Bell Bridge Books

“Like Lightning in a Bottle”

by Anne Stuart

Every now and then a writer has something absolutely fabulous happen to her.  All the stars are in alignment, the gods are smiling, and life is good.

About twenty years ago I wrote what still remains possibly my favorite book ever, NIGHTFALL, and the circumstances were blessed indeed.

I’d been busy writing romances for the Harlequin American, Harlequin Intrigue, and occasionally the Silhouette Intimate Moments lines.  Series writing is always full of rules:  I had editors count how many times I said “bitch” and “bastard” (and if you’re familiar with my work you know my hero and heroine tend to think of their true love in such cantankerous terms).  I’ve traded two “bitches” for a “bastard” when I really wanted it, and made a mostly unsuccessful attempt at behaving myself.  As anyone will tell you, I’ve never been very good at being good.

I wrote books where the hero was the son of a mass murderer, or he thought he was the reincarnation of Jack the Ripper and the heroine was the reincarnation of a victim.  I had heroes pretending to be crazy, heroes who were unrepentant cat burglars, disfigured hermits, 1930’s pilots, shapeshifters before they were popular, ghosts from the Valentine’s Day Massacre, fallen angels.  I broke all sorts of rules and had a good time doing it, but everyone kept asking me when I was going to do a “big book.”  It was a time when most series writers were moving out of the category business, but I kept writing my edgy books and staying exactly where I was.  Whenever I came up with a proposal for a mainstream romantic suspense novel it was turned down and ended up going to Silhouette Intimate Moments (and both times becoming a RITA finalist – NOW YOU SEE HIM and SPECIAL GIFTS).  I finally gave up trying to please anyone and began writing historicals, having a wicked good time with them (literally) when out of the blue Jennifer Enderlin, then at Penguin/Signet called up my agent and offered a six figure contract for two romantic suspense novels.

After being flabbergasted for a few hours I said yes, and the idea appeared to me like manna from heaven.  I’d had no plans, no ideas, and suddenly it was all there before me.  I took all sorts of bits from the news – Norman Mailer got a murderer named Jack Henry Abbott paroled on the basis of his poetry (and his own ego) and Abbott ending up murdering someone.  There was a famous crime in Philadelphia where a teacher murdered a woman and her two children, though the two children were never found.  One of our endless Middle Eastern wars was on, giving me good role models for the father-in-law, and it all came together in a book so good it could cure cancer.

Now I’ve been told that’s a very offensive thing to say – that books can’t cure cancer.  But I’m basing it on Norman Cousins’s classic work, ANATOMY OF AN ILLNESS, where he discussed how laughter, watching Marx Brothers’ movies, cured him of a wretched disease.  It seemed completely logical to me – I think music or any art form can do the same thing.  When a book or a symphony or a movie speaks to you so exactly that you’re transported to another dimension then your body fills with all sorts of good stuff like endorphins.  Stuff that will heal you.  Personally I think that’s one reason athletes are healthy.  Not because they exercise, but because being a professional athlete requires you to get in “the zone” which is exactly where those endorphins etc.  lurk.

NIGHTFALL can cure cancer for some people – if it happens to speak directly to their fantasies.  It could, presumably, make other people ill with its intensity and darkness before the ultimate redemption.  I consider it a great gift to be able to write books that are that powerful.  Many reviews of my work say “Anne Stuart is not for everyone” or “not for the faint of heart,” and while I wish everyone could love my work I know that’s impossible.  At least I take comfort in the fact that few people are lukewarm about my work, and about NIGHTFALL in particular.

(BTW Norman Cousins was a good man, a peace activist but a sexist pig who believed women didn’t belong in the work force.  No one’s perfect).

A book like NIGHTFALL is like lightning in a bottle – no matter how powerful your will and your talent, you can’t make one happen.  It’s one of those rare, blessed times in a long career that carries you through the less inspired times, and reviews, sales, etc. mean nothing.  It’s my badge of honor, and I wear it proudly.

NIGHTFALL is a March Monthly 100 for only $1.99! Grab it today!

“I found my true being…”

by Augusta Trobaugh

I have always believed that Southern writing is character-driven, rather than being plot-driven. So in this story, I brought together characters (folks!) who were all from different generations, social positions, and race.

I have so much fun watching as these characters drift into each others’ lives and begin interacting with each other in a most completely authentic manner.  At that time, I become an “observer,” rather than a “writer,” because at some time or other in a story, the characters simply take over, and I am left to chuckle at them or to weep for them.

Also, when I was growing up in rural Jefferson County, Georgia, I became fascinated by the many creeks in the area.  In particular, I remember being delighted when, riding in the car with my mother, we crossed the bridge over Boggy Gut Creek.  As a child, I pronounced it “boogie goot,” but my mother corrected me, and I was even more delighted by the real name.

I grew up in Stellaville, Georgia (population 82), and right down at the bottom of the hill  from my home was Brier Creek, where I watched salamanders and minnows and also the antics of several otters.

When the character of Pansy Jordan came to mind, I was impressed by her intention to do as she believed the Lord Jesus Christ had bade her to do: “Get yourself washed clean in the River Jordan.” Such was her strong intent that she changed her name from “Pansy” to “River.”  But when she finally came to realize exactly how far away the real River Jordan was, she consented to be baptized in Jordan Creek.  In that way, my love of Georgia’s numerous creeks was satisfied.

I had a truly blessed childhood, roaming free (usually on horseback) through the rural areas.  I found my true BEING in all of nature – especially the forests and creeks.

Find your true being with RIVER JORDAN – a March Monthly 100 for only $1.99!

Writing About Friendship

by Melissa Ford

Writers are supposed to write about what they know, right?  And what do we know better than our friendships?  There were the friendships our parents set up for us; the children of their friends that we were expected to share our toys with simply because our parents wanted to hang out.  (Yes, I am guilty of passing along this fine tradition to my own children.)

There were the first friendships we formed on our own on the playground.  The friends that broke our heart or didn’t return our affection or were too clingy.  The ones that dumped us.  The ones we drifted away from.  The ones that saved our lives.  The ones that we whispered our secrets to in the dark during a sleepover.

There are the old friends that we’ve been together with for more years than we haven’t been friends, and the new friends that we’ve intensely connected with in the last year or two.

See?  As a subject, it’s pretty ripe for the write-what-you-know rule.

But being close to the subject is tricky.  No one wants to see themselves show up on the page, and it’s bad form to dissect your friendships in front of an audience.  Sometimes we can’t really explain why we’re friends with someone, or why we’re not.  We may not know what we did right or what went wrong.

Sometimes friendships defy words, though I never stop trying to write about the topic.

Life from Scratch is about a woman named Rachel finding herself after the dissolution of a marriage.  She finds her voice through the act of writing but also seeing what she wants reflected in her relationship with her best friend, Arianna.  Where do we first learn how we want to be loved? Our friendships.  And it’s where we constantly return to measure our relationships.

LIFE FROM SCRATCH is Amazon’s monthly deal for March for only $1.99.  Read it with a friend and discuss it over coffee.  Don’t forget to tell your friend how you could never get by without her.

Are these fakes, or are they mermaid sightings?

by Deborah Smith

For centuries, people all over the world have claimed to see mermaids. Either the beautiful, Hollywood siren type, with flowing hair and bodacious bosoms, but more often an odd, ugly creature with a humanoid head and torso but the lower body of a fish, dolphin or seal.

There have been photos, and drawings, and presentations of weird skeletons found on remote beaches. But until recent  years there weren’t videos.

Now, there are.

The amateur photographer has a shaky grip. The video blurs in and out. Its  focus is on a large rock in the edge of the tide, far below the cliff where the camera owner and his friend stand.

“I don’t think that’s a seal, man.”

“I’m trying to zoom in. Where’s the zoom button? Ouch. There.”

The image closes in. A large, dark form with tail flukes like a dolphin’s is stretched out on the rock.

“Where’s the Zoology on this? That is NOT a seal, man!”

Suddenly, the creature twists toward the camera, looking directly at the two young guys on the cliff. It has a pale area where a face and torso would be. The details show little more, perhaps a hint of dark eyes?

The mysterious being whips around, propels itself over the edge of the rock using what are clearly a pair of human-like arms, and splashes into the surf.

A hoax? Great use of computer wizardy, with actors pretending to be two hikers who just happen to capture video of a mermaid sunning herself in an isolated spot along the coast of Israel?

Regardless, it will send goosebumps down your spine.

http://www.animalplanet.com/tv-shows/mermaids/videos/mermaid-sighting-in-kiryat-yam/

And then there’s this video:

Two men sit in a deep-sea observation capsule several thousand feet below the ocean surface in the frigid  waters off the coast of Greenland. They’re marine experts who routinely go to those depths as they use sonar to map the ocean floor for oil and gas exploration.

But they’ve also grown curious about marine sounds they can’t identify. An ordinary listener would say the high-pitched whistles and piercing shrieks are just the songs of whales. But these two men have heard every kind of whale song there is, and this is very different.

They sit in the blue-black light of the tiny pod. A main camera films them and the view in front of the pod, which has big windows that allow the occupants to see almost entirely around them and above them. The pod’s headlights beam ghostly white light into the sheer darkness.

As they listen intently to the unknown song, one researcher points a small video camera  upward, hoping the mystery creature will swim past, above the pod. His back is turned to the pod’s front window and the white glow of its lights.

Suddenly, a ghost-white hand slaps the window, inches from his body. The loud thump can be heard. For a split second the hand splays on the surface.

A palm, four fingers and thumb. Human. But webbed.

The researchers jump in fear. They pivot toward the hand. It pulls away with a swishing motion. The creature—or human being—disappears below the pod, out of sight.

When they watch the video from the front-view camera, pausing it to study the image frame by frame, they see a pale, sunken face with distinctly human features, slender shoulders and arms.

The visitor gazes back at them before it swooshes away.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8ROaTfBILM8

An elaborate hoax for a television special on mermaids?

Most likely.

Because, as all of us who believe in merfolk will tell you, they’re far too smart to be caught on tape.

Discover merpeople for yourself with ALICE AT HEART a March Monthly 100 – on sale for only $1.99!