Good morning! Please welcome guest blogger Jessie Clever. Though I will be away for most of the day, please feel free to leave comments for Jesse and I will post them as soon as I return. Thank you!
~Kate
When you’re brainstorming for a new story, what usually comes first for you, the plot or the characters?
The characters. Sometimes the actions of those around me strike me in such a way as to make me wonder if such an action or habit would cause such conflict in a character so as to lead to a series of events. And from there, a story is born.
Are you a plotter or a pantser?
Plotter in a big way. I cannot even sit down to the computer until the entire story is mapped out.
Can you write sex scenes at any time or do you have to be “in the mood?”
I find sex scenes to be tough. Usually a sex scene occurs from a reason, believe it or not, and I’m trying to convey an important change in character through the scene. It’s a highly volatile situation in which to convey that change of character or a subtle shift in nuance, and it can be incredibly difficult. Not to mention, you can lose track of legs and arms and hands and such.
Would you tell us about your latest release?
To Save a Viscount: Book Four of the Spy Series
In Book Three of the Spy Series, A Countess Most Daring, we learned of the death of Richard Black, the Duke of Lofton by foul means. And when an assassin threatens England’s spy network, Lady Margaret Folton must find the killer before it’s too late. But when Commodore John Lynwood is accidentally granted a title meant to be used as bait to lure the assassin into the War Office’s trap, Margaret must face the tragedy of her past and decide which is more important: the assignment or love?
Buy Links:
Amazon: http://amzn.to/1tddN6P
Kobo: http://bit.ly/1zHa0gJ
Nook: http://bit.ly/1otXb34
iBooks: http://bit.ly/1pjfhe7
What are you working on now?
After nearly ten years, I have seen the end of the Spy Series, and I’m launching onto much lighter fare as far as espionage and suspense are concerned. My next series will take on some comedic romance in the form of a trilogy of unpredictable imaginings.
Do you have an excerpt from your latest release you would like to share?
London
August 1815
He had grown so accustomed to the sound of gunfire that he did not hear the shot that was meant to kill him.
This would have worried Richard Black, the Duke of Lofton, if he had had time to think on it. But as the situation inherently required immediate action, prolonged and abstract thinking on the subject was neither prudent nor wise. So he refrained. Instead, he wondered who it was that smashed into him at incredible speed, sending him tumbling backwards off the walk along the Thames and into the bitter, black water below.
He had been meeting his contact there along the water at an unholy hour, and darkness had lain all about him. The exchange had gone as planned, and he now held the knowledge that he knew would prove key to his current assignment with the War Office. But as the inky water of the Thames closed over his head, he wondered if he would ever get that information to the necessary people.
And then as the last of the light disappeared, he thought of Jane, his wife. His Jane. He did not think of her in specific instances or certain memories that lay in his mind. He thought of her in pieces. Her smell. Her laugh. The sound her hair made as she brushed it at night. The way she always laid her hand on top of his whenever they should find themselves sitting next to one another. Her amazing talents with chestnut roasters.
He would have laughed if such an action would not speed up the inevitable drowning that suddenly became all too real, flushing thoughts of Jane from his mind. His arms began to push against the water as his feet began to pulse, driving him toward the surface. Only he did not move. Whoever it was that had slammed into him still held him about the waist, dragging him deeper into the water. He began to struggle, the need for air and life and Jane surging through his veins in a way he had never felt before.
And then a hand brushed against his cheek, and slender fingers came to rest across his mouth. He wanted to open his eyes, but he knew it would do no good in the black water. But he let the feeling of his attacker’s hand brush against his skin, the shape of it press into his face, the narrowness of limb and the delicate arch of bone.
It was a woman who held him beneath the water.
And he stopped struggling.
Where can we visit you online?
You can find me at my website at jessieclever.com.
When you’re not writing, what do you like to do?
Have drawn out theoretical debates with my Basset hounds on why they should not cover me in drool before I need to leave the house.
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WOW, what a great excerpt. I was intrigued immediately and picked it up.