There's Always Something Special About Your First

We all have memories of a lot of firsts in our lives. Our first bra; we were growing up! Our first kiss: two guppies smacking lips. Our first pregnancy; ugh, the morning sickness. Our first homemade Thanksgiving turkey...you mean we had to thaw it first??? Please tell me I'm not the only dummy out there. And, for writers, our first published book. 

Mine was a contemporary western, STORM'S INTERLUDE, that released with The Wild Rose Press five years ago. I was overjoyed. I'd dreamed of being published since I was in the sixth grade back in the day when we were crawling under our desks for bomb protection during the era of the Cold War. So we're talking about dreaming for something for a lo-o-o-ong time.

Since then, I've moved on to HarperImpulse and Random House Loveswept with 16 more books. Number 17 is due out the end of November. I've gotten the rights back to 3 books with Wild Rose and entered the world of self-publishing. My first self-pubbed book? STORM'S INTERLUDE, of course. After all, there's always something special about your first book. It's the culmination of years of wishing and the story is embedded deeply within your heart.

The original version earned the HOLT Medallion of Merit for best romance and best book by a Virginia author. It was also voted book of the year at Long and Short Reviews the year it came out. For a writer who had so much to learn, all the accolades were quite humbling. I didn't think anyone would like it or the way I'd written it or my characters or.....self-doubt is an awful thing, isn't it?

So my first Indie book is standing tall and proud in the back of the pack of so many others, but I'm hoping Storm and Rachel will win some more hearts. It's now the first book of a planned series "Rosefire, Texas Romances."

Nurse Rachel Dennison comes to Texas determined to prepare her new patient for a second round of chemo. What she isn't counting on is her patient's twin brother, Storm Blackhawk. Despite her initial attraction, Storm has two things Rachel can't abide: a domineering personality and an ex-fiancée who won't leave him alone.

Half Native American, with the ability to have "vision dreams," Storm dreams about Rachel for three nights before her arrival. Both are unprepared for the firestorm of emotions their first encounter ignites. Ultimately, it is Rachel's past--an abusive, maniacal ex-boyfriend--that threatens to keep them apart...and Storm's dreams that brings them together again.

AMAZON BUY LINK: http://a.co/43HDtOp

Learn more about Vonnie Davis at www.vonniedavis.com 

Time to Plant Flowers by Vonnie Davis

Finally, the manuscript for book two of my "Black Eagle Ops" series has been emailed to my editor. I was only 6 days past my deadline and--cough--19,000 words over what they'd asked for in the contract. But, really, who wants to read a piddling 70,000 word book? Besides, I'm a writer, not a mathematician.

Or so I'll tell Sue when she returns the manuscript and tells me to cut chapter 9 and eliminate a character or two because this mess is wa-a-a-y too long.

She sent me 3 pictures of men today to use as models for the cover of the book. The graphic department at Loveswept is working on the book now, even though it won't release until Thanksgiving week. I have to admit they were all handsome looking devils. Each swoon-worthy in his own way. The only problem being they all had two arms and my hero, a former SEAL, lost most of his arm in Syria. Calvin and I studied them and both agreed number 2 was the best, tattoos and all. Would a prosthesis have a tat, I wondered? Still, it's too early in that process to get up-tight. I might end up with a completely different male. Who knows.

Meanwhile, it's time to plant flowers!

Yay me, I love to play in the dirt. There aren't just newly bought flats of annuals sitting outside the garage and hanging pots from the roof of the front porch, but there are also 5 new indoor plants to replace the ones that had the audacity to wither and die while I wrote like a mad woman.

Seriously, just because I forgot to water them for a few little ol' months. Can you imagine? Where was their loyalty. Hadn't I talked to them? Sung to them? Gee, you don't think my singing was what killed them, do you? After all, what do plants know about hitting the right notes?

I really miss the six-foot palm I'd nursed from an eight-inch plant in a basket assortment given to me after I'd been in a car accident back in 2000. The palm had survived my moving from Pennsylvania to Maryland when Calvin and I got married. I'd lovingly set it on the floor of the car when we moved from Maryland to Virginia in 2005. It looked fabulous in the corner of our living room when I started writing HERS TO HEAL. Maybe the book's title should have been A PLANT TO KILL.

Read more about my books at www.vonniedavis.com

Tomorrow, Tomorrow, Will They Buy It Tomorrow?

Book three of "A Highlander's Beloved Novel", my bear-shifter series--BEARING IT ALL--releases tomorrow. I'm nervous, as I always am. I'm worried if I've done everything I can to get the word out. Lucky for me, my publisher, Random House Loveswept, has helped promote me, too.

The series thus far has been about the Matheson brothers--Creighton, Ronan, and Bryce. In Scottish, mathe means bear and these men are sons of bears, or bear-shifters.

Book one, A HIGHLANDER'S OBSESSION, is Creighton's romance with an American who's traveled to Scotland as a companion for her Grandma Effie to attend her uncle's funeral. For Creighton, it's almost love at first sight. For Paisley, who has a boyfriend back home, meeting Laird Creighton is like a nightmare. She can telepathically communicate with animals and she hears Creighton's bear speak to Ronan's bear. Poor thing thinks she's finally crossed the line of insanity.

Book two, A HIGHLANDER'S PASSION, was Bryce's romance with his childhood friend, Kenzie. Bryce, a widower, is father to a precocious four-year old who's liable to say most anything. He's spurned Kenzie once before. Now, realizing his mistake, he's out to win her love. She's not having any of it.

 

 

Ronan, the middle brother, has said repeatedly, "I have nay time ta hunt fer a lassie. If she wants me, she'll have to drop from the feckin' sky." Men should be more careful what they say, don't you think?

 

A Scottish hunter and a French secret agent find themselves on a collision course with danger—and irresistible desire—in Vonnie Davis’s new bear-shifting Highlander novel. 

In the pine-dense mountains of the Scottish Highlands, shape-shifter Ronan Matheson is taking a couple weeks off from his duties at the family-run lodge to find solace at the cabin he built. His bear is running free when a desperate woman parachutes out of the sky, directly onto his furry, powerful chest. Instead of clawing her to death, Ronan’s inner bear longs to keep her safe. Once he’s back in human form, Ronan is amused by the mysterious beauty’s fearless attitude—and tempted by her expertly toned physique. But what could she possibly be doing in this isolated stretch of the Highlands?

French intelligence agent Anisa Brosseau (think 007 with boobs and curly hair) never imagined she’d be on the CIA’s bad side—until she’s framed for treason and forced to flee in a stolen drone. Hiding out in a remote cabin, Anisa just needs some time to clear her name. What she doesn’t need is a brooding, muscle-bound Scot in a skimpy kilt to drive her crazy with lust. But when Anisa’s enemies come knocking on his door, Ronan calls on a secret weapon to protect his turf and the bonny lass he’s come to love.

BUY LINK: http://amzn.com/B00TCI2A5E



I Took My Husband to RWA, He Wasn't Prepared...

Every year. Romance Writers of America (RWA) holds a large convention. Going was never high on my bucket list, but this year it was planned for NYC, and my editor at Random House Loveswept wanted to talk to me for a bit. So I asked Calvin what he thought of the idea because we go everywhere together. We've only been married for 12 years, so we're still in that honeymoon stage. If we took the Amtrak, he was for it. He didn't want to have to fold his tall frame into another airplane seat. He's still grumbling about our last flight to Paris.

I was able to reserve a room in the same hotel the convention was being held in, which was the Mariott Marquee on Times Square. Sounds fancy-smancy, doesn't it? Well, we had to go to the 8th floor to register since there was a theatre on the lower floors. From there, you walked over to a large circular bank of elevators, pressed the number of the floor your room was on and it gave you the letter of the elevator--from A to N--that would take you to your floor. This changed every time you used the elevators. Sometimes you had to run around the circle to reach your elevator before the doors closed and, at others, you had to wait. Being a small town lady in a big town environment, this was all new to me.

Calvin reading to students in school.

Calvin glanced around at all the women in high heels pulling their luggage. His eyes grew large. "Do you think all these women are for the convention?" I told him they were and bit the inside of my cheek. You see, I may have forgotten to tell him how many would be attending. The man's not wild about crowds; being a retired school teacher, he's more comfortable visiting local schools and reading to students. But the moment of truth came at me like one of those NYC taxis. His grey eyebrows furrowed.  "Angel, how...how many are coming?" When I told him 2500 writers plus agents and editors, the poor man sucked air and paled.

The day before the convention began Penguin Random House had us at their building for a meet-and- greet. The walls of their reception area is full of books--old, new, and famous. They had a poster up welcoming the authors of the Loveswept line and I was thrilled to see my third book's cover with them, top row, second from left.

My feet swell when I travel and being in heels didn't help my painful tootsies any. When we left their offices, Calvin hailed an SUV taxi. I was having trouble getting in. The cab driver jumped out, cupped my large behind and all but heaved me into the back seat. Then...THEN, he had nerve enough to charge us $1.50 extra for the "extra handling."

Now allow me to say a few things about the cab drivers there. First, they don't need to know how to count since they zoom down the four-lane streets five and six cars abreast. All their cabs need are strong breaks and loud horns. All you, the passenger, need are blindfolds, a large bottle of nervie-dervies, and a wad of twenties because it seemed everywhere we went cost us twenty dollars.

Although Loveswept is an ebook only line, Random House published thirty books for each author to give away at our author signing. How was I, practically a nobody going to stand out among all those big names? I'd channel Effie, my pink haired grandma from my Beloved Highlander series. I even made pink pelican baffies like she constantly wears in the books.


 

Baffies are Scottish for Bedroom Slippers

 

As I schlepped to the Ball Room in my Effie costume, women yelled, "Effie! OMG, it's Effie." I wasn't prepared. But then, maybe they weren't either...

 



Read more about Vonnie Davis and her books at www.vonniedavis.com