Showing posts with label Contemporary Romance. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Contemporary Romance. Show all posts

Sunday, April 8, 2018

New Love

    I fall in love multiple times a day sometimes. It makes me smile at the most inappropriate times. It raises my spirits when I am feeling particularly lowWhen I read... When I write, my mind creates miniature movies where the characters play out the dialogue and my heart races with anticipation of the next scene. 
    "Paris felt Douglas' gaze on the back of her neck as she slowly pulled files from the shelves behind her desk. Her dark brown cheeks burning as she tried to forget her embarrassment from the first five minutes of their meeting. Prone to bouts of clumsiness, she'd seen the trip happen before it actually did. Why wouldn't she make a fool of herself on the first day of her new position? Life just wouldn't be fair if she had managed to make it through the day unscathed."
    Just a few sentences and I am invested in Paris. I relate to her inability to coordinate. I want to know more about her job and to find out if Douglas is a hottie. I want to know if Douglas is a jerk or if he has the skill to calm Paris' nerves.
    When I am writing I am falling in love with my characters. I cry when they cry. I cheer when they win. I scream when they go down the wrong hall or make a bad decision and I support their growth.
    I find beauty in the most simplest of scenes. Where you can feel the sensations of the characters just based off of your own life. I like to highlight how even in a novel based out of fantasy, those scenes are necessary to build a connection with the reader.
    "Livia slowly slipped off her boots and tucked them into the shoe cabinet by the door before making her way into her new home. New home... She had a new home and she hadn't even been looking.  More than a few months pregnant with a belly she could scarcely believe was there moving had not been a picnic. Not that she wasn't enjoying the upgrade from a three-bedroom condo the meatpacking district to a penthouse suite on the upper west side. Following the scent of scallions and garlic, she smiled and made her way towards the kitchen. Sei had promised her a home-cooked meal to make up for the last few nights he'd been away attending late-night meetings. The Summit was coming and the City was a veritable whose who of prominent Fae. Jinx had spent the first half of their lunch together complaining about how the increased concentration of magical beings was giving her a headache. She'd been dragged through a crash course of the magical community she'd been blind to for most of her life by circumstances far out of her control. Shuffling forward, she bumped Sei's back with her protruding belly. 'Smells good.'"
    With each new story, new character, new life created... I fall in love... With the idea of those characters and the lives they lead. It is that new love. You know what I am talking about. You have felt it before. It is the kind of love where you wake up thinking about them. You get excited just knowing you will get to see them later and spend time with them.
    When I reread a book or a scene it feels like I have gone on a second date. Like we are getting another chance to get to know one another and to really see if we get along. Does the thought of your smile cause my breath to catch? Do I wish I could take a page out of Sherrilyn Kenyon's Fantasy Lover and read you into existence? Will you feature in my dreams?
    What characters do you love? How does it feel when you put pen to paper and create a world. How about when you are reading a book? Do you have a full-length feature playing in your head? Do you talk to the pages or slam the book shut when the scene just gets too real? Leave a comment. Shout out the book and let me know. I am always looking for a new love affair.
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Wintr's Homecoming
Jaguar Nights

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Jensawanderingthoughts

Sunday, January 28, 2018

Dreams, Wishes, Future...

       I love to dream. I love exploring my self-conscious and gaining insight into the mysteries I wasn't even aware were pulling on my conscious. Dreams are my mind's way of processing the world around me and even when they don't make sense, I embrace them...
        My dreams can be the beginning of a story I had no idea needed writing or could be just the thing I needed to get that scene just right. They spark that part of me that believes magic is real, aliens exist, and an open mind is the only way in which to live.
         Sometimes my only faith can be found in God and in dreams...
Take for instance Saturday (January 27, 2018, can you believe we are in 2018?) I was in bed completely exhausted. I'd been cooking for the week ahead, researching for my latest project, and writing all day... Not usually the combination for dream territory, but I gave in and shut down everything, and gave into the feeling. I fell alseep thinking about "Jenna".
She was the wallflower used to living her life in the shadows. She was used to life passing her by. Used to not trying, because it was easier than failing.
        She was the child of two people who never would have had her if they had not taken the risk to be together. Her parents had been Adventurers and she was caution incarnate. She was ready for more. Ready to jump off the cliff and find out whether she could fly. She was a story ready to be written and I wanted to be the person to write her.
        I wanted to be the person who got to know her and to be there when she found her purpose in the world. In my dreams, she's an outline. The promise of a story sure to get my synapsis firing,
        It was the same when I wrote Dessani Queen, Wintr's Homecoming, Witch's Reflection, or She Gets What She Wants. I just knew she was something worth exploring.
Dreams, stories, and books can be heartbreaking. They can be unfulfilled wishes. They can be the future yet to come. But boy-oh-boy can they be fun to read.
        "Jenna" is and was a story I knew I would create. She is the kinder Jinx. The more timid Makayla. At the beginning of her growing awareness feminity and her own strength as a woman, she is learning just how exciting life could be when making the "right" choice wasn't always the way to get to her objective. She was a heroine and I couldn't wait to see how her story shaped out.
        How crazy is it, that I can dream something and feel so certain that it was meant to be shared? That by placing pen to paper I am sharing a part of myself to the outside world. Quite literally, because if you have read about my writing style before you knew I write on pen and paper as well as typing. I like the tactile sensation of working through writer's block by putting orders down with ink and seeing how I still feel about that scene when I am actually typing up.
        As a child, writing was my release. It was how I dealt with my feeling and how I organized my thoughts. Now it is as paramount as breathing. It is how I create content girls and women like me wished they had when it seemed like the world was crashing in and they wanted to read about someone who knew about their experiences... Who shared features with them and knew that coconut oil was life. I write and for the most part, it is for me. It feeds that creative part of me, but it is also for my sisters, friends, aunts, and for the women who read the books traditionally offered by mainstream media and feel unfulfilled because they aren't pale skinned. They aren't natural blondes with beautiful blue eyes.
        Their hair is kinky. Their eyes are, for the most part, varying shades of brown. Their universe doesn't necessarily start or end with the ghetto and gansta life. They want to believe in the supernatural for a few hours during the day and to read about a heroine that looks like them finding love with a hero. They want that ever elusive happily ever after.
        You know the one... With the guy on horseback, preferably with no shirt, a pearly white smile, and bulging arm muscles. 
        I want the people who read my books to dream. About their wishes. About their future... I want them to read those books and know their futures are unbelievably bright. Happily ever after isn't just for our paler friends. It is for us. Our Princes aren't just disowned royals without a dime to their name and aspirations of being a musician.


Contact Info:

Website:

Facebook:
Durand Publishing
Wintr's Homecoming
Jaguar Nights

Instagram:
Jensawanderingthoughts


Friday, July 14, 2017

Dream Date



We pick something fun with lots of bombs
and a predictable ending.
You wear your favorite tee and a pair of old sweats.
I'm wearing my glasses and a dozen dots of zit cream.
My head is on your lap 
as your sock covered feet rest on the coffee table.
Your fingers play with the tips of my braids.
I'm trying to throw popcorn into your mouth.
You tease me, when I squeak during the tense scenes.
I tease you, when you drool over the cars.
We aren't trying to impress each other.
We are happy.
Carefree.
We are living the dream.

Monday, May 8, 2017

Wednesday, March 8, 2017

Victim No Longer (Excerpt From "Billionaire's Contracted Family")

Hugging Asha to her chest, Isabella carefully navigated the stairs. Someone was ringing the doorbell like their life depended on it. Evan had gone out to run errands after their walk in the park. She had been about to give Asha a bottle and put the baby down for a nap.
She had a couple of client calls to return and reseach to do. She’d been thinking about taking some online nursing classes. Not finishing school was not something she wanted to regret in the future. Asha should have two role models to look up to.
The doorbell rang again and she rolled her eyes as Asha whimpered. Rushing into the living room, she laid Asha down in the empty playpen. Isabella did not like to answer the door with the baby in her arms.
“Just a minute,” she called out over her shoulder.
She had to get rid of the visitor before Asha realized her bottle had been delayed. Otherwise, she would cry the house down. Adjusting the straps of her top, Isabella turned towards the front of the house.
By the time she reached the door, she was ready to do some yelling of her own. Who the hell thought ringing the bell that many times did anything other than irritating the homes owners? Gripping the doorknob she yanked the door open ready to give them a piece of her mind. When her words caught in the center of her throat.
Tommy…
Every nightmare came crashing down at her as he grinned and pulled the sunglasses from his eyes. “Took you long enough, Bella.”
Shaking off the shock, Isabella tried to push the door close. Tommy slammed the flat of his palm down and shoved it back open.
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
“Leave or I am calling the police.”
“I am the police. I came a long way to see you.”
Tommy hustled his way in and Isabella gave up on closing the door. Their alarm system would be triggered if left open for longer then five minutes. Besides she wanted the neighbors to hear if she screamed.
Like most cowards, Tommy would run if he thought he would get caught.
“You are trespassing on private land.”
He smirked and shoved a hand into the pocket of his faded jeans. The edge of his cotton button up were frayed. She did not remember him looking so shabby or so small. In her mind, he’d always been this tall muscle bound giant. He towered over everything and intimidated everyone.
He was still tall, but he didn’t tower. He still had muscles, but she knew that wasn’t everything. Her self-defense classes had taught her tactics to avoid the full impact of a hit. She wouldn’t curl up and wait for it to be over anymore.
“I just came to see an old friend.”
“We aren’t friends,” Isabella denied as she tried to remember where she left her cell.
She’d tucked it into Asha’s diaper bag when they left the house earlier. Evan hadn’t mentioned when he’d come back and their housekeeper had weekends off. She couldn’t risk leaving Asha alone downstairs while she ran to the nursery to get to her phone.
“That’s right,” Tommy reached out and tried to touch her arm, “we’re family.”
Stepping back, she tried to hide her shock. He couldn’t know about Asha. No one, but her and Evan knew the truth about her paternity.
“We aren’t anything. You are a mistake I will always regret making.”
Tommy shook his head and chuckled. “Is that what you told yourself when you left? Big bad Tommy deserves all the blame. Never mind the fact, you never could do anything right.”
Isabella huffed in disbelief. “I am not doing this.”
It had taken her months of therapy to see just how messed up she was. How ripe she was for a predator like him? Looking for love and acceptance after living in a home that had a short supply of both.
“How could you think I would let you walk away?”
“It isn’t about you. I didn’t need your permission.”
“You look good for a woman who recently gave birth.”
She eyed the alarm panel as a small red light started blinking. Their security team would make a routine check-in within two minutes. She just had to keep him in the front hall.
Asha picked that minute to start her plea for food. Tommy turned towards the noise and Isabella had never felt so scared in her life. He did not deserve to breath the same air as her daughter and he would have to kill her before he could spend any time with Asha.
“You need to leave,” Isabella repeated as she circled around to stand between him and the room Asha was in.
“You really thought you could keep me away from my daughter?”
“She isn’t yours.”
Tommy growled, “you were never a good liar.”
“Right. But I am a cheater, remember. My daughter is my husband’s. She has nothing to do with you.” Isabella saw the flash of anger in his eyes and the way his hands tightened into a fists.
He wanted to hit her and she wanted him to try. He would learn pretty quickly she wasn’t the same girl he terrified. She had something she wanted to protect more than she wanted to protect herself. Asha did not deserve a father like him.
Doubt held him back. She could see that to. He wasn’t sure Asha was his. He was fishing.
“Leave Tommy. You have no reason to be here.”
A SUV pulled into the driveway and two navy blue uniformed security guards stepped out. Isabella felt like she could breath again. First she would get Tommy out of the house, then she’d take Asha to Bianca’s and call Evan. Maybe she could talk him into going away for a few days?
Tommy looked down at her with undisguised contempt. “I don’t believe you.”
“I don’t care what you believe. DNA doesn’t lie. Do you really think a man like my husband, with the money he has, wouldn’t make sure the baby was his?”
She was lying through her teeth and she would probably pay for it one day. But she didn’t care. He had not business, standing there, demanding entrance into her life. He’d lost the right the first time he decided she needed to know what it felt like to be hit by a man.
“Mrs. Hunter?”
The guards stepped called out as they stepped onto her porch. She smiled and crossed her arms. He was going to leave this house one way or another.
“Leave Tommy. Or I will have security throw you out.”
Asha had one father. He rocked her to sleep and measured her food intake. He blew raspberries into her belly and read to her to sleep. He loved her and cherished her knowing she wasn’t his genetically. Most importantly…

He would die before hitting her. He wasn’t Tommy.

Jen A. Durand