves and the opposite sex. If they’re tender and concerned for the other person’s pleasure, that says something. If, on the other hand, all your hero is interested in is his next orgasm, that says something too.

Even more revealing is the way in which his lovemaking changes throughout the course of the book. Yes, he may know how to make a woman’s toes curl from page one, but how does making love to this particular heroine effect him? Does his concern for her pleasure increase until his focus is solely on her joy rather than his own? That says volumes about his evolution as a hero.

And it also tells you a great deal about how the romance has grown.

GROWING THE ROMANCE

Every scene in a romance must do one of three things: develop the characters, develop the internal or external conflicts, or develop the romance. Otherwise it should be cut.

That definitely includes the love scenes. You can write the most sizzling scene ever put on paper, but if all it does is give the reader a thrill, it should be either rewritten or cut.

If there’s one mistake I see erotic romance writers make, that’s it: love scenes that don’t do anything. Sex scenes that are only there to give the reader a buzz may be fine in porn, but that’s not what we’re writing.

The focus in a romance is always the romance: the growth of love between two people, with all its rocky missteps and luscious pleasures.

Which is why traditional romances with three-page generic love scenes are every bit as bad as pointless erotica. If you’re including a love scene solely because your editor demands it, you’re doing something wrong. And you’re missing a golden opportunity to advance your story.

It’s my intention with this class to demonstrate how to craft love scenes that make your romance truly romantic.

Over the month of May, 2008, I will post a total of fourteen lessons, on the CRW Yahoo Group for the class. There will be one each Monday, Wednesday and Friday. You are welcome to ask questions whenever you like, and I will do my best to answer.

Lessons will include:
The three functions of love scenes in romance
Character development
Heroes
Heroines
Mapping the romance with love scenes
The First encounter
Middle encounters
Last love scene of the book
Conflict
Creating appropriate levels of sensuality, whether for erotic romance or traditional
Sensual detail
C, F and P words – what language should a romance writer use?
Conclusion

I hope you find the class useful, as well as good fun.

***

If you'd like to take the class, you can sign up here:

http://www.carolinaromancewriters.com/may08.htm

Thanks!

Angela Knight

Half of Me

As of today, I have officially lost 150 pounds. Dayam. Yep, both of those pictures are me. Actually, I've lost weight since the one in the green suit -- another twenty pounds or so. I'd take a more recent picture, but you'd see my red nose and haggard face from bronchitis, and I frankly don't think either of us needs that. And yes, I did lose that last stubborn six pounds from being sick as a dog the last week. Heck, I'll take what I can get. So anyway, I thought I'd discuss the things I've learned about myself and about weight loss the last 19 months.

1.) Gastric bypass surgery is not a magic wand. I thought it was. I thought I'd just plunk down my $26,000 (ACK!!!!) and viola!! Instant skinny woman.

Uh, no. A lot of people think it is that easy. They think it's the easy way out, that Weight Watchers or Jenny Craig is so much harder. Well, yeah, in some ways, it is easier. In all the hanging-over-the-toilet-throwing-up ways, no. In all the I-look-like-I-survived-a-knife-fight ways, no.

(That's my husband's standard line, by the way: I'm his knife-fighting kitty. Right after I had the laproscopic surgery, I was left with five small horizontal cuts at different points on my stomach. Mike, who is a cop, said, "You know, I've seen people who've been in knife fights that had injuries like that." That's when he threatened to punch the first person who said I took the easy way out. He spent a month sniffing bandages and watching me for signs of infection, so he's entitled.)

WILLPOWER, MY BUTT

Let's be clear here: I would never have lost the weight without the surgery. Period. Partly because I didn't believe I could do it. I'd watched my Mom struggle with obesity for my entire life, lose 80 pounds, TWICE, and gain it back both times. I knew I just didn't have my mother's ferocious willpower. I was screwed before I even started.

But you know what? I have a LOT more willpower than I thought I did. I realized that the first week after I had the surgery. I was staggering around the kitchen, sick as hell, hungry. And my husband had made himself and my son toasted garlic bread with butter. I was DYING to eat a piece of that bread, but I knew it would kill my butt if I did. So I didn't. And I thought, Damn, I have more willpower than I thought.

It was never about willpower. It is about consequences. For me, overeating never had immediate consequences. The consequences come later, quietly, in additional pounds, not in ways that you really feel as instantly painful. Gastric bypass gives food instant consequences that are highly unpleasant RIGHT NOW, and that makes it easy to say no. When you know that if I eat this chocolate cake, I'm going to be sick as a dog for the next ninety minutes, you freaking don't eat the chocolate cake, because it ain't worth it. Nothing tastes that good.

So I have plenty of willpower. I always did. I just never wanted it badly enough. Now I do. I have experienced what it's like to walk around without 150 extra pounds on my body, and let me tell you, it's a HELL of a lot easier. I am a devout lazy person. I don't like carrying around 150 extra pounds. It sucks. It hurts. Getting off the toilet hurts. Walking around the block hurts. Not being able to breathe sucks. Now I stride everywhere I go, and I like it.

I was thinking about this today. If you asked me to pick up 150 pounds and carry it right now, there is no way on God's green earth I could do it. And I've been working out. I've got biceps now and everything. I'm a lot stronger. But I couldn't do it.

I always thought I was lazy. People always think that fat people are sooo lazy, they don't want to work out. Well, think about this. Strap 150 pounds on your body and get on that treadmill and carry it for a mile and a half for thirty minutes. I defy you.

No wonder obese people don't want to work out.

Yet I used to do that three times a week, every week. That took a hell of a lot of willpower and determination I never gave myself credit for.

I think a lot of obese people sell themselves short because everybody else sells them short. They just look at the weight and think, "Ah, you're lazy, and that's why you're fat." But we're not. We can do it.

We just don't think we can.

Secrets of the Roux-en-Y Sisterhood

I learned a few things over the past 19 months about losing weight. First off, I learned that protein is key to weight loss. They tell you it's all about cutting calories, but let me tell you, if you ain't getting enough protein, you can't loose weight no matter how you try. Gastric patients only get about 300-600 calories a day those first few weeks, so cutting calories is NOT a problem. And yet sometimes we get stuck. That's because we're not getting enough protein. Without protein, your body doesn't have what it needs to metabolize the fat.

So for us, all the focus is on getting in the 68 grams of protein you have to have every day to live. That's more complicated than you'd think, because your body can only absorb about 25 grams at a time. So you can't just eat one big bar or something. You have to make sure you get it in usable chunks. I found a nifty protein drink I loved here: http://www.bariatriceating.com/achievone.html

It's called Achieve One Cappuccino drink, and it's the only protein drink I was ever able to stomach at 20 grams a bottle. It can be hard to get, but it's worth it.

EXERCISE IS GOOD FOR MORE THAN JUST YOUR BUTT

I also discovered that exercise is my life-saver. For all that I always hated to work out before my surgery, I realized that it was the solution I've always been looking for when it came to stress and anxiety. Unlike antidepressants, it's instant -- you don't have to wait six weeks for it to kick in. A good work out can burn off more screaming stress than anything I can think of, with the possible exception of good sex.

I have come to see it as a necessity for my mental health, not just something I do to look good in jeans. Cause frankly, my jeans aren't a good enough incentive. Keeping myself from going batshit, however, is.

SOMETIMES YOU'RE NOT HUNGRY, YOU'RE THIRSTY

My Weight Watchers leader says this, and it's true. The nerves in your stomach that detect hunger also detect thirst. So if you're hungry, and it's not time to eat, drink something instead. That may be way you really need.

Anyway, those are a few of the lessons I've learned on the way to becoming half the woman I was.

By the way, soon after I started work on this blog, I learned that Shifter, my new anthology, hit #14 on the New York Times list. So I have TWO major things to celebrate today!

So I'm doing the Kermit the Frog dance of ecstasy!

SHIFTER HITS BOOKSTORES!

Dear gang --

For those of you who are anxious for an Angela Knight fix, my new anthology, SHIFTER, featuring "Mad Dog Love" will hit shelves Tuesday. SHIFTER also features work by Lora Leigh, Alyssa Day, and Virginia Kantra, all wonderful authors who have penned steamy, delicious stories for the anthology.

I've written 20 novellas since my first was published in Secrets 2 back in 1996. I've got to admit, "Mad Dog Love" is my favorite of the lot. I just loved the idea-- a futuristic werewolf finds himself a slave, and is not happy about it.

Rance Conlan is from a world three hundred years from now --a planet so dangerous, people had to genetically engineer a race of werewolf protectors just to survive there. But Rance isn't just fuzzy. He's also an interstellar trader who is helping a group of revolutionaries fight a neighboring interstellar empire. Rance hates the empire because slavery is legal there, and its slavers frequently capture and collar citizens of the Freeworlds.

When our story opens, Rance has been betrayed and captured himself. To his fury, he finds himself sold to a beautiful mystery woman who is on the run from assassins. Here=s an excerpt:

Market Station,

The Lorezo Interstellar Empire,

The year 2450

Rance Conlan prowled his cell like the caged wolf he was, anger boiling through him with every long pace. There was nothing to divert his rage, since the cell held only a cot built into the floor and a toilet unit that thrust from the wall. Both were stark, white, and rounded, without so much as a sharp corner he could put to bloody use.

Not that it mattered. All he had to do was Shift, and he'd have fangs, claws and two meters of werewolf muscle at his disposal. Trouble was, the slave collar wouldn't let him Shift.

One of the new slaves sobbed in her cell on the other side of the bulkhead, her voice thick with despair and aching grief. Her tears scraped at Rance's Freeworld-bred instinct to protect and comfort. Adding to his frustration, the doorway of his cell lacked either bars or barrier field, creating the illusion that escape was possible.

Unfortunately, Rance knew better. If he so much as stepped over the threshold, agony would cripple him.

Bloody collar.

He glared at the empty doorway in brooding fury. All his life, his Nanobot system had provided him with absolute control over his body. The molecule-sized robots traveling through his bloodstream gave him the ability to heal any illness, tap superhuman reserves of strength, communicate over vast distances, access any fact he needed to know. Even Change into something not quite human.

On the savage world he called home, a man had to be more than a man to survive.

Rance's Nanos had given him that kind of power -- until slavers had captured him three months ago. The collar they'd locked around his neck had reprogrammed his Nanosystem and turned it into the instrument of his enslavement. If he attempted rebellion now, the 'bots would plunge him into a screaming red hell.

But that wasn't going to stop him. Nanos or no Nanos, he'd find a way to escape. The traitor who'd handed him over to the slavers was damn well going to pay.

"Mad Dog!" The voice rang down the corridor, arrogantly nasal. The sobbing from the cell next door cut off as if a switch had flipped.

Smart girl.

"Mad Dog, I've found a potential buyer." The slaver strutted through the cell doorway with two hulking cyborg bodyguards at his heels. "An Aristo courier looking for a werewolf bodyguard. And you'd better not space the deal, or you'll curse your mother for birthing you into hell."

Ortio Casus had a taste for melodramatic threats. Trouble was, he also liked carrying them out.

Rance ignored the little bastard, all his feral attention focused on the two 'borgs. They were as powerfully muscled as their boss was thin, dressed in steel gray Nanotium body armor and black-visored helmets that concealed their faces. And they were entirely too alert, apparently well-aware of just what Rance was capable of.

Bloody hell. All he needed was a moment's inattention. Even a little boredom would do. Too bad they were so well-trained. Probably ex-Imperial Marines. Especially the leader of the two, Captain Aaren, who'd first hacked into Rance's Nanosystem...

“Did you hear me? I said I’ve found a potential buyer." Casus glowered, jerking his weak, bearded chin upward in irritation. As usual, he was dressed like the Aristo fop he longed to be: gaudy velvet and too much lace. But what interested Rance was the glittering array of rings he wore on every finger. One for each slave in the cells.

Rance suspected the big ruby on Casus's right hand controlled his particular collar. It’d be interesting to bite the ring off that spidery finger and find out. A quick Shift to wolf form, a snap of razor fangs, and....

The pain slammed into his groin so fast and brutally, his knees buckled. Rance crashed to the floor, his body jerking into a helpless fetal ball. He gagged, struggling to breathe despite the sensation of a big fist slowly twisting his dick with sadistic strength.

Fucking Nanobots.

He must have met Casus's gaze again. The little prick hated it when he did that. Probably because he could see the patient death waiting in Rance’s eyes.

The pain abruptly ended, leaving him to collapse in sweating nausea.

“If you ruin this deal for me, I’ll see you dead!” Casus snarled, red-faced and quivering. “You’ll scream for days, Mad Dog. Days, do you understand me?” He raised the riding crop. “Do you?”

“Yes ... master,” Rance gritted, because to do anything else would bring more punishment and accomplish nothing. Slavery had taught him he couldn't afford empty gestures, no matter how satisfying it might be to spit in the bastard's face.

He had to pretend to submit, regardless of the humiliation. With any luck, a new master would be less wary than Casus. Rance would only need an instant’s inattention to do his killing and make his escape.

Mollified by Rance's pretended submission, Casus drew himself to his full height -- such as it was -- and straightened his lace cuffs with a fussy jerk. “Good. My guards will prepare you now. But if you dare meet her gaze with those yellow mad dog eyes, you’re a dead man. One way or another, I want you out of my stable. Either she buys you, or...”

Rance concealed a frown. She?

***

Zarifa Lorezo pushed the heavy gold drapes aside and stared out the porthole beyond. An Imperial Courier maneuvered to dock at one of Market Station's other arms, its thrust nodes glowing blue as it edged into its assigned slip.

Was her vicious fiancé aboard? Gerik often used courier ships on his secret missions for the Regent.

Zarifa sent up a silent prayer that he wasn't on that ship. She'd tried so hard to lose him. The course she'd flown had been almost ridiculously intricate -- making orbit at one world only to immediately blast into Superspace headed for another. Her trip here to Market Station had taken more than a week longer than it would have by direct flight.

Still, she was only delaying the inevitable. Gerik Natalo would catch up to her sooner or later. They didn't call him the Regent's Fist for nothing. He served his father's whims with fanatical devotion, and Umar Natalo wanted her back.

Zarifa’s right hand tightened on the hilt of the sword that hung at her hip. As she shifted her booted feet restlessly, a thin knife of agony stabbed her ribs. She stifled a hiss. The wound was almost healed, but the pain remained, a silent reminder of Gerik's last attempt to bring her in.

Her new system had been worth every Imperial she'd paid for it. Less than a week had passed since the bastard had driven his sword into her side. She’d have bled to death if not for the Nanos that had accelerated her body's healing. Yet she had no illusions: if her fiancé hadn't been intent on taking her alive, she'd be a dead woman now. The Regent's Fist was simply too powerful, too skilled. Too deadly.

She had to make sure she had a protector before he caught up to her again.

“Lady Selan?”

Zarifa whirled, damn near drawing on Casus before she managed to stay her hand. She slid the sword the inch back into its sheath and wiped the feral determination off her face. “Yes?”

The slaver gave her an oily smile, gaudy in his yellow silk waistcoat and green velvet jacket. A tradesman with pretensions, her father's ghost whispered. His eyes flicked nervously to the white-knuckled grip she had on her sword hilt. She wondered how quickly he’d sell her out if he knew who she really was. He’d call the Palace before I was halfway out the door.

Luckily, the image her Nanos projected would keep him from recognizing her. Between that and her cover identity of slightly shady Aristo courier, she should be relatively safe.

Unless Gerik showed up with a warrant for her arrest....

Casus sketched an elaborate bow. “The slave is ready for your consideration, milady.”

“Good. Show him in, please.” Zarifa squared her shoulders and braced her booted feet apart as the slaver turned to gesture at one of his men.

The thought of buying a slave set her teeth on edge. If she'd had her way, she'd have outlawed slavery years ago. If it was illegal to enslave Imperial citizens, it should be just as unconstitutional to kidnap and collar Freeworlders. Unfortunately, the Regent had ignored all her arguments. She suspected he was probably involved in the slave trade himself.

Umar did love his money.

And wouldn't it be ironic if one of those slaves turned out to be her salvation? Too bad she couldn't afford more of them. She'd be happier with a whole phalanx of werewolves to escort her on her mission. Unfortunately, buying the ship had left her funds so drained, one Shifter was all she could afford.

Frowning, Zarifa used her thumb to twist the diamond ring that rode her right hand, a nervous habit formed in the last stressful month. The intricately engraved band felt cold on her finger, heavy with old debts and lost honor.

The door whispered open. Zarifa looked around just as one of the guards led the slave in on the end of a silver chain.

And she forgot everything else.

The Shifter prowled between the overstuffed pseudo-Victorian furnishings, naked except for a gleaming black collar around his neck. One sweeping glance branded him on her senses -- the hard, angular features, the broad, powerful curve of his chest, the ripple of brawny arms and legs. The swing of his heavy sex between his thighs....

She looked away, feeling her cheeks burn. Right into Casus’s amused, faintly contemptuous gaze.

Alarm jolted through her. I'm blowing my own cover. The jaded Aristo she was pretending to be was not the kind of woman who'd blush at the sight of a big cock.

But my lover was nothing like that, a tiny voice protested.

Zarifa ignored it. She had a role to play.

She started toward the Shifter with as much swagger as she could manage. He didn’t meet her stare even when she stopped bare centimeters away.

Her eyes were on the level with his small, dark nipples. She looked down, along the rippled plane of his hard belly, deliberately forcing her gaze to his sex. Sweet Lady, how big would it be fully erect?

She ordered her Nanosystem to cool her cheeks before they could heat again.

Zarifa looked up into the Shifter's face. His eyes still refused to meet hers, but she saw now they were the color of ancient coins, a bright gold that was not entirely human. His hair was a rich, deep sable that gleamed like fur, cut ruthlessly short, yet still showing a hint of curl. She could almost feel the smooth silk of it against her fingers.

God, she craved the touch of another human. Entombed in her fortress of fear, she hadn't dared let anyone close. Especially a man.

Especially a man like this.

True, he wasn't the most handsome male she’d ever seen. The aristocracy habitually sent its most beautiful sons to her court in hopes of attracting her eye. Despite the breathtaking power of his body, the Shifter's features were too rough for that kind of perfection. His nose was a bit too flared across the nostrils, his deep-set eyes too feral, his cheekbones not quite knife-edged enough, his chin a little too stubborn.

But it was his mouth that fascinated. His lower lip was full with the promise of lush eroticism, yet his upper lip was thin, with a faint twist that suggested pain and bitterness.

Gold coin eyes darted up to meet hers. For an instant, they blazed hot with male interest as those beautiful lips curved into a knowing smile. Then he looked away, leaving her heart pounding in desperate lunges as she remembered everything they said about Shifters.

She could have him. Have him as she’d not dared to have a man since the Regent had ordered her lover’s murder. Six years, she’d lived like a Lady’s Nun, not daring to allow so much as a stolen kiss from the beautiful men who surrounded her. Fearing what the Regent would do to protect his power and keep the way clear for his son's claim. Only Gerik had touched her, and his hands had not exactly been welcome.

But she could have this wolf. Buy him. Own him. Take him to her bed.

You’re letting him distract you, her father’s ghost whispered. You’re not buying him for sex. He's a means to regain our lost honor. That's all.

Zarifa forced herself to step back. Forced her eyes not to drop to his lengthening cock. “I need a protector. Can you fight?”

White teeth flashed in a hard, reckless smile with just a hint of viciousness. “Yes.”

She flicked a glance at the guards in their gray Nanotium armor. “Show me.”

“Now, Lady Selan...” Casus began nervously.

But the Shifter was already moving, spinning, one bare heel lashing out to slam into the nearest guard’s armored belly. It must have hurt, but he didn’t even break step, pivoting to ram a fist into the man’s faceplate, following up with a series of furious hammer blows to the 'borg's head and body. Blood flew in a crimson arc, but it was from the Shifter’s own splitting knuckles.

Yet he didn’t seem to feel the pain, his face twisted in an animal snarl as the guard stumbled back from the fury of his attack.

The second cyborg dove at him with a roar. The Shifter ducked the charge and danced back, throwing another brutal punch. And then another, and another. More blood flew from his hands.

Zarifa caught her breath. The rage in him, the fury boiling to the surface to spill from his pounding hands and savage kicks --- it was as if the Lady herself had given Zarifa's own frenzied, angry frustration human form.

But human as he was, he couldn’t hurt his guards, could only break himself against their armored bodies.

“Shift!” she snapped, feeling wild and reckless. “Shift now!”

Gold eyes flicked to hers. He bared his teeth.

“No!” the slaver gasped.

But sable fur was already spreading over the Shifter’s bare skin, his body bulking even larger, his face lengthening into an elegant muzzle. His ears rose into lupine points as his big hands and feet grew deadly curved claws. He turned his feral golden eyes on the guards....

“Down!” Casus roared.

The Shifter roared in agony and dropped to the ground as if he’d been shot. The fur melted away as his body returned to human form, writhing and kicking in anguish.

Zarifa knew exactly how that felt. The pain. The helpless, searing rage. The black shame of being a puppet to callous men.

Her gaze shot to the slaver, who wore a smile of grim satisfaction now. “I told you what would happen, Mad Dog,” Casus spat. “I warned you.”

The next thing Zarifa knew, her sword was in her hand and pressed hard to the slaver’s throat. A tide of red washed over her vision. It seemed she could almost see the slaver's blood streaming under her blade. Casus's thin lips pulled into an O of terror.

She bared her teeth. "Let. Him. Go."

Come take a look at my new Podcast with Gail Martin

I met Gail Martin a few months about at a reader's even in Charlotte, NC. I was very impressed with her and her wonderful book, so when she asked me if I'd like to be interviewed for her podcast, I gladly said yes. Here's what Gail had to say in her blog:

I had a great time talking with Angela on my Ghost in the Machine podcast
http://gzmartin.audioacrobat.com/rss/gailzmartinpodcast.xml . Even though
Angela writes paranormal romance and I write fantasy adventure, it was fun
to share our love for vampires and the supernatural. I’m much more
interested in a story if it has ghosts, vampires and haunted houses—with
some romance as well!

It’s fun to see how much “our” type of fiction has gone mainstream.
Finding a romance book with a hint of anything ghostly or supernatural used
to mean digging through a handful of “gothic romance” titles. Now,
vampires, werewolves and supernatural romance rule. It’s blurred some of
the old lines between romance and fantasy, which is a good thing. I do a
lot of book signings, and I see how people wander through bookstores. Most
people head right for their favorite section and never look around at all
the great books they might like that are shelved elsewhere. After talking
with Angela, I wandered through the romance isle and was delighted at the
types of stories I found that had a great mix of paranormal and passion. I
dare you to explore the fantasy aisle where my Chronicles of the
Necromancer books are shelved (The Summoner, The Blood King), and you might
just discover that there’s more than a dash of romance spicing up tales of
magic and mayhem! Gail Z. Martin—www.ChroniclesOfTheNecr

omancer.com

Please drop by and take a look at her site!

And here's what I have to say about Gail in particular and SF in general...

I was really honored when Gail asked me to be interviewed in a her podcast on her website. I had a ball talking to her about creatures that go bump in the night, and why writers and readers can't seem to get enough of them.

I'm also a huge fan of science fiction and fantasy, and have been for years. True, I write romance, but I also love having my imagination and sense of wonder challenged. That's something Gail does with flair!

Urban fantasy is another genre that really speaks to me. I'm hooked on Jim Butcher's Dresden Files series, along with Laurell K. Hamilton's Anita Blake and Merry Gentry books. I adore the Sookie Stackhouse series by Charlaine Harris, as well as Pat Brigg's Mercy Thompson series. Other keepers include anything by Wen Spencer and Lois McMaster Bujold, who is simply wonderful.

As a writer, I've recently begun work on a new science fiction romance series called TIME HUNTERS. The heroes are genetically engineered cyborgs who leap through time in pursuit of time traveling criminals. I just finished the first book of the series, Time Hunters: WARRIOR. Look for it in July.

For more about my work, check out my website at www.angelasknights.com. I'm in the process of having the site revamped, and I hope to have it up soon. Thanks!

Angela Knight

Writers and Depression, Part II

I've talked about my struggles with depression in previous posts. A couple of months ago after my grandmother died, I had another severe bout of it. And I found a technique to get out of it I'd like to share.

In my case, depression seems to come paired with extreme anxiety. I'd find myself sitting there bouncing my knees in a frantic attempt to burn off nervous energy. I couldn't sleep. Worse, I had the horrible feeling that my battle was pointless -- that sooner or later, I was doomed to kill myself. There was no point in even trying to fight it any more.

I was so frightened, so out of control, that I went over to my sister's. She's been my dearest friend all my life, and she knows all about the way anxiety has tormented me. So I sat down on her couch, bouncing my knees and trying to put my fear into words. And she looked at me and said "You don't have to do this. You have been through this often enough to know what you can do to regain control. You can choose to do something about it, or you can choose to let it destroy you."

It was like having someone splash cold water in my face.

She reminded me I had already found out that exercising helps the anxiety and depression. She also suggested finding a tanning bed and spending about five or ten minutes in it, being careful not to get a sunburn. And she said I could also get a massage.

These are really simple things that are very effective.

I had also just started back on Lexapro, an anti-depressant and anti-anxiety drug that, unlike some, reduces appetite and weight gain instead of causing people to put on more weight. Thing is, I have found that right after I start back on Lexapro, the anxiety and depression actually gets worse for a couple of weeks. Around a month out, it finally kicks in and stabilizes the mood, but you need to be aware of the effect, or you'll think you're getting worse.

I seized on my sister's suggestions with the enthusiasm of raw desperation. The gym is open until 10 p.m., and it was 8, so I drove over there at once and spent the next half-hour on the treadmill and the elliptical machine, working up a sweat and burning off all the agonizing stress I'd built up. That night, I was able to sleep for the first time in days.

The next day, I had an appointment with my personal trainer. I really pumped hard on the weight machines, forcing myself to push despite the pain of my burning muscles. By the end of the hour, my muscles were aching, but the anxiety had burned off again. A sense of well-being filled me.

Unfortunately, I quickly found it didn't last. Whenever the anxiety started clawing at me, I'd head for the gym and the treadmill and the weight machines. Soon the anxiety and depression began to lift, especially after the Lexapro finally kicked in. But I am truly convinced that my workouts stabilized me and got me through the worst of it.

My sister was right. I wasn't helpless. I could fight depression and anxiety. I don't have to let it kill me.

My trainer says exercise is an effective treatment because scientists have found it returns the body to hormonal balance. Someone else wrote in response to an earlier blog that one recent study compared anti-depressants, talk therapy and exercise in depressed patients. Scientists found the ones that exercised did the best. However, I think combining the three would be even more effective.

By the way, I think Lexapro also helps my creativity. I know there is a big difference in my writing when I'm taking Lexapro and when I'm not. Lexapro works by liberating the brain chemical serotonin, which is also affects mood, appetite -- and creativity. (The only bad thing about Lexapro is it tends to decrease desire because it turns testosterone into serotonin. And testosterone is the hormone that is responsible for sexual appetite. I have found I can reduce that affect with a testosterone cream prescribed by my doctor, who had used a blood test to determine that my testosterone levels were too low.)

I know, I know. People are always telling you to diet and exercise -- it's supposed to be a cure for everything from cancer to Alzheimer's. Unfortunately, exercise is also tiring, and it hurts, which is why I was never much interested in doing it. It's much easier to stay at home and eat a box of Godiva's.

But I swear to you, my workouts have made a huge difference in my mood and my stress levels. I really believe that if you're struggling with depression and anxiety, working out will help you. It won't be easy at first, but I think you'll notice positive effects on your mental state very quickly. Then, if you're still having a problem, you can try an antidepressant like Lexapro on top of that. But you need to stay on the antidepressant and keep working out two or three times a week to make sure you don't backslide into depression.

You can survive this disease, but it's like heart disease or diabetes -- you have to treat it. Ignoring it will only allow it to kill you. Exercise is one hell of a good treatment.

There are other benefits too. As of today, I have lost 137 pounds since I had gastric bypass surgery Aug. 29, 2006. I feel 20 years younger, and I'm no longer in constant pain from my knees and joints.

When I started working out, I could only bench press about 15 pounds. Now I'm up to 37, and I've increased all the other weights I use too. Because I work out, I don't have as much loose skin as many other gastric bypass patients who have lost a lot of weight. And at 46, I'm stronger now than I have ever been in my life.

On the other hand, my mother is 67, and is morbidly obese. Being overweight for so many years has destroyed her joints, and she's in constant pain. She's going to have to undergo painful joint replacement surgery. I wish it was possible for her to have gastric bypass surgery, but at her age, it's just not a good option.

I urge you to exercise and try to do something if you have a weight problem. I think you will find it's more than worth the effort, especially if you're dealing with depression, stress and anxiety.

Angela Knight is teaching a new workshop...

Last call for my month-long October workshop, Putting Teeth in Your Paranormal Romance: Vampires, Werewolves, and the Women Who Love Them. The class is $20. It says the deadline is Sept. 25, but registration is still open if you get it in in the next day or two.

I'm going to spend the first week discussing worldbuilding: how to construct a paranormal universe with plenty of sexy umph. The next week will be devoted to constructing heroes, heroines, villains and minor characters. Mixing the paranormal with ordinary folks can be a little tricky, and I'll talk about the best way to pull that off. In the third week, I'll talk plotting: how to keep your readers eagerly turning pages. Then in the last week, we'll talk romance and love scene construction.

For more information, drop by the Heart of the Carolinas here:

http://www.heartofcarolina.org/online_classes.html

Thanks, gang!

AK

I've been tagged!!!

Robin Owens tagged me, which means I have to now list eight things you may not know about me.

1.) You probably know I do CGI art. You may not know that I started out doing pastel portraiture back in junior high, and continued doing pastel work for years. Walter Koenig, (AKA Chekhov from Star Trek) once gave me first place in an art contest at Heroes Convention for a portrait of Captain Kirk.

2.) My first crush on an actor/character was Captain Kirk. (I was 12 at the time.) Ahhh, that manly chest... LOL!

3.) When I was five or six, I had an imaginary friend -- Little Joe from Bonanza. (Actually, he's probably my first crush.,) Mom had to set a place at the table for him, and God help you if you sat on him.

4.) I worked in television production for four years, including two directing a religious program. I had just started writing erotic romance for Red Sage; if my boss had known what I was doing, she would have fired me. Then again, her receptionist was a drag queen, and she didn't know that either...

5.) When I was a kid, I had a huge thing for horses. I took riding lessons, and my first attempts at fiction revolved around horses.

6.) I'm a huge comic book geek. I still read comics, and of course, my first published fiction was a comic book mini-series.

7.) I wrote a Doc Savage spin-off for Caliber Press -- a comic about Doc's sister, Pat Savage.

8.) When I was in high school and college, my friends and I made a series of super-eight movies, which I wrote, shot and directed: "Landing Party," a Star Trek thing, "The Intergalactic Bar and Grill," another Star Trek thing; "Raiders of the Lost Props," a spoof of Raiders of the Lost Ark (Indy was menaced by a sock puppet instead of a cobra); Enemies and Friends, a Battlestar Galactica thing; and "Smith and Wesson," a detective flick which almost got us arrested for taking a gun to an airport. Good thing it was 1980 instead of today, or I'd still be in jail.

HERE ARE THE RULES FOR MY TAGGEES:

1. Each player starts with eight random facts/habits about themselves.

2. People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules.

3. At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names.

4. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.

My victims are: Rebecca York,