Today we are interviewing our own Marie Patrick, Historical
Romance Author and writer for Happily Ever After Thoughts. She is giving away a
copy of TOUCH THE FLAME.
Alexis: Hi Marie, it's such a pleasure to be able to
chat with you about the latest developments in your career. I know you have
been busy. Can you tell us what's new on the romance novel front?
Marie: Well, a lot, actually. I have two-not one,
but two-books coming out in February 2013. A SCANDALOUS WOMAN from Whiskey
Creek Press and A GOOD MAN FOR KATIE from The Wild Rose Press. I have recently
learned though that A GOOD MAN FOR KATIE will be available on Amazon long
before the actual release in February. I’m rather excited about that!
Alexis: And that release date is looking like next week! That is exciting! Your westerns are
always so much fun. Can you tell us a bit about A GOOD MAN FOR KATIE?
Marie: Here's the short, sweet version: When Chase Hunter rode
into Crystal Springs, Arizona Territory, with his guns tied down around his
thighs in gunslinger fashion, he was labeled an outlaw--a title he allowed to
remain while he tries to discover who stole the army’s rifles and killed his
brother…if he can keep the new schoolteacher, Kathryne “Katie” O’Rourke from
stumbling into the middle of it all.
Accused of being a
thief’s accomplice, Kathryne journeys to Crystal Springs and her sister, hoping
to escape the scandal she left behind. She has a history of falling for the
wrong men and vows to stay away from them, but that promise is hard to keep,
especially when Chase comes to her rescue time after time.
Katie can’t help falling
in love with Chase, but will she risk another scandal to stand up for him? Can
the wrong man be the right one?
Alexis: I've read A GOOD MAN FOR KATIE and I loved
it! Can you tell us how you come up with your ideas. I mean, we have a secret
tunnel, some unsolved murders and even a runaway coach ride!
Marie: Thank you, Alexis. I’m so glad you loved it.
That makes me feel really good. How did I come up with the idea? I visited a
museum. It’s the Pioneer
Living History
Museum and well…the place
made a profound impression on me. I’ve always loved history, but this place
just…I don’t know…made me see it, feel it, taste it, hear it (rather like what Gettysburg did for me). I
saw a schoolhouse and the teacherage beside it and well…I sat on a bench in
front of the chapel, just staring at this schoolhouse, and played the “What
if?” game. One thing led to another and before long, I had the story, the
characters, the place…all in my head (and jotted down on the little notebook I
carried even then). This story was written way back in 1989, when I didn’t know
a darned thing about writing (but thought I did). After many rejections, I
actually used the manuscript to start a bonfire BUT I was still in love with my
hero, Chase Hunter (and really, who wouldn’t be? He’s a good guy). And then, he
started talking to me, asking me to tell his story (again) but to do it right
this time, so I did. The runaway coach? I’d heard, after taking classes on
plotting and characterization and everything else under the sun, one wanted to
start a story with action….what better action than a runaway coach? It’s our
first glimpse of our spunky heroine and our devilishly handsome hero and
wouldn’t you want someone like him to save your life? I would. The secret tunnels
and unsolved murders? I’m a big fan of murder mysteries and haunted mansions
with secret passageways. Simply had to incorporate my love of such things into
my story.
Alexis: I see, so we can expect that what we find in
your romances are a lot of things that you like :-)
Makes sense. Which brings
me to Sarge. Okay, I'm totally in love with him, yes, but you must know dogs
very well to have portrayed him so realistically and yet given him his own
character.
Marie: I love dogs. I’ve had them all my life and
have them still. I simply cannot live without them. Growing up, my mother
preferred small dogs (like terriers and cocker spaniels). I prefer the bigger breeds and have had
German Shepherds for the past 30 years (well, Shadow was a Chow/Lab mix but
still a big girl). Sarge is a combination of all the dogs I’ve had. His
protectiveness came from Maggie, who wouldn’t let anyone she didn’t know come
near me or my son without her being right
there. His playfulness came from Sadie, who would stick out her paw as you were
walking by and try to trip you (and yes, she and her sister would actually look
like they were laughing when she did it). His sweetness and love of children?
Definitely Sheba,
who loved to chase bubbles and steal baseball caps. His intelligence? Well,
that’s a combination of all of them (from Maggie right on down the line to the
two girls I have now, Daisy and Schatzie).
Alexis: Your love of dogs definitely comes through
with Sarge. Since you have so much experience in that arena, I hope we get to
see another dog in a future work :-)
Your heroine Katie
has quite a bit of spunk, even when everyone turns against her, and the reader
can't help but cheer for her. Can you tell us a little about how you develop
these tough, lovable characters.
Marie: I’m almost embarrassed to admit this, but
Katie developed herself. The more I wrote, the more she spoke to me and when I
wrote something wrong about her, she was pretty quick to put me in my place. Chase
did the same—pretty much told me who he was and how I should portray him. That
seems to be how it’s been happening for me lately. I write and I get
reprimanded by my characters who tell me “I would never do that! How could you even think it? Fix it!”
Alexis: LOL. I guess that begs the question of who
is really in charge ;-) So are you a morning or night writer? Panster or
plotter? Need music or silence?
Marie: I’m definitely a morning writer. I write
before work so from 4:30 to 6:00, that’s my time (well, the dogs keep me
company and just hang on my every word….they think I’m brilliant). I used to
think I was a plotter and to some extent I am, but I’ve learned of a new
definition, which is puzzler, and that’s what I am. I need a plot (or at least
plot points) but I’m capable of writing chapters 1, 2 & 3 then jump
immediately to the epilogue or some other chapter in between. Sometimes, I write
the epilogue first, which can be exciting as I already know how the story will
end. Music or silence? Neither. I don’t need it quiet to write, but seldom do I
listen to music (because if I do, I’ll want to sing along and then, I’ll want
to dance and then….well, it’s just not a good thing and we can forget about
writing at that point). Background noise or even the television does not bother
me at all….I can drown out anything when I’m deep in a story. Ask my husband.
He’ll tell you that the house could fall down around my ears and I won’t hear a
thing.
Alexis: Lucky for you, living in Arizona, the chance
of a tornado taking the house down is slim :-) I can definitely see where the
humor in your stories comes from. What can we expect next from you? Do you have
any new releases coming or a work in progress?
Marie: What’s next? I’m working on a Civil War story
right now but I have a treasure hunt story I’m busy submitting and of course,
there will be more westerns because you know, I just love my westerns!
Alexis: And we love them too! Thank you so much for letting
our readers know about A GOOD MAN FOR KATIE. I really loved this book and now I
can't wait for A SCANDALOUS WOMAN to come out in February so we can do this
again.
Marie: And thank you for having me and I look
forward to visiting again. It’s so
exciting to talk writing and books with people who love writing and books (I
have found that strangers will walk
away from you if you try to tell them about a story so I try not to do that
anymore).
Alexis: Too funny :-) For a chance to win Marie’s TOUCH
THE FLAME be sure to leave a comment for her.
Winner will be announced on Wednesday. Check the side column for your
name.
Alexis: Check out this great excerpt from A GOOD MAN
FOR KATIE
Excerpt:
Fear made Kathryne O’Rourke’s palms damp and
her heart thunder in her chest. Time had lost all meaning since the stagecoach
started its bone-jarring race over the rutted road. She swallowed hard to ease
the dryness in her throat and tried once more to get the driver’s attention.
“Mr.
Simmons! Please—” She never finished yelling the words as the coach hit another
bump. The impact of hard wheel meeting harder rock bounced her from her seat.
She landed on her backside on the filthy floor and bit her tongue. The coppery
taste of blood filled her mouth.
A
word her father said all the time popped into her mind. She didn’t allow herself
to say it, however appropriate it might have been. Instead, Kathryne pulled
herself back into the seat with the help of the leather strap nailed to the
side of the carriage, but the vehicle swerved again and slammed her against the
wall. The right side of her body exploded with pain.
She
tried again to get the driver’s attention, but doubted he could hear her over
the thundering of the horse’s hooves. She pounded on the ceiling nonetheless,
but only succeeded in hurting her already bruised knuckles. Red splotches made
ugly stains on her white gloves.
“Mr. Simmons—” Her words were replaced with a
sudden “oomph” as she found herself sprawled on the floor of the coach once
more. Gold-rimmed glasses askew on her face, she fought back the tears.
The
careful coif she’d twisted her heavy locks into earlier this morning came
undone and tumbled to her waist. Shiny hairpins settled on the floor of the
stagecoach. She pushed her hair out of her eyes and fixed her glasses.
I’m going to die on a
lonely mountain road in Arizona Territory. The thought
popped into her head and wouldn’t be stopped as a kaleidoscope of family and
friends she’d never see again flashed through her mind.
“No,
I’m not!” Anger replaced the paralyzing fear in an instant.
She
gave in and uttered General Galen “Fighting Irish” O’Rourke’s favorite word as
she climbed into the seat though she knew she’d be safer on the floor.
“Mr.
Simmons! Stop this coach!” she yelled, hoping he’d hear above the rattle of the
wheels but the coach kept up its speed and swayed from side to side, tossing
her about as if she were a rag doll.
With
trembling fingers, Kathryne grabbed the stiff cloth covering the window. The
wind tore the shade from her hand. It shredded before breaking free of the
small nails that held it in place. Her gaze met sheer rock wall. Rust- and
sand-colored stone rose up who knew how high. Spiky branches of the hardy
bushes that clung to the rock poked through the window and scratched her cheek,
almost knocking her glasses off her face.
The
stage scraped against this stone wall with such force, Kathryne flew to the
other side of the coach and banged her head on the seat. Fresh pain assailed
her as she crawled to her knees, grabbed the windowsill, and pulled herself up.
Already in tatters, the window covering fluttered in the wind and ripped free
as soon as she touched it.
With
nothing to impede her vision, she saw the tops of wavering piñon trees and the
sharp drop off between the edge of the dirt road and nothingness.
Oh, dear God!
To
save her own life, she’d have to jump…or be killed.
She
took a deep breath, unlocked the door and pushed it open. The door slammed
against the side of the stagecoach and echoed in the canyon below.
“You’re
a general’s daughter, Kate. You don’t have to die this way.” The roar of the
horse’s hooves drowned out her voice. Dark brown earth littered with rocks sped
beneath her and made her more lightheaded than she thought possible. Everything
swayed and grew fuzzy—the treetops, the dirt road beneath her, the blue sky
above.
“Take
my hand!”
He
appeared out of nowhere beside the stagecoach though he didn’t look like her
idea of salvation. From his black hat to his solid black clothing to his ebony
steed, he resembled every bandit, every outlaw, every desperado she’d read
about in the books she loved so well. The dull glow of the pearl-handled pistol
in the holster added to the illusion and yet, she wasn’t afraid of him. In all
reality, Kathryne was more afraid of dying on this high mountain road than of
this handsome stranger.
And
then he was gone. But only for a moment.
“Take
my hand!”
“For
pity’s sake, stop the horses!”
“No
time,” he yelled over the rattle of the stage. His eyes never left her face as
he extended his hand. “Trust me.”
The
trimmed black goatee and mustache on his face did not inspire trust—he looked
wicked enough to be Satan himself—however, the kindness in his soft gray eyes
gave her hope.
Alexis: Don't forget for a chance to win a copy of
TOUCH THE FLAME, another great western by Marie Patrick, be sure to leave a
comment :-)
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My latest hero is Brock
MacDermott. He gives new meaning to the description “strong, silent” type and
he looks remarkably like James Denton! 
