There Once Was A Time When I Was A Plotter by Margo Hoornstra

As noted in my last post here on the 11^th, I’m a pantser not a plotter. I write my books on a wing and a prayer. Open them with a character on the way to some place, or in conversation with someone, and go from there.

I don’t write in any particular order either. Take the book I’m working on now. The one I just yesterday completed - the first draft of anyway. (Short time out here for a brief happy dance!) I knew exactly how that story ended a while ago because I took time out of writing the middle to finish the last couple of chapters. Then all I had to do was go back and write the other chapters just ahead of those last ones in order to believably get my characters to that already established THE END.

Except, I wasn't always like this.

 

At one time I was a plotter. Plotting my books from beginning to end was how I wrote my first book. Well, HONORABLE INTENTIONS, my first book to be contracted and published, that is.

 

We won’t even mention the six, or was it eight, books I wrote that never did sell…yet. But back to my point. To be honest, you could say the events in HONORABLE INTENTIONS were plotted out for me.

A few years ago, my husband and I took an Alaskan cruise. HONORABLE INTENTIONS takes place, for the most part, on an Alaskan cruise.

 

We had a travel itinerary to follow. Hero and heroine Chase and Samantha had a travel itinerary to follow. We marveled at all the splendor that is Alaska. Chase and Samantha marveled at all the splendor that is Alaska. We enjoyed fabulous meals in a variety of culinary venues, even dined with the Captain. Chase and Samantha enjoyed fabulous meals in a variety of culinary venues, even dined with the Captain. My in-laws were in the state room next door. Chase and Samantha...well, that's where the similarities departed.



Samantha is a retired policewoman who is serving as the chaperone and roommate on the trip to the single dad Chase’s impressionable and slightly rebellious teenaged daughter. He finagles his way into the adjoining room, which made for a moonlit, romantic encounter on their connected balconies.

The peaceful Alaskan night was a welcome contrast to the turmoil of her thoughts. Soothing waves whispered against the ship’s hull, a mild reverberation in the stillness. Strands of multi-colored lights, strung stem to stern on the decks above her, reflected in shining ripples on the smooth surface of the water. Beyond that faint light, a blue black haze hid any landscape they might be passing.

Elbows rested on the short railing, she allowed the surrounding darkness to bring her into the comfort of its folds, until thoughts of where she was going and who was along started up again. Serenity vanished, and she lifted her eyes skyward, huffing out a sigh of annoyance. The restless toss of her head from one side to the other did little to dispel her irritation, then a movement to her left caught, then held, her total awareness.

Too late she discovered Chase was out there too. Reclined in a deck chair, feet propped up on the railing with a blanket across his lap, he looked to be asleep. As far as she knew, she hadn’t bothered him…yet. Not wanting to disturb him now, for his sake as well as for hers, she turned to go inside.

“Don’t leave.”

The softly spoken words stopped her progress and stilled her heart. She glanced toward the avenue of her escape, the room she shared with his daughter. Their ship’s light cast a muted shadow on the girl’s peacefully sleeping form. Torn between her two options—retreat to the safety of that room, or do as he asked and remain out here with him—she hadn’t been able to budge to do either.

In the end, he made the choice for her as he set the blanket aside and walked over to stand beside her. “Please.”

“I didn’t want to wake Lisa.” She spoke as if she owed him an explanation for being out there. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Me either.”

Tufts of sea chilled air blew upward in response to the ship’s movement, yet his closeness, not the cool night breeze, caught her in a shiver. Saying nothing, he retrieved the blanket and settled it around her shoulders. She snuggled into the plush material which still held his warmth, and his scent.

“I owe you an apology for…my actions our first day on board.”

She looked at him, not sure what her response should be, but he went on before she had a chance to form a thought.

“I should never have kissed you. I regret that.” He studied her for a second then averted his gaze.

“That’s okay,” she managed, a little sad he could be sorry for a kiss which had come to mean so very much to her.

“We sort of got off on the wrong foot.”

She turned to lean her back on the railing. “It’s been a long week.”

“And, it’s only Tuesday.”

They both laughed and the simple, companionable sound echoed like a peace offering between them before silence descended.

Chase’s voice broke into the night. “There must be a way to make this easier.”

“I’m sure we’ll find it.” Her words rode a delicate mist that rose up to touch his cheek.

 

 

My days to blog here are the 11^th and 23^rd. For more about me and the stories I write, please visit my WEBSITE

Life: The True Stuff Our Stories Are Made Of by Margo Hoornstra

Ever wonder what the world would be like if you were never born? In the movie, It’s a Wonderful Life, George Bailey got to see the impact he had on the lives of others. For the rest of us, we’ll just have to calculate our own worth.

As authors, never been ties right in with those what if questions that drive our stories.

Where would the romance genre be without the secret baby trope?

In my first book, Honorable Intentions, I got a lot of mileage out of the teenaged daughter of a single dad hero. She was the product of a one night stand, and I built an entire book—heroine and all—around his desire to take care of her. Keep her safe and in his life.

In another, One Fateful Friday part of the Saturday in Serendipity anthology, the hero is sterile yet he and the heroine come together to adopt two orphaned children. In that same book, a secondary character and her husband who can’t conceive, live their lives as foster parents.

It might be I come by these storyline ideas naturally. My own mother was an unplanned pregnancy BEFORE my grandparents were married. *Gasp* Back then, in the early 1900s, such a thing was frowned upon and then some. Though Grandma and Grandpa eventually married and had another daughter, my grandmother was actually disowned by her family for having and raising the child conceived out of wedlock.

But think about it in a real sense. If my mother hadn’t been born, I wouldn’t be here, nor would my children or their children or…well, you get the idea.

My how times have changed though.

Married with two soon to be teenaged children, moving steadily upward in my career, with money in the bank and empty nest on the horizon, I had my own unplanned pregnancy. For me, inconvenience wasn’t a sufficient reason to not have and raise the resulting twins. Long story short (ahem!) my life has been better for the choice I made.

To each his or her own, but you can see what I mean about how some events in life shape the events in our stories. Scads of historical romances have been, well, born, with the unexpectedly pregnant circumstance as the inciting moment that drives the protagonist into action and on to what we term the heroine’s journey.

Here’s another true life occurrence that has me thinking fiction. My husband’s maternal grandmother left two children in the old country, never to see them again, while she sailed to the new world and a new life. And where she subsequently married and bore then raised three more children. That’s a book I’d love to write someday. I even have a title in mind - Emma.

What would the world be like if you had never been born? Certainly something to ponder now and then, isn’t it?

The 11^th and 23^rd are my days to blog here at the Roses of Prose. For more about me and the stories I’ve written so far, please visit my WEBSITE

Success Versus Failure: Pick One If You'd Like, I Did by Margo Hoornstra

"You can accomplish anything you set your mind to."

Those special words were spoken to me by my mother, almost every single day as I was growing up. That late, great lady never missed a chance to boost my confidence and build my self esteem. Her positivity worked beautifully too.

For the most part.

If I wanted something bad enough to really go after it, whatever 'it' was, was mine. Cool! Gaining the above average grades I'd strive for in elementary school, high school and college. Obtaining just about every job I went after in the work force. A successful marriage, four happy, healthy, well adjusted kids.

Then one day I decided to write a book and get it published. Oh, if only we could receive our fondest desires by sheer will of striving and wanting.

NOT!

Suddenly the people I encountered (read agents and editors) sang a decidedly different tune.

Obviously, they'd never spoken to my mother. They also didn't actually sing to me either. Didn't even communicate face to face. I can't tell you how many times I'd read those many, many thanks but no thanks responses and be sorely tempted to contact 'those people' again.

With a slightly different type of pitch that would go something like this.

Okay, people, listen up. I'm not sure you're fully aware who you're dealing with here, much less the woman who raised me. According to her, I want this, I've worked hard for this. My mother said, if those two conditions were met 'this' was mine. So, go ahead, reconsider what must have been your hastily formed decision to reject my work. I'll wait.

Yeah, right. Very professional. That behavior would have certainly gotten my foot in the door of any number of publishing houses. Don't you think? More like said foot firmly lodged in my mouth and half way down my throat. Or firmly placed somewhere else by those I was striving so hard to impress.

Eventually, I did find a publisher for my work, an amazing The Wild Rose Press with my first book Honorable Intentions, scores of short stories and a number of novellas.

Now I'm on the hunt again.

Perseverance, determination, desire. All successful authors have that. The stories of how so many successful authors 'did it' abound. Doctor Seuss was rejected 27 times. John Grisham faced numerous rejections until a small press picked up his first book for a 5,000 run printing. Even Nora Roberts didn't score her first time out. Janet Evanovich either. Not hardly. I could go on and on, but you get the idea.

In addition to perseverance, determination and desire, large doses of self esteem are necessary, along with a smattering of insanity. With all due respect to writers everywhere, Albert Einstein said it best. "The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results."

Well call me insane, because I'm at it again. Going the cold call query route, seeking a home for STOLEN TRUST, my latest completed work.

I've even come up with a tag line.

A parolee hides her past from a bounty hunter set on revenge.

Here's an excerpt:

Brad Collins rolled the old half-ton Bridges for Hire pickup to a stop in front of the sorry looking colonial and immediately questioned the wisdom of using small town handyman as his cover.

He had so hoped to keep this operation simple. Not take on what looked like the biggest remodel job in Upper Michigan history.

White two-story with a wrap-around porch was how the lady on the phone described the house. When they discussed a porch renovation and, according to her, other minor repairs.

Minor repairs my ass.

Jamming his left foot down to set the parking brake, he snatched the ripped piece of notebook paper off the seat beside him. This was the address he’d written down.  He checked the numbers on a partially rusted mailbox. Same number.

There was no turning back now. Arriving in Cascade Lake, his old partner's lead, one Harlan Bridges, was shamelessly simple to find and pump for information. Brad concocted a story he’d heard about the place from friends and wanted to check it out. Turned out Rest Easy’s owner had just called the contractor about finishing some old repairs. Bridges went on to lament the fact he was already short-handed, soon to be over extended.

One thing led to another, and damned if the man didn’t offer him a job on the spot.

Brad’s scowl twisted into a smile. What were the chances he’d run across someone willing to hire an outsider on a handshake and little else? No background check. No intrusive questions.

Making a fist, he crushed the paper into a tight ball he tossed to the truck floor. Most people in these out of the way towns were just too damned trusting for their own good.

Lucky for me, my mother, her positive attitude and precious words of encouragement still live in my heart, guiding me to success.

My days to blog here are the 11th and 23rd. For more about me and my stories, please visit my WEBSITE

My Motivation To Write by Margo Hoornstra

Ask any writer why they write and you’ll get a variation of; Because I can’t not write. My reason for writing is much the same and I also write romance because of the happily ever after.

Everyone has a list of life’s challenges, experiences and adversities they’ve faced and, hopefully, overcome. In addition to being slightly older for The Last Rose of Summer line of The Wild Rose Press, the characters in my stories are no different. Not only do they tend to have been around the block a time or two, they are definitely mature and, in some cases, entering the second phase of successful careers and moderately happy lives. They’re everyday people slowing down, pausing to smell the roses, if you will. Who understand, at long last, what’s important in life. Many have been dealt challenges and granted second chances.

In many of my short stories, the heroines especially face, and manage to triumph over, their own adversities. In Forgotten Alliance, Sarah Novak was forced to come to terms with her husband’s infidelity. Greg Novak's journey is to admit to this failure and do whatever it takes to save his marriage.

My first full length book, Honorable Intentions, has single father Chase Canfield trying to rebuild a life for himself and his teenaged daughter. The heroine, Samantha Wells is a retired police officer embarking on the second phase of her law enforcement career.




The three Class of '85 high school reunion books I did, Glad Tidings and To Be Or Not are true second chance reunion stories. Next Tuesday at Two has a going home again theme with a twist. 

My current work in progress, Circumstances Beyond Her Control, has hero Brad Collins, a bounty hunter about to embark on a quest that will affect his life like none other. In this case, he thinks he knows it all and has no idea what’s in store for him. (I'll be totally honest here, neither do I. Yet!)

As is a sign of today’s times, many of my characters end up forming non-traditional families. And, it almost goes without saying the heroines are strong, intelligent and self-sufficient. The heroes are individuals who can eventually acknowledge they may not be perfect or have all the answers.

While, in my opinion, there’s a special beauty in the happily ever after guarantee of romance fiction, also in my opinion, there’s another bonus, the payoff, if you will as we all experience the ups and downs in real life.

In a romance, the hero and heroine find love and acceptance on their own terms and to fit their own lifestyles. Something readers can identify with, maybe even find inspiration in.

They can do it. I can do it. We’re all going to be okay. Which in large part, is motivation in itself.

Links to my books and stories, some for free, can be found on my Blog

Sharing the Love: One Way to Look at Writing a Book by Margo Hoornstra

“If I don’t make a dime on this book, that’s okay, because I truly enjoyed the process.”

That was me about four years ago as I gazed down at my first published novel, Honorable Intentions.

I wasn’t lying, I had a good time writing that book every step of the way.

Who wouldn't love the magic that happens when you combine the concepts of what if and why not.

Or the germ of an idea as it becomes the pages of a first draft.

The reconsiderations and rewrites as characters develop pasts and personalities.

The suggestions of critique partners and editors who see possibilities I never would have imagined.

The value of their fresh eyes on a manuscript I’d read over and over and over again was invaluable. They caught everything from typing mistakes to erroneous descriptions. (The hero’s eyes were brown when he was introduced then somehow turned to green later on.) To incomplete story arcs. (The heroine had issues with her father that needed to be resolved.)

And my work was made better as a result.

What I really enjoyed were the occasional and coveted WOW! comments from an editor who had read and re-read my many, many writes and re-writes as we neared the finish line.

Receiving the jpg file of cover art is another kick. A combination of my descriptions and the artist’s skill.

And that wonderful experience of the book going ‘live’ as it’s introduced and available for public consumption.

Yes, sir, I certainly did enjoy the process of writing my first book. But, now that I have three more books published for the Class of '85 series, one contracted and soon to be released for a new Dearly Beloved series and with more in the works, getting a dime or two for all that effort would be nice.

And on that note, a gentle reminder: Join me and four other authors - Jannine Gallant, Keena Kincaid, Kat Henry Doran and Silver James - who are Sharing the Love with FREE DAYS for our Class of ’85 reunion series books, February 14 and 15 exclusively on Amazon KDP Select. So mark your calendars and join us over at Amazon on those days. Check out my blog for the links.

By the way, my contribution is To Be, Or Not.

Hope to see you there.

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She Said Versus He Said – Literally – Makes for a Stronger Break Up By Margo Hoornstra

This month, as you know by now, my fellow Roses of Prose members and I are sharing some of the most memorable excerpts from our books. Mine today is from Honorable Intentions. This excerpt details the Big Black Moment, the break up scene of the hero and heroine, which is memorable to me because what ended up in the book is not the way I first wrote it. In my original version, this scene was from the heroine’s point of view.

‘Flip it.’ My editor suggested. ‘Write the scene from his point of view to make it stronger.’ My immediate reaction was to disagree. ‘But why would I want to do that? After all, the scene is fine as it is. It’s also, finished, complete. Let’s leave it alone.’

Luckily I never made those arguments out loud, but simply re-wrote the scene as she suggested.

And, by way of set up, he’s breaking up with her because both of their professional reputations are at stake and, it’s the honorable thing to do.

Say the words, Chase, buddy. Tell the story. Weave the lies. “There’s a lot going on in all of our lives right now.” He couldn’t look at her as he spoke. “Neither one of us needs any added...,” he lifted his hand then dropped it again. “...complication.”

If the stricken look that crossed her face was any indication, he’d definitely caught her off guard, now he just needed to keep her off balance.

“Love shouldn’t be a complication.” Her voice was ragged, infused with raw emotion.

No! It shouldn’t. Not a love strong as mine for you. He nearly doubled over with the effort to keep from expressing those thoughts. He had to remember what he was doing, and why. When he worked undercover—playing a role to achieve a definite result—any slip back into his real self could hold a distinct cost. Right here, right now was no different, except, right here and right now, he was sparing Samantha that cost.

Using gut wrenching control, he made himself look up at her in surprise. “Love? Who said anything about love?” It took everything he had to push out those words. The scoff he made himself add at the end out only added to his growing self-hate.

He almost collapsed under the weight of what he had to say next, but made himself keep going. “Love! Wow!” The feigned smirk as he diverted his gaze was meant to transmit disbelief, not the real reason he dropped his eyes, because he couldn’t stand to see the pain in hers. “You must have gotten the wrong idea. Sorry about that.” I am so very sorry!

“Oh.” He scarcely heard the spoken response, but her involuntary blink of disbelief spoke volumes.

His body went rigid with effort as he forced himself to keep an adequate distance between them. He knew if he got too close to her at all, he’d draw her into his arms, all the while proclaiming how much he loved her. After that, he wouldn’t be able to stop.

“Okay, I guess I need to tell you the truth,” he began, and his gut clenched at the suspicious look that came into her eyes. His heart pounded and his throat ached with regret at the words he was about to say. In his career, he’d faced down vigilantes holding loaded shot guns when he was unarmed, and more dangerous animals in the wild than he could even count. None of which came close to the fear ripping into him at this moment, knowing he had no choice but to give up the woman before him now. The woman he loved.

“You want to know why things happened between us back there? Here’s my take on it.” His voice threatened to give out, but he refused to allow such failure and pushed on. “It happens. Near death experience, life is short and all that. So why not have a little enjoyment before it ends.”

He wished he hadn’t used the word enjoyment, too personal for his son-of-a-bitch purpose.

So many emotions flashed in her eyes, he couldn’t begin to decipher what they were. Shock? Remorse? Pain? Acceptance? He didn’t dare think about them now. He had to do this for her. She raised her chin and squared her shoulders much as she had the first day they’d met, when he knew she’d somehow be a part of his life forever.

Whether I ever see her again or not.

“You really believe that?”

Though he knew her well enough to know she tried to hide it, her voice was a mixture of hope and doubt. She couldn’t conceal the hurt look in her eyes, and that alone tore at his heart, but he couldn’t let such weakness stop him.

“Yeah. Don’t you? If I remember correctly, friends only was what we decided to be.” He cast her a sidelong glance, smirk intact. “And, as I also remember, the friends only was your call.”

He made no secret of making a crass and thorough inspection of her body—for theatrical effect only—while it took everything he had not to reach out to touch her for real. “And I was more than willing to go along.”

He held on to the glib expression even though his heart pounded so hard, he was sure it would blast out of his chest. One more lie, one more monumental untruth and she’d be free of him forever. And, that was for the best, wasn’t it?

Then why did he feel as if life itself was slipping away? Why was the emptiness inside of him so intense it hurt to breathe?

Tell her, Pal. Big talker. Tell her you don’t care.

“I really never thought about, you know, love, or anything close to it.”

He watched a single-minded sense of purpose take over her expression, though the pain in her eyes refused to be concealed. “That’s your decision, then.”

“Yeah. It is,” he replied coolly, even as his body shook with the effort required to let her go. Their dinner forgotten, she stood to turn away. “Oh, and Samantha?”

Looking back, she leveled a gaze on him with such a casual indifference, the tattered remains of his heart dried up and blew away. “Yes?”

“Under the circumstances, it might be better if Lisa and I fly back to Detroit alone. The way the press dogs me, we won’t be on the tarmac at Metro for five minutes and they’d make things worse. Give Monica even more ammunition if we showed up there together, with Lisa. You understand.”

She simply nodded. “Of course.”

A stony determination permeated her body, her face, her voice, and terrified him beyond belief. But he’d done what had to be done, accomplished what he set out to do; convinced her they had no future. From the way she looked at him now, she was a firm believer Chase Canfield was the sole nominee for bastard of the year.

He could hardly believe it when she opened her mouth to say something more. “Do something for me?”

Anything! Just ask. He willed his voice not to crack. “Sure, why not? You’ve earned that much.”

She ignored his double meaning. “Tell Lisa good-bye for me? And, tell her I had a great time getting to know her better. She’s a very special person.”

You are too, Samantha, my love. “I know. I’ll tell her what you said.”

Chase and Samantha’s romance doesn’t end there. Find Honorable Intentions and the rest of my stories, some for free, at my Blog.

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Sharing A Sunset Is Nice, But Moonlight Can Be Romantic Too by Margo Hoornstra

A few summers ago, my husband and I went on a week-long cruise to Alaska. This is a mode of travel I highly recommend and one trip we plan to take again, hopefully, in the near future.

Not only was our Alaska cruise one fabulous vacation, it also provided the groundwork, a ready-made synopsis if you will, of my first published novel Honorable Intentions.

Naturalist classes, various excursions, the formal captain’s dinner, our itinerary became the itinerary of my characters, Chase and Samantha. After I introduced them to each other and threw in an extremely awkward situation to start things off.

Acting on a dare, cop turned security agent Samantha Wells comes on sexually strong to a random stranger. Alpha male that he is, conservation officer turned naturalist Chase Canfield instinctively responds in kind to the woman he’ll never see again. Except Chase turns out to be the best friend of Samantha’s new boss and a major component of her newest assignment; chaperone the single father’s teenager on an upcoming cruise to Alaska.

Given the circumstances of Chase and Samantha’s initial encounter, she’s the last person he’d pick to watch over his young, impressionable daughter. Consequently, he now has to find a way to go along.

And while my mother-in-law stayed in the adjoining cabin to ours with the shared balcony, for my heroine it was the hero who lived next door. The perfect set up for at least one romance in the moonlight scene when Samantha walks out of her room for some air.

The peaceful Alaskan night was a welcome contrast to the turmoil of her thoughts. Soothing waves whispered against the ship’s hull, a mild reverberation in the stillness. Strands of multi-colored lights, strung stem to stern on the decks above her, reflected in shining ripples on the smooth surface of the water. Beyond the faint light, a blue black haze hid any landscape they might be passing.

Elbows rested on the short railing, she allowed the surrounding darkness to bring her into the comfort of its folds, until thoughts of where she was going and who was along started up again. Serenity vanished, and she lifted eyes skyward, huffing out a sigh of annoyance. The restless toss of her head from one side to the other did little to dispel her irritation, then a movement to her left caught—then held—total awareness.

Too late, she discovered Chase was out there too. Reclined in a deck chair, feet propped up on the railing with a blanket across his lap, he looked to be asleep. As far as she knew, she hadn’t bothered him—yet. Not wanting to disturb him now, for his sake as well as for hers, she turned to go inside.

“Don’t leave.”

The softly spoken words stopped her progress and stilled her heart.

A stroll on the deck, again with moonlight filtering down, can draw two people together too.

The deck was quiet and deserted as they stepped outside. Behind them were the bright lights and blaring music, before them only inviting darkness and welcoming peace. A light breeze washed across the water, took on the coolness of its surface, then brushed back across the deck. Samantha hugged herself against the unexpected chill at the same time as Chase’s tuxedo jacket fell over her shoulders. She pulled its comfort more tightly around her as the warmth from his body spread down over hers. They strolled side by side in silence, then stopped to lean against the smooth, thick railing. A full moon revealed the blurred outlines of sloping hillsides and high peaked mountains rising from the shoreline in the distant mists.

“That’s twice now you’ve protected her,” Chase noted quietly. “Once when we were boarding, and just now in there.”

“I wasn’t aware we were keeping track.”

He glanced at her with a shrug. “I still appreciate that you did it. Twice.”

She started to say It’s my job, then stopped short. She would have done the exact same thing job or not. “You’re welcome.”

It was awhile before either spoke again then his voice broke into the silence.

“Her mother is trying to take her away from me. For good.”

As the title of this piece suggests, sharing a summer sunset with your lover is nice, very nice. But, sometimes a stroll in the moonlight with a potential love interest has its benefits too.

Honorable Intentions is available in print or electronic format at Amazon, Barnes and Noble and The Wild Rose Press.

Or through my Website and Blog at www.margohoornstra.com and www.margohoornstra.blogspot.com