Today I am so pleased to have talented writer Lisa Olech as my guest blogger. I met Lisa last year at my first NHRWA meeting, just as her first book PICTURE ME NAKED was being launched. She is a funny, sassy, quick witted gal and writer and it has been my pleasure to get to know her and the characters in her books. Her second novel ROCK SOLID, debuts this month and you can read an excerpt from it at the end of her blog here, along with the links where you can purchase it – and I encourage you to!
Here’s a little about Lisa first.
Lisa A. Olech is an artist/writer living in her dream house nestled among the lakes in New England. She loves getting lost in a steamy book, finding the perfect pair of sexy shoes, and hearing the laughter of her men. Being an estrogen island in a sea of testosterone makes her queen. She believes in ghosts, silver linings, the power of a man in a tuxedo, and happy endings.
You can find her at: www.lisaolech.com, Facebook: www.facebook.com/Lisa.A.Olech.Writer, Twitter: www.twitter.com/LisaOlech
WHAT INSPIRES YOU?
By Lisa A. Olech
Does standing looking over a scenic vista fill you with a deep desire to pick up a paintbrush or a camera? Does the beauty of your lover’s eyes make you long for a pen to capture your feelings in a poem? What inspires you to create?
As an artist as well as an author, I’ve been inspired by a host of things over the years. I’ve created pieces of artwork from a song lyric, a feeling I wish to convey, a lovely face. Sometimes I get an idea for one of my glass projects from just a few words. I’m a very visual person, and images will flash in my mind and take hold until I sketch them or make them a reality.
It is no different with my writing. I get story ideas from everywhere. At times I’ll see a scene in my head, or hear a line of dialogue that sticks with me. I’ve dreamt story lines. Characters speak to me. Yes, there are people in my head all the time! If I’m not insane…then I must be a writer! It’s what moves me to start my stories, to take that small seed of an idea and nurture it until it blooms.
The Stoddard Art School Series began with a smell of all things! I believe I’ve told the story of how we were taking my youngest to visit art colleges and I was brought back to my days of art classes and realized that all art schools have a uniquely distinctive smell. It’s a heady combination of oil paints, wet clay and…inspiration!
I’ve just released the second book in the Stoddard Art School Series. It’s entitled ROCK SOLID. This book was inspired by a name I came across many years ago. An amazing name…MAXIMO VEGA. With a name like that, you need your own story!
MAXIMO VEGA is a “rock” star! The media proclaimed him ‘The Sculptor for the New Generation,’ but he’s a reclusive artist ensnared by fame. Driven and intense, his isolation only adds to his mystique. Couple that with his smoldering good looks and rich Italian accent… Fans sigh his name.
EMILY BASKINS is a gifted graduate student at the Stoddard School of Art. To land an internship at the Vega Studio is her golden ticket. All she has to do is follow the rules. And stay out of trouble. Two things Emily has never been able to do.
As Max becomes trapped in the glare of the limelight, he discovers his greatest muse. He teaches Emily to breathe passion into clay and give marble a soul. But is their fiery relationship as rock solid as they believe? Or will a lie shatter the illusion?
EXCERPT FROM ROCK SOLID
Maximo Vega gathered his composure. He wore a black T-shirt, gray across the shoulders with dust, worn jeans, and heavy boots under a thick leather apron that reached to his knees. Hanging his head and bracing his hands on his hips, he was a study in frustration. The sleeves of his shirt hugged defined muscles of steely arms. And his hands…they were artist’s hands. Sculptor’s hands. Beaten by stone and scarred by tools. They spoke of years of rugged, blistering work.
He was tall. His shadowed jaw, rigid with anger, cut sharply against the tanned column of his neck. Maximo slapped the chisel on his leathered thigh. “I pay you. You find me good hands! Not idiota!”
“I’m sorry, Maximo. He’s gone. You’ll never have to work with him again.”
The great artist’s gaze slid over Emily. His eyes stopped at the white-knuckled hold she had on the large black portfolio.
He waved a hand toward her. “What are you?”
Emily’s throat slammed shut.
“A new intern possibly,” offered Dante. “She’s here from the Stoddard School of Art.”
Deep brown eyes the color of rich coffee, no cream, speared her beneath frowning brows. He flipped his hand toward the portfolio. “Come. Show me.”
Emily shot a look to Dante. He gave her a tiny nudge, like a parent pushing a frightened child toward Santa’s lap.
“Come, come, come.” He snatched the portfolio from her numb fingers, unzipped it and laid it open across a crowded worktable. He used the rag in his hand to wipe the sweat from his lip as he flipped through photos and sketches of her latest works.
“Nice. Hmm. No.” A nod for this one. A shake of the head for another. “Yes. This one is good. Good.”
He looked away from her sketches and gave her a hard stare before looking down the full length of her and back again in a slow appraisal. Emily released the breath she was holding.
“Let me see your hands.”
She held them out and he grasped her wrists and examined first her palms before turning them over. “Cold,” he said just loud enough for her to hear.
The smell of the heat of his body and the spice of soap drifted past her.
He lifted a quick eyebrow. “Good.”