Why? Because some day you might be able to use them. Now bear with me, people. We’ve all written a sentence, a paragraph, a page, etc., and then decided it wasn’t what we really wanted to write. It didn’t work. So we hit delete and moved on. Right? Wrong. Make sure you keep a file for all those words. You never know when you might be able to use them.

I was talking to an author a few weeks back and she happily announced to me that she’d cleared her files of all those books she’d started where she’d only gotten down a chapter or a couple of hundred words on, and then abandoned. I almost cried.

I keep everything. And everything I keep also sits in my brain and as I’m writing, suddenly I’ll remember something I’d written somewhere else and filed away and pull it up. Voila. It fits beautifully with the new work when it hadn’t with the old work.

Not only that, but just because an idea for a story you had last month, last year, a decade ago didn’t work out then, doesn’t mean you can’t look at it now and find something of value there. I’ve got shorts, novellas, and books a plenty sitting in my files. A major stockpile. LOL

A stockpile that’s paying off it seems. I received an offer of contract on one from Ellora’s Cave. And I was very happy about that. It started out as a freebie read, but the characters wanted something bigger and they got it! Such a sweet little Valentine’s Day tale, so it won’t be available until 2011.

In the meantime, I’ve dusted off a couple of more in my files, tweaked and fiddled with them a bit and off they went. One of those books came about as a result of an exercise on the Avoid Writer’s Hell Workshop group. I asked writers to work up a five-hundred-word excerpt in which they described a character’s job without actually naming the job. The purpose was, of course, to make sure the writing was clear and concise. We had a lot of fun guessing. That five-hundred-word excerpt of mine turned into a fifty-thousand-word novel. But more about those lost books on a later blog and what happens to them. *wink*

So don’t throw away your words. Keep them safe. You never know what publisher might just think they’re worthy of publishing. And those little snippets you save always come in handy when you’re blocked!

I hope everyone is happily writing!

The Wild One

The Wild One by Gail Roarke

Available now from Cobblestone Press.

They always say to write what you know. Well, I’ve been to events like this. So….

Blurb: When Angela and her two closest friends drop in on a hotel sex party, it’s an eye-opening experience. It’s also more than her friends can handle. They don’t stay long.

But Angela isn’t content to continue barhopping with her friends, telling tales about how naughty they were to briefly witness such debauchery. She returns alone to experience the debauchery for herself and discover if it’s as much fun as it seemed.

Excerpt:

Angela crowded close behind Lourdes as she stopped abruptly in front of the hotel room door. Michelle bumped into Angela and giggled nervously. Angela couldn’t blame her. She could feel nervous giggles poised to escape her own lips.

“This is it,” Lourdes said. The glance she gave Angela and Michelle suggested that she wasn’t quite as calm as she’d like them to believe. Nonetheless, Lourdes knocked firmly on the door. Angela could hear the faint sound of conversation through the door. It didn’t sound like a sex party.

The door opened a crack, and a short, redheaded woman peeked out from behind it. She looked them over, and they must have passed inspection because she backed up, opening the door and silently inviting them inside.

Angela followed Lourdes and Michelle into the room. She glanced back as the redhead closed the door behind them. The woman was short, busty and naked. Silver piercings gleamed in her nipples. She noticed Angela’s look. “Hi, I’m Emily.”

“Angela.” She wasn’t sure what to say next. What do you say to a naked woman you’ve just met? A familiar squeal of greeting saved her from having to find out. She turned to see Vicki leap up from a sofa to greet her three newly arrived friends.

“You made it!” Vicki sounded surprised as well as pleased. She’d tried to get them to come to the party with her, but they had turned her down. It was only after spending some time club hopping that Lourdes had suggested taking Vicki up on her offer. Just, you know, to see what a sex party looked like.

Angela had secretly wanted to go all along, but she hadn’t had the nerve to do it. When Lourdes suggested it again, emboldened by alcohol, Angela had agreed that it sounded like fun. Together, they’d convinced Michelle to give it a try.

Vicki had hugged Lourdes, and now she threw herself at Angela. She was wearing a pair of lace panties and nothing else. “Hey, girl,” Vicki said. “I didn’t think you’d show.”

“We almost didn’t.” Angela gave Vicki a quick hug. “But Lourdes insisted.”

“Me? You wanted to too!”

Vicki laughed and turned to greet Michelle with a hug. “Well, you’re here. That’s what counts. Let me introduce you around.”

Angela looked around, taking in the room as Vicki made introductions. It was a fairly standard hotel room. A bathroom just inside the door to the hall, a king-size bed, and a dresser opposite the bed. The dresser was covered with food and drink—a variety of snack foods, dips, a bucket of chicken, several large bottles of soda, a couple of wine bottles, and disposable plates and utensils.

The back of the room, normally occupied by a small writing desk and chair, was crowded with half a dozen chairs obtained from elsewhere. The chairs formed a rough circle, and about half of them were occupied. Three women and one man occupied the conversation circle. None of them wore more than a towel.

The connecting doors to the rooms on either side of this one were propped open. The sounds of sex drifted through a doorway. Angela couldn’t see into there from her position, but she could see into the other room. It contained two large beds, both unoccupied.

“You’ve met Emily,” Vicki said. Emily waved. Vicki named names, but Angela wasn’t listening. It sounded like at least two women were getting fucked next door, and she was intensely curious—and embarrassed to reveal that fact by walking over to the doorway to look.

Vicki took care of that. “And in this room,” she said, pausing in the doorway, “we have the rest of the gang.”

Lourdes, Angela and Michelle all eyed one another for a moment then collectively walked over to join Vicki, who stepped into the next room. They followed. Angela felt her pulse race in anticipation. She’d had sex and even seen some porn. But she’d never seen real people doing it.

Blurb:

Stan Ryan is pleased to find a lovely new neighbor, Rachel Hartman, moving in across the street. The attraction between them is immediate, powerful, and entirely mutual.

They have a number of interests in common, including running. They also share a competitive streak. Stan’s metaphorical pursuit of Rachel becomes literal when she agrees to a friendly wager.

If he can catch her, he can have her. But first he must catch her….

Excerpt:

Stan Ryan stepped out onto his front lawn dressed for a run. It was early on a clear, bright, autumn morning in Denver. The sky was bright but the neighborhood was still in shadow, the sun barely peeking above the houses to the east. Across the street, a U-Haul truck was parked at the curb. Stan remembered seeing the SOLD sign go up a few weeks ago. It looked as if his new neighbors had arrived.

Stan did a few limbering up exercises while he observed the new arrivals. He wondered how many were his new neighbors—there were two women and one man unloading boxes from the truck. Good odds that at least one of the new arrivals was a woman—and both of them looked good.

Deciding that there was no time like the present, Stan strolled across the street to introduce himself.

The large young man and one of the young women were carrying a sofa down the ramp from the truck. The man was over six feet and well muscled. His companion was of average height with shoulder-length dark hair, and didn’t look nearly strong enough to carry her end of the sofa.

“Can I help you with that?” Stan stepped in next to the young woman. She gave him a wary glance, then smiled.

“Sure,” she said. “You live around here, I take it.”

Stan grabbed hold of the sofa, sharing the load with the woman. “Right across the street. Stan Ryan. I’d offer to shake, but…”

“I understand,” the young woman said. “Leah Wright.”

“So, we’re going to be neighbors?” The possibility didn’t displease Stan.

Leah smiled. The man holding the other end of the sofa laughed. “No, not us.” She glanced toward the open front door of the house. “She’s your new neighbor.”

Stan let his gaze follow hers. A tall young woman with red hair exited the house. She was dressed in a black warm-up suit and ball cap. A red ponytail was threaded through the opening of the cap in back, bobbing with every step. Even at this distance, her green eyes were arresting.

Leah said something. After a moment, Stan tore his gaze away from the redheaded vision. “I’m sorry—what?”

Leah grinned and shook her head. “Story of my life. Everybody drools over the redhead, ignores the brunette.”

“Not everybody,” the big guy said. He looked at Stan. “I’m Victor, by the way. Since nobody else has seen fit to introduce me.” He looked pointedly at Leah.

Stan nodded to Victor. “Nice to meet you, Victor.”

The redheaded vision approached. She glanced at Stan, then turned her attention to Leah. “Who’s the hunk?”

Leah laughed and turned to Stan. “That was easy, wasn’t it?”

Stan looked from Leah to the redhead and back again, uncertain of where he stood. He liked hearing the redhead call him a hunk, though. “Stan,” he told her. “Stan Ryan.”

“Rachel Hartman,” the redhead said. Her smile was as bright as her eyes. “So you’re my new neighbor?”

“I am.”

“Excellent.”

Rachel’s gaze dipped to give him a once-over. “You run?”

“Yes.”

Rachel’s smile brightened further. “Even better.”

“You run?” Stan was certain she did. She had the body of a long distance runner. He sensed amusement from Victor and Leah at his question, though his attention was focused on Rachel.

“I do,” Rachel agreed.

“We should get together for a run sometime.”

“I’d like that.”

“Me too,” Stan said. He held Rachel’s gaze until Victor cleared his throat. Stan looked at him.

“This sofa ain’t gonna move itself,” Victor announced. He raised his end a little, reminding Stan that he’d stopped moving.

“Oh—sorry.” Stan began shuffling forward again, in step with Victor and Leah. “Duty calls,” he said to Rachel.

“I love work,” Rachel said with a laugh. “I could sit and watch it all day.”

“Don’t we know it,” Leah and Victor said in unison. Stan watched them laugh, saw the look that passed between them. They were lovers, Stan concluded. He was certain of it. And that was fine with him. Leah was an attractive woman, but he was powerfully drawn to Rachel. It was good to know that Victor was out of the running. He’d be stiff competition.

Stan helped them carry the sofa into the house and set it down in the empty living room. He followed Victor and Leah back out to the truck. When he asked what he could do next, Leah brushed him off. “We’ve got this. And you were obviously just going out for a run. Don’t let us keep you.”

Stan turned to Rachel. “Are you sure? Because I—”

“We’re sure,” Rachel said. “I appreciate your willingness to help, but we’ve got this. Besides, how can Leah and I talk about you if you’re right here?”

Stan grinned, unreasonably pleased. “You’re going to talk about me after I’m gone?”

Rachel smiled back. “You betcha.”

“I guess I’d better go, then.” He turned to Leah, offered his hand. “It was nice to meet you. I hope you’ll say nice things about me to Rachel.”

Her grip was strong. “Most likely. You helped right away. That’s a point in your favor.”

Stan shook Victor’s hand too. He slapped Stan on the shoulder. “Good luck, pal. Good luck on the running.” His gaze slid over to Rachel. “You’ll need all the endurance you can muster.”

“Victor!” Rachel sounded scandalized, but her smile didn’t dim.

“I’m just saying, is all.”

“I’ll see you later, then,” Stan said to Rachel.

“Count on it.”

Stan nodded. He turned and started jogging down the street. He resisted the urge to turn and look back.

Rachel watched Stan run down the street. He was a handsome young man. A little shorter than she was, solidly built but not quite stocky, not with long, lean limbs like his. Black hair that would probably curl adorably if he didn’t keep it cut short, dark eyes, and a dusting of freckles over pale skin.

She steeled herself for comments from Leah and Victor. She wasn’t disappointed.

“Jesus, Rachel, planning your next conquest already?”

Rachel turned toward Leah. “And what if I am?”

“Trollop,” Leah said with a grin. “Right, Vic?”

Victor cut the air in front of him with a firm slash of his hand. “Keep me out of this.”

“Coward.”

Victor grinned at Leah. “You know it.”

“He’s cute,” Rachel said. “And helpful. A nice guy.”

“Not so helpful,” Leah said. “We’d do better if it were just Victor and me moving the heavy stuff.”

“I suppose,” Rachel said. “He couldn’t know that, though.” Leah, Iron Maiden to the public at large, was by far the strongest of the three of them, though Victor, the Black Knight, was much stronger than a normal man. They cooperated to move heavy items only for appearance’s sake, and because bulky items were hard to maneuver no matter how strong one was. Their strength was why Rachel had asked for their help. Having a superheroine for a best friend had its benefits.

She turned to give Leah a mock glare. “And by the way, who are you to be calling me a trollop?”

“If the shoe fits…”

“That’s rich, coming from you. Or did I only imagine you telling me about your threesome in Chicago?”

“Well, yes…”

“Iron Maiden, my ass! You haven’t been a maiden for years, Leah.”

“Not since I was sixteen,” Leah agreed with good cheer. “As you well know. I told you all about it when it happened. But enough about me. So, you gonna bed this guy?”

Rachel stared down the street where Stan had vanished into the distance. “I think I will. Eventually. Maybe. I may have to take his measure first.”

“What?”

“Not like that, Victor,” Leah said before Rachel could respond. “I’ll explain later.”

On the first day of Christmas my kitty gave to me…
a knocked over Christmas tree.

On the second day of Christmas my kitty gave to me…
two hairballs and a knocked over Christmas tree.

On the third day of Christmas my kitty gave to me…
three french sneezes, two hairballs, and a knocked over Christmas tree. (My cat sneezes a lot, okay?)

On the fourth day of Christmas my kitty gave to me…
four catnip mice, three french sneezes, two hairballs, and a knocked over Christmas tree.

On the fifth day of Christmas my kitty gave to me…
five sparkly poops!
Four catnip mice, three french sneezes, two hairballs, and a knocked over Christmas tree.

Alas, I didn’t get to finish my masterpiece of holiday music because I laughed at my own silliness so hard I lost my train of thought.

So, what verses would you put in your silly holiday songs? Or maybe help me finish mine!

Winter Festival at Pink Petal Books

And don’t forget about our Winter Festival at Pink Petal Books. It runs through the 23rd of December, so there are still lots of goodies to be given away.

For those who don’t follow horse racing (and shame on you), a $9500 gelding (from Canada) named Mine that Bird came from way behind to stun the field. I suspect, in reality, that there were probably traffic jams, which created the perfect opportunity. But that’s okay. Because things like that happen in both industries. And it’s a good thing when it does.

Why? Because it inspires hope.

Horse owners, breeders, trainers, even those who are just fans, saw the race yesterday and knew that in this Sport of Kings, the little guys can, and do, get their chances. Most trainers and breeders toil at regional and local tracks, their horses never going beyond some of the larger stakes that those venues offer. A Grade III or Grade II race may be the pinnacle of their career, and that’s even without their horse crossing the line first.

Just like authors toiling away at their computers. They write, hoping that a publisher will pick up their story. Sometimes it’s a small publisher, and those authors are happy building their career, step by step, working into a situation that makes them happy. Others are seemingly snatched from obscurity by big agent deals that involve even bigger money. And others, make the leap from the smaller presses to the big ones, bringing heightened awareness to smaller presses, electronic publishing, and the romance genre as a whole.

And no matter whether you’re racing horses or writing romance novels, it’s a gamble. The horse might twist his ankle a day before the race like Iwantrevenge did. The big name editor might purchase another manuscript too similar in theme and sends back a rejection letter to the author. Just like the owners of Iwantrevenge, those authors continue on, secure in their dreams and professional goals. Their chance will come, and if anyone needs a reminder, just look at a smallish colt with Canadian origins. Because sometimes grit and determination will triumph over money and prestige.

While visiting our place in Southern Missouri last month, my partner and I decided on a rainy, and rather chilly, day to go driving around. We were less than 50 miles from Arkansas. Why not go? Then we could say we’d been to Arkansas. Since it was too cold and rainy to stand on our land and discuss where to put things, or hang out and read, and a drive sounded lovely. So, since we both like long drives, we went, and discovered a very beautiful lake and more gorgeous Ozark scenery.

However, on the drive down, imagine my surprise when I passed a road sign that said “Romance 2 Miles.” Funny, I thought, looking at my partner, we have romance back at the hotel in the Jacuzzi suite. Given that I write, and publish, romantic fiction, I knew I had to get a picture of me (and maybe even my car with the magnetic signs advertising Pink Petal Books) by the Romance city limits sign. So, on the way back, we found our sign for Romance (after thinking we lost it, because we thought Romance could be found closer to the Arkansas border than it was) and turned.

Romance, it seems, exists down a gravel road. (And no, Lex, not with two farmers and a couple of pigs as you suggested. Unless that’s something they don’t tell the locals.) Not wanting to go down a gravel road in the middle of nowhere with no signs, we turned around, and alas, didn’t find Romance, Missouri, that day. (I did find out later, from some friends who are locals, that yes, Romance does exist down a gravel road, and there isn’t much more there except a church (inspirational romance?) and a couple of houses (contemporary romance?).

But it got me to thinking, how many other states have a town named Romance?

Well, it turns out three. And, looking at the geography of them, I can say that as far as I’m aware, Pink Petal Books is THE closest publisher to Romance. Missouri. Arkansas. And Wisconsin.

Further research revealed that all three towns are unincorporated, so there’s a good chance that if the towns aren’t on a gravel road, they’re probably near one. And I suppose that’s a metaphor for life. After all, most of us don’t know where romance is. It’s not on any major maps. And we have no clue how to get there. We just happen to stumble across it one day and decide that we rather like the destination. And maybe, just maybe, we find it on a drive to Arkansas.