The Amazing, Ever-Expanding Spectrum of Genres by Rolynn Anderson

I thought I was a limber writer, moving among the suspense, mystery and thriller genres, usually setting my novels in modern times.   Some of my stories come with a touch of paranormal, so pedestrian and not far-fetched, I call them ‘normal paranormal.’   I always thought I was an eclectic reader as well…until I read the list of plots Carina Press was looking for.  Wow!  I’m amazed at what the readers are craving…and how inept I’d be at writing most of the following ‘types’ of books! 

So I ask you, which of the following genres (quoted directly from Carina Press) would you read, and how many could/would you write?

“Although we (Carina Press) remain open to all submissions that meet our guidelines, we’re looking to acquire full- and novella-length manuscripts in these 6 subgenres in particular. This call is open-ended; there’s no closing date or submission deadline:

1.       Paranormals and urban fantasy: Other publishers are saying no to paranormals—not us! While we’ll consider manuscripts across the genre, here are some things we’re seeking in particular: great sexual tension, high heat levels, male/male protagonists, series featuring shifters, unique twist on old paranormal tropes and elements, band of brother/alpha heroes, paranormal with suspense elements, and stories that delve into clan politics.

2.       Male/male romance: Though we acquire across LGBTQ, we have the most success with male/male. Right now we’re especially interested in paranormal, sexy contemporary/erotic, stepbrother romance, romances that tackle unlikely pairings or more “taboo” subjects, suspense/mystery, and scifi/fantasy series.

3.       Sexy sci fi romance: We’re looking for the fun, the unusual, the sexy, the silly, and even the over-the-top. Maybe the hero or heroine is an alien—a true alien. Or maybe it’s set on different worlds, has a Firefly-esque space opera feel, or features space pirates or space cowboys.

4.       Erotic romance: We’d like to sign someone who can write a series that’s extremely erotic (maybe even filthy). We’d love to see ménage or more, BDSM that’s not set in a club, darker erotic romance and…there’s that word taboo again.

5.       Capers, heists, jewel thieves, etc. Books, characters and setups that are sexy and possibly cross-genre. You could have an anti-hero (or heroine), or maybe hero/heroine are on opposite sides, or maybe they’re both thieves, moving from friends to lovers. Give us fast-paced adventure and a fun duo facing off or teaming up!

6.       Cowboys and contemporary westerns. We’re looking to add to our list! There are so many possibilities here— give it a unique twist, make it a foreign locale. Or it can be high tension, high stakes American-set contemporary cowboy romance.”

As you ponder what you’d read and/or write from the list above, here’s my latest novel, FEAR LAND, a romantic suspense, slightly paranormal ;-)...and finalist for a Rone Award.  Yippee!  

http://amzn.com/B012JE75ES

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/587797

http://rolynnanderson.com

“Rolynn Anderson’s writing is tight and stays on point, always following the plot through

to the nail-biting climax.” –Melissa Snark

FEAR LAND

Tally hates to hear rants from people’s brains.  What does she do when those mind-screams threaten the man she loves?

****

Tally Rosella, an acclaimed psychiatrist who helps children fraught with anxiety, avoids adults because their brains rant at her.  But the chance to start a second child study and connect her findings to PTSD, sets her squarely among devious colleagues at a big California university.

Army Major Cole Messer, Tally’s new neighbor, won’t admit that trauma from combat tours in Afghanistan, destroyed his marriage and hampered his ability to lead.  As a teacher of college ROTC and single parent, he’s focused on enrolling his highly anxious son in Tally’s study and getting back to active duty.

Someone is dead set against Tally’s presence at the university, and blowback from her battles with co-workers put Cole and his son in jeopardy.  Watch what happens when people struggling with shades of anxiety collide with corrupt, revengeful foes.

Changes Make Us Grow by Vonnie Davis

As you read this, I'm at Mount Saint Mary's College in the mountains of Thurmont, Maryland for my grandson's high school graduation. Evidently Oakdale High School wasn't big enough to hold all the parents and grandparents, their heads swollen with pride for their loved one's big day--graduating from high school.

Ryan will graduate at the top of his class. For the past year, he's been working as an intern at the branch of the American Cancer Institute at Camp Detrick, slicing cancer cells and removing the nucleus and also working with DNA. In the evenings, he tutors six students in calculus and physics. He also took second place in the state in wrestling. He'll be attending MIT in the fall.

Changes. So many. And, in a way, so fast.

I worry about my son, Mike. He was a single dad with custody from the time Ry-man, as he called him, was 17 months old until he was 8 when Mike remarried. Ryan has always been at the top of his priority list and wife number two, bless her heart, loved that about her husband. How will he handle the empty nest? I suppose the same way we mothers have for eons as our little ones leave the nest to try out their wings. Tina, who could never have children, is not looking forward to Ryan's leaving either. She's been an excellent step-mom. Both Mike and Ryan needed her when she entered the force field of their lives. She changed them both--for the better.

But not all changes are good, are they?

Take my upcoming series about wounded warriors--"Black Eagle Ops." Men and women changed by war. They need healing, both physically and mentally. Book one--HER SURVIVOR--releases next month.

Each book in the series begins with a similar Prologue...
      In the Hill Country of Texas, a community developed around an old Apache legend—wounded warrior falls. Myth or truth, the story has been handed down, generation to generation, that the rocks in Warrior Falls carry magical healing powers. Wounded Apaches would stand or be carried beneath the waterfall for the healing-infused water to flow over them.
       Over time, the small town, Warrior Falls, has grown to a population of six-thousand. Its few streets boast shops, restaurants, and supply stores kept afloat by the townsfolk and nearby ranchers. Many of these businesses are owned and operated by quirky, yet salt of the earth characters who love their town just the way it is. That’s why the deep secret of Warrior Falls is so closely guarded.
        This is Dustin Frank’s (Dust’s) story.


Pre-order at Amazon: https://amzn.com/B0174PTMU2
Barnes and Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/her-survivor-vonnie-davis/1122885268?ean=9781101967928

When Your Editor Calls You With an Idea...by Vonnie Davis

I love writing with a dash of humor. It's in my nature. My editor at Random House labels it as slapstick (insert huge sigh here). Let's not forget I grew up during the era of Red Skelton, I Love Lucy and Laurel and Hardy. Heavens, do any of you even know who they are? How about The Carol Burnett Show? They were each masters at comedic timing and slapstick.

If you've studied Shakespeare's plays in college, you know he was one of the original users of comedic relief. In the middle of a heavy, emotional scene when all of the spectators were on the edge of their seats, good ol' Bill would insert a couple off-color characters to suddenly have the audience rolling with laughter. He knew they needed an emotional break--and when. William Shakespeare taught me a lot.

So when my editor at Random House Loveswept called me about my next series, I had a few ideas lined up. I never got a chance to voice them. Ms. Enthusiasm pounced on me with, "I want you to write a series on wounded warriors who are also suffering with PTSD, set it in or near a small town, preferably in Texas. I'd like them to be former SEALs. I don't care how many points of view you use through-out the book, just give me two at a time. And here are the titles: HER SURVIVOR, HERS TO HEAL, and HER FOREVER HERO. I'm so excited about this! I know you'll do a fabulous job." The velvet steamroller promptly hung up.

I'd been taking notes as quickly as I could and just stared at my phone blaring a dial tone.

But...but....crap! Oh, fudge and buttermilk.

This was the last kind of series I wanted to write. I'd been doing bear shifters and, also, firemen, for HarperImpulse. How was I to turn men suffering from PTSD into the romantic heroes readers would swoon over?

My own grandson suffers from it. He's moody, at times belligerent, suicidal, and quick to fly off the handle, screaming and hitting things. The sweet Josh we knew is gone. He came home from Afghanistan with no physical injuries, just mental and emotional damage that might never heal. Could I write about a topic so painfully close to my heart? I was full of reservations, believe me.

How many men suffer to the extreme that Joshua does? Is his case mild or severe? To grandma, it's severe, but I might be wrong. So I bought books on the subject. I found an excellent one focused on PTSD and veterans of Iraq and Afghanistan and also a study done at Cornell University. I knew only the basics about SEALs, so I bought books on that branch of Special Forces. No one loves doing research better than I. This old broad was in heaven.

Then came the time to plot. Yes, this dyed-in-the-lycra pantser was going to have to plot, to lay out my little town, to create townsfolk (ah, my chance at some humor--thank God!), and the lives before and after SEALs for my veterans.. Decide on the book's main plot so it can be a stand alone and the strong thread running through them all, linking them together.

I had to show their physical injuries and their emotional traumas--and still make them lovable. I needed a couple unifying factors...their former Commander, their service dog, Nance, and their SEAL brotherhood.

In book one of Black Eagle Ops, HER SURVIVOR, Dustin Franks in still in the military hospital in San Antonio, Texas. He's in bed. Mail call has just gone through and he's received a box from Eagle Ridge Ranch, owned by his former Commander Zane Quinlan, or ZQ. The language is salty. These are warriors.
====
A muted “Set Fire to the Rain” drifted from the box. What the hell? That was the team’s theme song they sang as they drove away from a fight. What was his old Commander—or Officer in Charge—from SEAL Team Five up to now? Dustin ripped open the box only to find a cell phone and a note. “If you don’t call me ten minutes after receiving my awesome, one-of-a-kind gift, I’m calling you, you candy-assed bastard. And I’ll keep calling until you answer. ZQ.”

The music stopped, and Dustin sighed. Thank God. When he arrived here eight months ago, ZQ was waiting and sat with him for the first three days. He talked to Dustin when he wanted to be left alone and read him poetry by Walt Whitman, which he liked but was too stubborn to admit. ZQ’s actions only reinforced what Dustin had always known; he cared for his men.

The song started again. Ah hell, ZQ. Give me a f__kin’ break here. He swiped his index finger across the phone’s screen only to find a picture of Nance, her tongue lolling crooked from her mouth. Her one ear missing after being shot off. The day it happened as they fought their way through Al Hasakah in Eastern Syria, her handler JJ—Jerryl Jacoby—had nearly lost his mind. Hell, they all had.

They’d grown somewhat accustomed to the screams and moans of wounded men, but to hear their furry girl’s yelps ripped at what goodness remained intact within their souls.

On the cell’s photo, a sign hung around Nance’s neck that read, “Call me! Press 2.”

“Damn you, Zane Quinlan.” Dustin muttered as he shook the phone in frustration. The Commander always did know his men’s weak spots and played them to his advantage. He claimed Dustin’s was his curiosity, which it wasn’t. Still, just how had ZQ gotten ahold of Nance?

Dustin pressed two and, after a couple rings, Nance barked a response. He talked to her a minute, teasing her like he always had. “Dance for me Nance! Dance.” Evidently recognizing his voice, she whined and howled. There was some slurping, and Dustin smiled for the first time since forever. The damn, sweet dog was licking the phone to get to him…and he lost it.

Neither realizing the explosion had taken his leg from the middle of his calf down, nor seeing his mother’s tears when he initially reached Walter Reed Hospital or finding out he’d missed his dad’s funeral… Not even his wife’s—hell, ex-wife, now—revulsion when she saw his damaged body tore at him so deeply as this dog’s reaction. Why the hell was that?

JJ’s firm voice in the background calmed her, while Dustin wiped his damp face.

Then ZQ took over the conversation.

“Hey, Dust, I knew if anyone could get to you, it would be Nance. Took you long enough to call me.” His team leader sounded like he’d just finished gargling with razor blades. Shit, Dustin wouldn’t be surprised if he had. The old man was hardcore. Not that he was really ancient, but any officer who’d survived fifteen years or more in an official capacity in Special Forces was respectfully labeled as “Old Man,” just not to his face.

“Is she at the ranch or are you visiting JJ?”

“Hell, they’re here at Eagle Ridge with me. Have been for over two months. JJ adopted her when his enlistment was up. The dog still had some time to serve but, having lost an ear, the big wigs gave her an early retirement.”

“I figured JJ would do his best to keep her, as tight as those two were. Nance trusted JJ with her life.”

“Still does. I was coming from the stables when this god awful racket echoed on my dirt lane. A man rode a vintage Harley with a sidecar, of all things. The dude wore a black leather vest a few shades darker than him and a black brain bucket for a helmet. And who was sitting in the sidecar, strapped in and wearing a matching black brain bucket with “War Vet” and a Trident decal on the front? Ol’ Nance. Pretty as you please.”

Ice cubes rattled in a glass, and the sound of his sipping and swallowing filtered over the phone. ZQ was probably into his treasured double-malt Scotch. He hacked a laugh. “Soon as our pup saw me, she damn near went berserk. JJ stopped the bike and unhooked her. She cleared the side and ran like hell for my outstretched arms. I ain’t ashamed to admit I was already on my knees, crying like a damn fool baby. There was always something extra special about our Nance.”

There was a deeply inhaled breath and then a slow exhale. “I’ve got plenty of rooms here and I offered one to JJ and Nance, but both are happier sleeping outside on the ground. Some nights they sleep near the house and others they walk off to Lord knows where with a sleeping bag under JJ’s one arm and a jug of water and dog kibble under his other. Kid seems to need his space and I give it to him as long as he helps with a few chores around here. A man has to stay busy. Far as I’m concerned, he can stay as long as he wants. He doesn’t say much.” ZQ sipped at his Scotch again. "Got room for you, too, if you want it."

**Pre-order at http://amzn.com/B0174PTMU2