Bell Bridge Books

What Began as as Whim…

by J.A. Ferguson

Dream Singer, the first of the Dream Chronicles, began as a whim. I’d been writing historical romances for years, and I wanted to write something different. For the fun of it, taking the advice of C.S. Lewis to write the book I wanted to read. I took the characters of Durgan Ketassian and Nerienne and dropped them into the setting and let the story unfold.

The only requirement was that anything was possible.

I wanted the book to have music and color in it. I’ve always admired musicians who create wondrous melodies out of nothing as well as visual artists like my sister and my daughter. They see things in unique ways. I gave music to Durgan, making him a dreamsinger, someone who can see into dreams through music. Nerienne got the gift of being able to discern people’s true feelings by seeing the colors surrounding them.

Right from the beginning, the idea that they were enemies who would have to fight a common foe drove the story. Okay, it’s a beloved romance trope – the bad boy and the good girl. But in this case, the girl is well-familiar with evil because her mother, the leader of their world, is not the nice and cuddly soccer mom type.

I wrote the first chapters, but something was missing. The heroine needed a reflection character, someone she could talk to so the reader (me!) saw the emotions she kept hidden from the hero. I tossed away the ideas of a servant or sibling as mundane. That led me to a pet…a talking pet only she could hear. But better yet, a truly annoying talking pet. Bidge was born.

I’ve been asked a lot about the origin of Bidge’s name. At first, I saw her as the character who not only listened to Nerienne, but nudged her to do the right thing. Her fuzzy-faced conscience in a shell. Nudge became Budge which evolved into Bidge. But Bidge evolved as well, and her name was even more accurate because instead of nudging, she nags. Think of a synonym for nag and say Bidge’s name aloud, and you should be able to pick up on the accuracy of her name!

With my characters in place, I wrote the book I wanted to read. Once it was finished, I went back to work on my contracted books. I never thought I’d do anything with it…until a good friend mentioned a friend of hers was starting a publishing company and looking for odd paranormal books. I sent off an email to Linda Kichline, the founder of ImaJinn Books, asking if she wanted to see my manuscript which definitely fit the definition of odd paranormal. Since then, the first book has grown into five, and my original three characters, especially Bidge, have played a part in each one to the delight of readers.

Pick up DREAM SINGER for just $1.99! On sale til the 15th!

NOT FOR EVERYONE!

by Susan Kearney

What’s an author to do when she loves to write stories that some readers won’t even try?  It’s a dilemma because writers need to pay their bills like everyone else, so we want to be popular with readers. At the same time, my taste has always been a bit outside the norm.  Okay, if I’m honest, my taste is far from the norm.  And when I wrote my first futuristic romance, the Rystani series, the books were way, way out there.  Readers either loved or hated them.  But I learned that many readers simply heard the word futuristic and thought–it’s not for me.  The reasons were varied and  interesting for not even giving the books a try.  Some thought it would be too techie, too weird, too hard to understand or simply didn’t think they could relate.  So I set out to write a book that would ease non-readers of futuristic romance into the genre.  Lunar Heat was that story and  I set the book mostly on Earth.  I made sure to make one character an earth woman.  Okay, I gave her a man from another world to love and a mission that tests her morally, emotionally and physically.  And the romance had to be steamy.  So I finished the book and you’d think an author’s work would be done, right?  Wrong.

The next step was working on a cover.  Lucky for me I got to pick the cover models, was there for the shoot and had a lot of say in the cover art.  I wanted romance and a mood that would be inviting to romance readers.  The cover was so important because I wanted to depict romance, because that’s what the story is.  It’s romance that just happens to be set in the near future.  And if there’s a side trip to the moon, please don’t let that throw you.  It’s fun.  And I promise…the science is underwhelming.  So if you’ve never read a futuristic, I urge you to give this book a try.  Perhaps you’ll fall in love with a new genre and even want to read the sequel Solar Heat.  Um, got to admit, I when a bit further out into the galaxy on that one.  🙂

     Pick up LUNAR HEAT for just $1.99 through December! 

And make sure you pick up the sequel – SOLAR HEAT! 

3,500 Posts

by Melissa Ford

This summer will mark 10 years of writing my blog, Stirrup Queens. I publish a post at least 5 times per week, though I write more posts than I publish. What this means is that for the last 10 years, I’ve sat down in front of my computer almost every single day and written down a record of a thought or event, polished it, and hit publish.

I write on my birthday and holidays and weekends. I write when I’m sick and when I’m in a terrible mood and when I only have 15 minutes before school pickup. Blog posts are the warm up for my regular 6 hour book writing day.

They’re not always good. I don’t always enjoy it.

But I like having 3,500 posts. They are 3,500 pieces of evidence that I showed up, even when I didn’t feel like it, even when I didn’t know what I was going to say when I turned on the computer.

They’re proof that showing up matters. That showing up is how work gets done. That showing up moves things forward. If I didn’t show up, I wouldn’t have 3,500 posts. I might only have 2,000 posts. Or 1,000 posts. Or be writing about how I’m hitting my 500th post, and isn’t that a terrific milestone?

And yes, it would be. But 3,500 is better, no? 3,500 over almost 10 years means that I have written every day. Slow and steady, bit by bit. Always showing up, and then continuing on to write six books, too.

That is the number one piece of advice I can give to new writers. Show up. Even when there are holidays, even when you’re sick, even when you’re in a terrible mood. Sit down with your book or your blog and put words on the screen. It’s okay if it isn’t what you feel like doing in the moment. Do it anyway.

Because maybe all of that work will mean that something good happens, like having your book chosen by Amazon to be one of their December deals.

Pick up APART AT THE SEAMS for just $1.99 through December!

Exclusive excerpt from Book 10 of The Vampires in America Series! Read it below and click the cover to preview! 

It’s too dangerous for you to stay here…”

Natalie’s unease at what he was saying overrode her irritation at his tendency to give orders. “Dangerous? Do you really think—?”

“That Anthony would hurt you?” Christian studied her for a moment, as if trying to decide if he should tell her the truth, as if wondering whether she could handle it.

“Tell me the truth,” she demanded.

His lips tightened briefly, and he said, “Yes.”

“But he’s never done anything like that before.”

“And he’d probably regret it. But in the final analysis, only one person matters to Anthony, and that’s Anthony. I don’t believe for a minute that he plans to retire quietly to New Orleans. He has a game in play that will maximize his own power and wealth after the succession. We just don’t know what it is yet. But whatever it is, I’ve spoiled it for him, and he’ll do what it takes to get rid of me. He wants you for

himself—”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he continued.

“—I can see it in the way he looks at you. He covets you, as if you’re already his. He may even have convinced himself he loves you, or that you love him. But if he gets angry enough, he’ll hurt you. Either to claim you for himself, or to get to me.” He stepped closer in the confined space, cupping her cheek in his big hand. “You matter to me. Anthony knows that.”

Natalie looked up at him, unable to stop herself from leaning in until her breasts nearly touched him. Her chest felt constricted, her heart too big for the space, pounding in her ears until it was all she could hear. Christian tightened the fingers of his other hand around her hip, pulling her in until there was no space between them, and the tips of her breasts scraped the thick muscles of his chest. His gaze traveled over her face, lingering on her lips, and she knew he was going to kiss her.

When his mouth met hers, her lips were already open in welcome. She expected to be ravished, but was enticed instead, his lips caressing hers with delicate, sliding kisses, his tongue quick and teasing, until she went up on her toes, and pressed her mouth to his to demand more. She felt his smile against her lips, felt him shift the angle of her head as he sank deeper into her, as his tongue swept forcefully into her mouth, stroking, tasting. Natalie wrapped her arms around his neck with a pleasured sigh. She couldn’t remember wanting anyone the way she did Christian. She was hungry for him. Every inch of her longed for him, from the ache between her thighs to the swell of her breasts, and everything above and below.

But he was being so careful with her. As if she were something fragile, as if he had to hold himself back. She wasn’t terribly experienced. Hell, she’d never experienced a man like Christian. But she wasn’t going to break, either. And she didn’t want him to hold back.

She boldly closed her teeth over his lower lip, stopping just short of drawing blood, shivering as his growled response rolled down her throat, trembling deep between her thighs, and knotting her nipples into hard peaks. His arm tightened around her back as he jerked her even closer.

“Careful, ma chére, or you’ll get what you ask for.”

“Good,” she whispered fiercely.

About the author: 

D.B. Reynolds is the RT Award-winning author of the Vampires in America series of paranormal romance, and an Emmy-nominated television sound editor. She lives with her husband of many years in a flammable canyon near Los Angeles, and when she’s not writing her own books, she can usually be found reading someone else’s. Visit her blog at www.dbreynolds.com for details on all of her books, for free stories and more.

My mother’s smile.

by Skye Taylor

My mom was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s when she was seventy-seven, but even then we all wondered if she’d had it for a lot longer than we or the doctor knew. She’d been completely deaf since her late thirties and while she lip-read very well, she also got to be an expert at pretending she knew what strangers or casual acquaintances were saying even when she didn’t have a clue. In retrospect, we began to realize that she’d been faking it with us as her memory began to fail.

She never seemed frustrated by her loss of memory. In fact, it was the rest of us who were frustrated and she always responded with a big smile that defused our exasperation.

Even before she went into assisted living care, she began to be foggy about who I was. One night when she asked, and I told her, she didn’t believe me. So I hauled out my driver’s license thinking to prove I was who I claimed to be and her shocked reaction was to ask why I was in possession of my sister’s driver’s license. Even she laughed about it two nights later when she did remember who I was. Conversing with a deaf person who can’t recall how the sentence began has moments of humor, but it’s mostly frustrating and increasingly sad. A few things she never forgot – like the fact that it was me who took her car away. Until nearly the end of her life, she held that indignity against me. And she never forgot that her Johnny was the love of her life.

One thing I remember most about her last few years was that in spite of not being sure who I was, she still loved me and it showed. Until she went into care, she lived next door and I always stopped by on my way home from work. She always lit up with welcome and opened her arms for a hug when I walked into her living room. I  “talked” to her mostly through written notes on her multitude of notebooks which had the advantage of being able to flip back a page or two when she continued to repeat the same questions. But the visits were always good ones because I knew she enjoyed our moments together even if she remembered nothing of them as soon as I disappeared from sight.

When the call that I’d been dreading for some time came, I rushed to her side at the hospital where her labored breathing was the only sound in the room. Her heart had failed and although the EMTs had gotten it started again, she never did regain consciousness. When her last breath came, my sister was with us and we were talking on the phone with my brother who lived several states away. So we were all together, hanging on to each other and our memories of a mother who had always loved us with her whole heart. I will always remember the stillness and love that filled that room at that moment. But even more, I will always remember the thousand-watt smile that greeted me every time I went to visit her, even long after she’d completely forgotten either my name or my place in her life. Sometimes a mother’s love is felt more than spoken, and ultimately it transcends even death. I see her smile in billowing white clouds against a brilliant blue sky and a dozen other things she loved, and I feel her touch in the soft darkness as I fall asleep each night.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom. You were and are the best.

Pick up Skye Taylor’s Bell Bridge titles today:

“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!

“A Sort of Homecoming for Me”

by Virginia Brown

I have a confession: I am an avid Anglophile. Since I was a small child, I have loved any and everything I could read, see at the movies, or watch on TV about the British Isles. Until recently, I never understood quite why I have always been so fascinated with anything English. A few years ago I began to research our family genealogy, and at last I understand. My mother’s ancestors came from England and Ireland, half of my father’s from Wales and Scotland. On my mother’s side I was able to trace our lineage back to Waleran de Gyrlington, born in 1058. He married a local Yorkshire girl, and happily set about creating a long line of descendants. Perhaps that is why, upon my first visit to England, I actually wept with emotion at setting down on the runway of Gatwick Airport. It was a sort of homecoming for me.

In researching background for NEVER TEMPT A DUKE, I chose Hampshire, a beautiful location on the southern coast with a rich history and gorgeous homes. I shamelessly borrowed from other country manors, castles, and villages to create my hero’s home and lineage. While the surrounding hills and vales are as accurate as I can describe them, the house itself is a composite of other impressive homes scattered over the English countryside. It was easy for me to imagine the Duke of Deverell in such a setting, and even easier to imagine a young American girl’s awe at finding herself living in Deverell Hall as his ward. Of course, Alyssa’s arrival was fraught with anxiety since she was pretending to be her twin brother, a deception that Blake Crandell, Duke of Deverell would certainly not appreciate. But what else could she do when faced with the alternative of languishing in a female academy at home in Virginia? Her twin, Nicky, had inherited an earldom through their father, but Alyssa’s future was uncertain. Since the duke had been made guardian, he had control over their lives until they reached the age of twenty-one. Nicky chose to go to sea, and Alyssa embarked on a deception that would change her life forever. As an American in an unfamiliar land with unfamiliar customs, she had much to learn, and never expected to fall in love with the duke. Nor had the duke any expectations of love, especially with someone he’d watched grow from a rebellious girl into a beautiful young woman. Deverell had few illusions, having been disappointed in love before, and had vowed to never allow himself to be tempted into such dangerous emotion again.

But he hadn’t anticipated the power of Alyssa’s desire or his own response. . . .

NEVER TEMPT A DUKE is an Amazon Monthly 100 for March for only $1.99! Grab it today!

Get into the holiday spirit with this yummy recipe

from Skye Taylor’s novel – TRUSTING WILL (The third

in The Camerons of Tide’s Way)

Blueberry & white chocolate Scones – from Sandy Cameron’s Kitchen

2 cups flour                              4 TBSP butter melted or veg oil

1 tsp salt                                   2 eggs

1/3 cup sugar                           ½ cup cream or milk

4 tsp baking powder                 1 cup frozen  blueberries (or raspberries​)

½ cup white chocolate chips

Preheat oven to 350°

Stir all dry ingredients together, then add butter, eggs, cream or milk and mix well.

Fold in berries and chocolate bits.

Spoon onto baking sheet lined with foil and sprayed with Pam. Sprinkle tops with a little white sugar if desired. Bake for 20 minutes until bottoms of scones are lightly browned and top springs back with pressed with finger.  Eat still warm from oven or cool.

Go grab FALLING FOR ZOEY and LOVING  MEG today!

And make sure you grab TRUSTING WILL – coming soon! 

An interview with Ben Cameron

by Skye Taylor

Today we are pleased to have Ben Cameron visiting with us at Blogging on the Beach. He is the hero of Skye Taylor’s latest book, Loving Meg and the third son (by mere minutes) of Sandy and Nathan Cameron of Tide’s Way. The baby of the family, Jake Cameron, was with us earlier when his book, Falling for Zoe, came out in April, and Will, Ben’s identical twin, will hopefully come for a visit next year when Trusting Will comes out.

Skye: So – Welcome, Ben. We know you grew up in Tides’s Way and come from a big family, that you’re married, to Meg, of course, and have two sons, Rick and Evan.  But who is Ben Cameron? Tell us about yourself.

Ben: You know, my wife and I had a discussion about that not so long ago. She seemed to think that my job was who I was, but I think I got her turned around.  At least I hope I have. Meg is the light of my life. She has been since I first met her. She was my best friend’s kid sister, and I had to pretend we were just friends for the first few years because I was way too old for her. But it was worth the wait. We’ve been married for ten years come next May and I can’t imagine life without her. Being a dad is another big part of who I am. Until Rick was born I never had a clue how terrific fatherhood could be. I have a fantastic dad of my own, but being a dad is even better.

Skye: What do you do for a living?

Ben: I raise and train German Shepherds for police work. It does keep me pretty busy, but I love working with the dogs, and I love seeing them succeed. I’ve got a new project in mind, too. It’s a long story how I got involved, and I’m sure that’s not what you’re interested in here so I’ll skip to the punch line. I want to enlarge my operation to include training dogs to work with returned veterans who are struggling with PTSD and other disabilities brought on in their service to our country. It’s be awhile before I can get it up and running, but eventually I want to have a home where the veterans will come to be paired with their dogs and training can happen. From what I’ve discovered having a service dog often can make the difference that all the drugs and psychiatric work can’t in helping these guys get their lives back, and I can’t think of anything more rewarding that making that happen.

Skye: Didn’t Meg just return from Iraq. She’s been in the Marines for most of your married life, but this was her first overseas deployment. That must have been difficult for you and the boys. What was the hardest part for you?

Ben: All of it. (Ben shakes his head and a cloud passes over his face.) I hated watching the news. It just made me more afraid than I already was. I knew she was out there, accompanying conveys along roads that those bas— sorry, terrorists love to booby trap with IEDs. So, I didn’t watch the news, and I tried to stay busy and not worry. But the hardest part was probably the nights. She tried to call as often as she could,and she’d time it when she knew I was climbing into bed. I’d lay there in the dark, clutching the phone to my ear, listening to her voice and wishing desperately that she was laying next to me instead, and that the nightmare of her being gone and in danger was over.

Skye: Have you ever told Meg that?

Ben: Yeah. I’ve told her, but I’m not sure she understood how really hard it was for me being left behind while she went off to conquer her world.  I told Will, too. He’s my twin you know. He’s the other half of me. I told him everything. Or most everything.

Skye: What’s it like being an identical twin?

Ben: You mean being the other half of me? (Ben chuckles) Will says the same thing. He thinks I’m the better half and if only he could be a little more like me, he’d be a better man. But I think it’s the other way around. Will is a lot like Meg and I admire that – that ability to strike out into the unknown – to take on a task that seems far bigger than it might have seemed at the start. Something bigger than just themselves, but they stick it out. They put themselves out there and do jobs others can’t. Me? I’ve been on the same path all my life. Everyone, including me, knew where I was going with my life since I was just a kid. And there wasn’t anything dangerous or adventurous about it.

Skye: What started you on your path in life so early?

Ben: You sure you want to hear this? It’s not all that exciting. Not when compared to the places Meg’s been.

Skye: We’re sure.

Ben: Well, when I was maybe nine or ten someone gave my dad this dog, Taffy. We’d always had dogs as long as I could remember, usually more than one at a time, and Dad was always the one who trained them. But Taffy just seemed like she was going to break him. I think she was a golden retriever, but so inbred there’s no doubt where her less than stellar brain capacity came from. She had one ear that popped up and flopped over half way up – the other hung down like a retriever’s is supposed to. It gave her this really silly goober look. Very fitting, considering.

Anyway, one day Dad was trying to teach her to stay. He’d take her out to this spot about 20 feet from the front steps and tell her to sit. She was great at sit. Then he’d give her the signal and verbal command to stay and he’d turn his back on her and come over to the steps. By the time he got there and turned around she was right behind him grinning up at him as if he’d told her to follow instead of stay. Finally, I asked Dad if I could try. He handed me the leash and said go to it. Neither of us really expected much. But I walked out to the magic spot and told her to sit, put my hand in front of her nose and said stay as sternly as I could with my little kid’s voice and headed back to the porch. Dad was sitting with his elbows resting on the step behind him watching, but even before I got to him, he sat up and looked from me to somewhere behind me. I turned around expecting to see Taffy right on my heels like she’d been on dad’s every time. But I was gobsmacked. She was still sitting where I’d left her. I called her and she dashed toward me so fast she ran me down. And that was when me and everyone else knew I’d end up training dogs for a living.

Marrying Meg was another thing everyone knew long before it happened. Long before Meg knew it anyway. I grew up in my parents house by the sea and I told them I was always going to live there too. I saw this spot of land when I was still in college. I didn’t have scratch for money, but I begged my dad to give me the down payment and I worked two jobs all through college to make the mortgage payments. So, you see, Will and I are like the other half of each other. He’s Alpha. I’m Beta. He’s the adventurous one. He’s impatient to see new things, go new places, meet new people all the while I’m living the life I planned out years ago. I’m so settled down I can’t imagine life any other way. Will’s still trying out every new extreme sport that catches his fancy and dating lots of really nice ladies but not settling for just one. Although I really hope he finds his Miss Right. I’d like him to have what I have with Meg.

Skye: I know you’re a busy man with things to do and places to go, even if they aren’t far from home or dangerous, so I’ll let you go. But we’ve enjoyed having you. Thanks for coming.

Ben: Thanks for having me.

Researchaholic

by Eve Gaddy




I love research. There’s nothing I like better when starting a book than to be able to do research. I love going to the library and finding books and articles on the subject I’m researching. I love being able to google the subject and have all kinds of books and articles show up in my browser. I make a research file for each book in my browser favorites and keep all the links in it. I also keep a file for print articles and I have both ebooks and paper books for research. I keep all my research for every book I’ve written. That way if I need to know something about jewel thieves, or Texas Rangers, or cops, or cold cases, or Hotshots, or any number of things I’ve researched in the past, I don’t have to start from zero. 



A really interesting thing happened just as I was starting to do research for Cry Love. I decided that even though I’d never heard of one, that it would have been logical for there to have been another Underground Railroad, but this one running from Texas to Mexico. After all, Mexico is a lot closer to Texas than Canada. Imagine my surprise when I found that my idea happened to be true.

First, I googled Texas-Mexico Underground Railroad to see if it had existed. I found a number of articles that referred to it, some with just a mention and some with more information. Information was scarce on the subject. There isn’t a lot written about it, or at least, a lot that is accessible. Most people don’t even know the Texas-Mexico Underground Railroad existed. I’ve read that much that’s written about it is in Spanish, but even in Mexico the stories about it aren’t well known. 



The kernel of an idea I started with was that of a black man and a white woman who fell in love just prior to the Civil War. The man was a slave. Again, I didn’t know much about the subject, but people fall in love all the time, so it didn’t seem impossible for such a situation to have taken place. One of the books I found fascinating is Forbidden Fruit–Love Stories From the Underground Railroad, by Betty Deramus. One section that particularly interested me was about interracial love stories from the Civil War era. The stories were touching and emotional and often tragic. 

Although I still research some of the medical references and situations and such, I do have my own personal go-to medical sources. My husband, Bob, is a retired physician who was a General Surgeon and Radiologist. He loves it when I ask him things. 

Me: “I need something really exciting to happen in the ER.” I go on to explain the circumstances, what I’m trying to accomplish, etc. 

Bob: “You don’t want the ER to be exciting. Things aren’t going well if they’re exciting.” 
Me: “Yes, yes, I know that. (He’s told me this before. Many times.) But tell me what could happen that requires both a trauma surgeon and a neurosurgeon. Something they might argue about.”
Bob: Sighs heavily. “Well, this could happen…”
Me: “No.”
Bob: “Or this…”
Me: “No.”
Bob: Audibly grinding teeth. “How many scenarios do you want?”
Me: “I want one that’s exciting.”

We go on like that for a while until I finally hear something that might work. Then, of course, I have to pick his brains about how to write the scene and finally, I ask him to read over it to make sure it doesn’t sound stupid or that I haven’t gotten something wrong. I’m fairly certain at times like that he wishes he wasn’t a retired physician. My daughter is a Physician’s Assistant so I have another source for answers to medical questions. I think she likes being asked. So far.:)

I also had to do some research about divorce in Texas. I warned my husband in case he came upon me reading about divorce and thought I was planning something. I don’t think he was worried. I’m pretty sure I’ve asked him questions about that as well. I’ve been a writer for a long time now, so he’s accustomed to being asked about all sorts of subjects–both those he knows about and those he doesn’t.

There are a number of groups for writers that are wonderful for doing research. An excellent one is the Yahoo groups Crime Scene Writers group, started by Wally Lind, a retired police crime scene investigator. The description from the Yahoo groups site reads: “A forum for asking and answering crime scene investigation, applied forensics, and police procedure questions for fiction or non-fiction writers. Writers are invited to ask and crime scene investigators, forensic scientists, and medical practitioners are invited to answer.”

As with a lot of things, research has changed markedly with the Internet. It can make a writer’s life both easier and harder. Easier to find books, articles and other resources to find answers to questions. Harder because it’s common to get distracted by every article you read and keep clicking on different articles until suddenly you are reading an article that has absolutely no relation to whatever you were researching. Worse, two hours have passed and you still haven’t found the answer to your question.

But you never know when you might need an article on Wolf Moon name variations.