Writing Romance Is Like...

Welcome back to my home blog! (well, one of my homes… I spend a lot of time at the Nine Naughty Novelists too! *g*)

So this is stop #9 (out of 10 in case you’re wondering) for my blog tour!

You probably know the details by now, but just in case:

Since November is the anniversary month of my first published book, I decided to go on a tour and chat and give stuff away!

The “theme” (I use the term loosely) is Writing Romance Is Like…
And every blog stop has a difference comparison that will give you some insight into who I am, how I write and my slightly weird sense of humor. Oh, and you can win stuff! Every commenter gets entered for a chance at a book from my backlist. And if you really want to have some fun: follow me around to all the stops on the schedule (on my website) get the answers to the questions (on the form on my site) and then e-mail them to me by December 15th to get entered into a drawing for a $50 gift certificate to Amazon.com, BarnesandNoble.com or MyBookstoreandMore.com. Come join the fun!!

And now…
Writing Romance Is Like… Being a Knocked Up Homecoming Queen: the spotlight is on you, you get to wear a sparkly crown… and now everyone can see your big mistake.

I was not the Homecoming Queen. I’m not really the type. I wasn’t unpopular but I wasn’t HCQ popular. I never was very good at kissing up and trying to make everyone happy. But one of my good friends was the Queen and I remember how nervous she was. She was so concerned about having the right shoes, getting her hair done, picking the right dress. Because she would be on stage, in the spotlight, for everyone to see. And, as typical teenage girls do, someone (or more than one someone) would be looking for even the tiniest flaw.

Which reminds me a little of being a published author. Before I published I figured the only person I needed to worry about liking my characters, enjoying my story and admiring my word choice would be the acquiring editor.

But a published book is kind of up on stage in a spotlight. Once it’s published and available, anyone with a five-dollar bill can get a hold of it and then… well, they don’t have to like it. And if they have a Twitter account, a blog, a Facebook page, or even an e-mail account (or a break room at work) they can let a whole bunch of people know what it’s flaws are. You can bet if you end up a pregnant homecoming queen—everyone’s gonna know and everyone’s going to have an opinion.

So, it definitely feels great to be published, to see your book for sale, to have a kick-butt cover, to have great reviews. But for every person who likes my book there will likely be someone who won’t. I’m okay with that and trust that many people who won’t like it won’t even pick it up because of the blurb or excerpt or whatever. But there will always be a few who will think they might like it and end up being less than impressed.

It still feels uncomfortable. Like standing up there with a tiara and maternity underwear at the same time. Somebody liked me enough to put me in the spotlight, but by walking up there I accept the risk that somebody else might find a run in my hose, a hair out of place or feel my lipstick choice was wrong.


The good news is that I really like tiaras. I love having people like my books, read my books, talk about my books... enough to not worry too much about lipstick shades! *G*



Join me at my next (and final) stop! November 29th at the Nine Naughty Novelists blog: ninenaughtynovelists.blogspot.com


Excerpt, Just Right (which got five star ratings and two star ratings… go figure)
Erin Nicholas


He’d wanted her for a long time. Before tonight, he’d liked what he knew about her and wanted to know more, but he couldn’t do anything about what he wanted to do to her. When he was at work he wasn’t filing tax claims, or harvesting corn, or teaching algebra or asking if people wanted to Super Size things. He was saving lives. He simply couldn’t—wouldn’t—be distracted by a nice body and some sexy underwear when he was supposed to be putting people back together.


Of course, that was before he quit putting people back together a few hours ago.


Now he could pretty much do whatever the hell he wanted.


He came off his stool and rounded the table. He grasped the edges of Jessica’s seat in both hands and turned her to face him, then moved in until his belt buckle touched her knee. “So, what do you want in exchange for this huge favor you’re doing for me?”


She didn’t pull back or even stiffen in response to his sudden nearness, and he was inordinately pleased, but she did look mildly surprised. He could see her lips fall open slightly as she pulled in a long breath.


He’d never dared test if the chemistry he felt was reciprocal. He and Jessica were colleagues in a stressful environment that required concentration, quick thinking and skills that were practically reflexes. The last thing he needed was the distraction of trying to get a bullet away from a spinal cord or patching a bleed in a major artery while his girlfriend stood across the table from him fuming about their latest argument.


“I get the satisfaction of knowing that you’re safely home,” Jessica finally said.


They needed to be very clear on a few important points. “Is Sam paying you?”


She looked offended by the suggestion. “Of course not.”


“Do you feel sorry for me, Jessica?”


She snorted. Actually snorted. “No, Ben. I do not feel sorry for you.”


He moved closer, a centimeter at best, but enough to fill more of the air around him with her scent and body heat. Her eyes widened a fraction and if he hadn’t been watching for it—or for any reaction at all—he would have missed it.


“Are you worried about me?”


She wet her lips before answering and Ben thought about just kissing her and finding out if her

response to him that morning had been a product of shock or true attraction.


“Sam’s worried about you,” she said.


Her voice sounded breathy, if he wasn’t mistaken. He grinned and crowded closer, propping an elbow on the table beside her hand. Still she didn’t move. But her breathing got faster.


“I don’t give a damn how Sam feels.” He finally gave in to the desire and opportunity to touch her. He lifted his hand and drew the pad of his thumb along her lower lip. “But I’d love to know how you feel.”


Up against him. Naked. On a bed.


Or a pool table, he thought, aware of the closest horizontal surface.


Jessica’s lips fell open under his touch and Ben felt the jolt of satisfaction go through him. He thought it was noteworthy that the conservative, always-in-charge, always-knew-what-she-was-doing ER nurse—who always smelled like cotton candy—was suddenly looking flustered. He wondered if it was her response to him that surprised her or his response to her.

Writing Romance Is Like...

Welcome to my blog! And the 3rd stop on my blog tour!

Since November is the anniversary month of my first published book, I decided to go on a tour and chat and give stuff away!

The “theme” (I use the term loosely) is Writing Romance Is Like…
And every blog stop has a difference comparison that will give you some insight into who I am, how I write and my slightly weird sense of humor. Oh, and you can win stuff! Every commenter gets entered for a chance at a book from my backlist. And if you really want to have some fun: follow me around to all the stops on the schedule (on my website: www.ErinNicholas.com) get the answers to the questions (on the form on my site) and then e-mail them to me by December 15th to get entered into a drawing for a $50 gift certificate to Amazon.com, BarnesandNoble.com or MyBookstoreandMore.com. Come join the fun!!

Today I’m talking about how Writing Romance Is Like… Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwiches: because it’s all about taking two things that are good alone but even better together!

I love peanut butter. Peanut butter and chocolate is one of the all-time best combinations. Peanut butter and honey—damn good. Peanut butter on bananas—yum! But peanut butter and jelly are… perfect. Strawberry is the best, in my opinion, but grape is a close second.

There is nothing as good as getting two things together that belong together.

You wouldn’t put more peanut butter with peanut butter. To be good together, things don’t have to be exactly alike. Also you wouldn’t put say, filet mignon with peanut butter. Filet mignon is awesome. Just not with peanut butter. That’s okay. Because there’s jelly.

My writing process always starts with a character. Usually the hero (I don’t know why, that’s just how it is). Then I ask the question: what situation would really screw up this person’s life? That leads to who is this person, where have they come from, what is their life like now, why is this situation such a bump in his or her world? Then the fun question: who does this person really need? Who is the jelly to this person’s peanut butter? Not because they’re not okay on their own—my characters are strong and independent and doing fine on their own. But there’s something missing—even if they don’t know it. Peanut butter by itself is okay too. Just not as good as it could be.

Sometimes they need the other person because of the situation. Sometimes they’re just stuck with the person because of the situation. Sometimes they really don’t want that person because of the situation. Whatever the case, the story—regardless of what predicament I put them in— is about why is this person the one? And why right now? And what will keep them together—because the situation will be resolved and then what?

Well, once you’ve had peanut butter and jelly—you’ll want it again and again right? Most of us have been eating it for years. PB & J is a forever kind of thing.

I love reading that and writing that. That finding-forever-thing. I would be a terrible mystery writer. The clues would go undiscovered because the detective (the hot, super smart detective) would be making out with the gutsy, beautiful, sweet woman who—well, see, I’d have to come up with some reason for her to be there too… it would be a mess. I write romance. I always will. Because I’m all about peanut butter and jelly!

Join me at my next stop! November 12th at Shelly Munroe’s blog! http://www.shelleymunro.com/blog/

Excerpt, Just Right (a true PB&J couple!)
Erin Nicholas

Ben leaned forward, grasped her hips and pulled her toward him until his forehead rested against her stomach.

Surprised, she slipped her fingers through his hair, her palms resting against the warmth of his skull, and waited for him to speak.

He drew in a deep breath. “He’s stable, but barely. To go back in so soon…and on his head…damn.”

Her chest throbbed. For Mario. For Ben. This was hurting Ben so much too.

“Do you see why I hate my job?” Ben asked, still not moving. “Why did you have to pull me into this?”

But he didn’t sound or act angry with her, and he continued to hold her as if he needed her comfort.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her throat tight. “But if you hadn’t already been with me, I would have called you. I would have needed you there.”

And having him here now made it painfully clear that it wasn’t because he was a doctor. She’d wanted him there because he could make her feel better just being in the room with her. Ben would do anything in his power to make things right in the world. He was a warrior, a hero, a fighter. That’s all she needed. Not the victory necessarily, but the man willing to do battle for the right reason.

Ben rubbed his forehead back and forth against her abdomen, his hands still splayed on her hips, the gentle but firm pressure keeping her against him. She became aware of how thin the cotton of her pajamas was. The heat from his hands spread and her stomach tightened as she felt the hem of her pajama top pull up as he rubbed, exposing a strip of skin about six inches wide.

“I don’t want to talk medicine right now,” he said hoarsely. “I want to forget all the bad stuff. Just for a while.”

She felt his breath on her skin a millisecond before she felt his lips. He kissed her three times along the waistband of the pajama pants and she reflexively tightened her fingers against his head. He must have understood the invitation to continue.

Her eyes slid shut as she felt a lick along the side of her belly button.

“You taste as good as you smell,” he murmured against her skin.

Her breasts tightened, the nipples prominent under that soft cotton. If Ben looked up he would see how much she wanted him. But he seemed content to trace the bottom edge of her ribcage with his tongue.

The power his mouth had on her was incredible.

She wanted to strip off every stitch of her clothing—then start on his.

“Ben, maybe we should talk about what happened and how you’re feeling.”

His lips hardly lifted from her skin. “You’re not a damn psychiatrist, Jess,” he growled. “I’m not here for psychoanalysis.”

“What are you here for?” She knew, even as she asked. He needed a distraction, an outlet. Could she sleep with him for those reasons?

Absolutely. If she could make him feel better, in any way, she’d do it. Not that there weren’t perks to being his therapy right then. His hands and lips were hot on her and she, too, wanted to do anything but talk.

“I want to feel good. I want to forget that there’s any pain or disease or sadness, even if it’s just for a while.”

He looked up at her with a wanting she had never seen, even in her fantasies. Because what he needed from her was so much more than physical.