I’m thrilled to have J.J. Devine, author of The Cheyenne Bride, as my guest today.
J.J. you have been writing your whole life, but seriously as an author for about five years now. Can you tell us if you use a penname?
Yes, I do use a pseudo. For me it helps me separate my writing life from my family life. A woman defines herself in many ways, a wife, a mother, a grandmother, for me an author. Using a penname allows me to put on my J.J. Devine cap and focus on my writing world.
As someone who also writes under a penname, I completely understand what you mean. What’s one thing you absolutely can’t tolerate during your writing? One thing you can’t write without?
When my children were young I could write anytime, anywhere, with any amount of noise in the house. Today, since I’ve had years of quiet writing time, it is so much easier for me to get into a scene if the house is quiet or I can lock myself away from the world for a few hours, a day, a week, a month. When I work on a new manuscript, I surround myself with reminders, pictures, or anything that fit the profile for the manuscript. The Cheyenne Bride and the books within my Acceptance Series, is dedicated to The End of the Trail. Not only do I have statues of the lone rider and his beaten down horse on my desk, but many pictures and other emblems with this plastered all over them, throughout my house. For my paranormal romances that one is a bit different, I keep whatever scents or tools surround the elements in which my heroines (witches) live. Such as, Dragon’s Blood, cinnamon, or Dragon statues for my Fire witch. Lavender, clove, feathers or other air creatures, for my Air witch, you get the idea. This helps keep my focus on which genre I’m writing in.
I love that you surround yourself with things that help you focus on your current work in progress. What is on place you absolutely want to visit before you die?
Besides touring the Old West, I would absolutely love to spend time in Ireland. Not the tourist type of visiting either. No, the kind of visiting I’m talking about is getting to know the area, the people, their way of life. I always say visiting a place on a vacation and actually living in an area are two completely different concepts. If you really want to know what a place is like stay there for a while and get know your surroundings. Ireland has always held an appeal to me. From the old castles to the Blarney stone. The manner of speech to the lush green countryside. Ahhh, yes, I would definitely say Ireland is one place I want to see before I go to the hereafter.
For me it’s Scotland. Ireland and Scotland aren’t so very different! I adore both their accents. So, tell us, why did you choose to write in this genre? Have you ever written any other genre? Do you plan on doing so in the future?
I have always adored reading historical romance and series novels. I like knowing what happened to the characters after their happily ever after is complete. We all know relationships don’t end there. Before I ever sat down to pen my first novel, The Cheyenne Bride, I outlined six books for this series. After writing The Cheyenne Bride and Destiny’s Price, the second book in this series, I needed a change. I penned my very first paranormal romance in twenty-five days that summer, Into the Darkness. Today, I divide my time between the historical era and the paranormal realm. Both of which I am passionate about writing.
Twenty-five days! That’s impressive. Tell us one unusual, weird, or curious fact you discovered while researching this book.
I can’t say this would be unusual, weird, or curious, (or maybe it is depending on one’s concept) but what I did discover while writing The Cheyenne Bride was a side of myself I wasn’t aware of. I always knew I loved Native American history, however, when I started researching it during the beginnings of The Cheyenne Bride, I delved into a world I never knew was out there. I attended my first Native American POWWOW and fell in love with the traditions and culture of people I never realized lived so close to me. I made friendships that assisted me in my research, but also people who became very near and dear to my heart. This time opened a whole new world to me. It helped me learn not only about Native Americans, but it also helped me understand who I was and helped me to continue to grow as an author and a person. It helped me to take the blinders off of life and look at the world in a whole new light.
I love that! What are you most proud of about your writing?
I would have to say the answer to this question is it has shown me that my grandmothers were right. You’re never too old to learn new tricks. When I first began this writing venture I had no more English education than high school English and it had been years since I had been in high school. I had amazing role models in my grandmothers, one of which raised her children and had grandchildren, before going back to school to obtain her GED then went on to nursing school and when my grandfather retired she began her nursing career. I always kept her accomplishments foremost in my mind, knowing that life did not end when my children were grown, but a new world was beginning. I spent part of their childhood learning to write novels (something I always wanted to do), and then when they were grown I ventured out into the world, setting my own examples for my own grandchildren.
Do you have a favorite quote?
How can the truth set you free if it is all covered over by a lie? From True Women
Tell us something unusual, quirky, or odd about yourself?
I’m an author, isn’t that unusual, quirky, or add enough? No, you probably want more than that, don’t you? Well, let’s see, I guess you could say some of the lines (I’ll let you readers guess which ones) came to me while showering or in the middle of the night while dreaming. My family has grown used to me running from the bathroom, just after a shower, in hubby’s bathrobe, making a beeline for the computer or closest pen and paper, holding up my hand in that, “Don’t talk to me yet,” manner. Or finding me pounding away at the keyboard in the middle of the night, after I’ve been in bed for hours, awaken by a dream that I won’t be able to rest until the details are laid out in draft form. See, we writers never really get away from our writing. It is always with us no matter what we’re doing. Or at least it’s that way for me.
I’m laughing out loud! I get inspirations in the shower too.
Okay, now for the quickie questions: Answer in three words or less. Ready? Go!
Favorite Disney Character: Beast and Belle
Favorite Fruit: peaches
Favorite Hero: Jericho Reid
Favorite Eye Color: Brown
Best Vacation Destination: Dale Hallow
Food you can’t stand? Broccoli
What annoys you? Being lied to
Coffee, tea, or something else? Tea
Nightgown or Jammies? Jammies
Prefer dogs or cats? Dogs
Here’s a little bit about J.J.
Blurb:
Murder is afoot in the Wyoming territory, forcing Chris Davis to make a matrimonial match he never would have taken otherwise. Especially when his bride-to-be is still in love with the man he holds responsible for his parents’ death. Torn between his morals and loyalty to his family, Chris Davis’ heart betrays him at every turn. Nichole lied about her heritage. Could she also be lying about not being a part of his parents’ death? He should just leave her to his enemy and be done with her, or kill them both. If only it were that simple.
Nichole Michaels, known to the Cheyenne as White Deer, grew up hearing her mother spin tales of the visions of the man she would one day marry. Believing them to be nothing more than myth, imagine her surprise when she finds herself standing face to face with a vision come to life. She is torn between the past and a man whose love is certain, and a man whose love promised to be the strongest tie she has ever known, yet may never be able to claim. Chris needs her, but is that enough to make her deny her heritage for the rest of her life? Her heart aches to know the depth of the love claimed in her mother’s visions. Is she strong enough to withstand a rancher with a heart of stone to find it?
Excerpt:
“Leave this room immediately!” she ordered when he slammed the door behind him, closing the two of them away from the rest of the ranch.
“I told you not to talk to me as if I were a child,” he warned.
“If you weren’t acting as one, I wouldn’t speak to you as if you were. Now leave,” she demanded.
The atmosphere of passion, rising in the room between them, took all control. Never in his life had he seen a more stunning woman. She stood there, holding her ground, even though he towered over her a foot. Her face flushed. Her eyes went wide from the temper residing within.
Hunger replaced his anger. His eyes roamed over her heaving chest, those perfect lips. His needs, the dreams of many nights past, consumed him. Was she as fiery in life as she had been in his imaginary world?
Grabbing her arms, he yanked her into his embrace. His lips crashed down upon hers, hungrily devouring them with his own.
“Chris, please, don’t do this.” She gasped, breaking her lips from his.
She struggled against his grasp but to no avail. His hold tightened. Her head rested against his shoulder in defeat. He cupped her chin, lifting her face to his. He searched those dark, passion-filled eyes for some sign of her true feelings, only to find confusion marking their depths.
Not this time. Today, she would feel his obsession and the battle that raged inside him. Never again would he return home to find her in the arms of his enemy. After yesterday, there was one thing he knew for sure. One Wolf was her past.
“Chris, please …” The sound of his name, breathlessly whispered from her lips and the urge to consume her and let her consume him became undeniable. This time he relished in the taste of her lips against his own, sweet delicious honey, fresh from the hive.
“You called me Chris,” he breathed softly between the light kisses he bestowed upon her.
Her body melted into his, encouraging the intimacy between them. He forced his tongue between her lips, deepening the kiss they shared. His hand slipped between them, working the buttons of her dress.
Her body shook against his as he reached inside, grasping her full breast within his palm. His mouth tore from hers, making its way down her neck and onto her shoulders as he slid the material aside.
“Chris, stop, please.”
The pleading tone of her weakened voice slammed him back into reality. Her body shook more from fear than pleasure within his arms. What was he doing?
Her eyes lined with that same fear he had felt in her tremble. She stood there, still in his arms as if afraid to move. He had wanted to break that spirit of hers when he’d followed her. Yet now he regretted it.
“I’m sorry, Nichole, I don’t know what came over me.”
His unsteady voice broke the tense silence between them. He released her and went to the window. Only then did he realize her room held a perfect view of the orchard and the mountains behind it. Last night’s conversation resurfaced as his eyes locked on the apple tree where they’d stood.
Turning away from the reminder, he watched her wobbly hands trying to work the buttons of her blouse. Her face flushed. How had he let things get this out of hand? Normally, he could handle anything put in front of him. Then Nichole Michaels had entered his world, shattering everything he ever believed about himself.
“I’m sorry. Forgive me, please.” His voice shook.
Her body sunk down onto the edge of the bed. Her eyes focused on some imaginary spot on the floor. Going to her, his hands quivered as he carefully touched hers.
“I don’t know what came over me. I never meant to hurt you.”
“I’m sorry I anger you.”
Was it possible? He hated to hear that once dynamic, argumentative voice now sound as weak as a child.
“I’m not angry with you, I’m angry with the way you make me feel.” He removed his hands from hers and returned to his place at the window.
He heard her rise from the bed. His heart picked up its pace as her footsteps fell against the wooden floor. His eyes locked on her reflection as she drew near.
“How do I make you feel? Make me understand.”
He turned to her, agony ripping at the seams of his heart. “I can’t think of anything other than you. Your scent, your hair, your eyes, your voice, they haunt my every move, awake or asleep.”
He brought a shaky hand to her cheek, touching it gingerly. “My parents were murdered, Nichole, murdered by the people that are part of you. How could I feel this way about a woman who shares the blood of those who murdered my own parents?”
His heart raged with the confrontation of the truths slamming against his chest. “I can only think of how sweet your lips taste when you grant me a kiss, or how perfectly your body fits to mine when I chance to hold you. How wonderful it would feel to have you next to me at night and wake up with you in my arms in the morning.”
He gently took her into his arms. Tasting her one last time, her lips feather light against his. “I think I’m falling in love with you, Nichole Michaels, and that I must never allow myself to do.”
He left her standing by the window, alone with his words.
Here’s how you can contact J. J.
@JjDevine2010
Thank you so much for being joining me on Blue Rose Romance today, J.J.
