I love introducing new authors to new followers, so let me introduce you to Marin McGinnis, a Wild Rose Press sistah. Marin hails from Ohio and her romance genre is historical – which I lovelovelove to read but have no talent in writing, so I am happy when I find talented authors of historical romance like Marin! I recently did a sit-down interview with Marin and I learned we have a little more in common than just the same publisher. After the interview is an excerpt from her newest release, and it is well worth a read, believe me. You’ll be clicking on the “buy links” before the end of the excerpt.
The Writer In You
- What drives you to write? The stories in my head drive me to write—they must come out or they’d drive me nuts. Writing is also enormously satisfying. Except of course when it’s not.
- What genre(s) of Romance do you write, and why? I write historical romance, because I love losing myself in another era. I enjoy the research that goes into depicting the time period accurately, the manners of the Victorian era, and it’s lovely to think about life in a simpler time.
- What genre(s) of Romance do you read, and why? Historical is my favorite, for the reasons above, but I also enjoy paranormal and contemporary romance as well.
- What’s your writing schedule? Do you write everyday? I try to write every day, but with a full-time day job, numerous volunteer commitments, and a household to feed, it doesn’t always happen. So I write when I can—I usually manage to get a lot done during my son’s hockey practice.
- Give us a glimpse of the surroundings where you write. Separate room? In the kitchen? At the dining room table? I have an office in my house where I usually write, but I can also be found writing in hockey rinks, at the kitchen table, or outside on the patio.
- Are you the kind of writer who needs total quiet to compose, or are you able to filter out the typical sounds of the day and use your tunnelvision? I don’t need quiet at all. When I’m in the zone, I can write anywhere. The only time I can’t write is when my husband might be looking over my shoulder—he has a tendency to point out my first draft typos.
- Do you listen to music while you write, and if so, what kind? If not, why not? I don’t, usually. It’s the only type of noise I find distracting, for some reason.
- How did you come up with the plotline/idea for your current WIP? Wild Rose Press suggested an idea for a new historical series in a chat room, which sparked a tiny portion of the plot, and the rest snowballed out of my own brain.
- Which comes first for you – character or plot? And why? Plot, usually. I have no idea why.
The Personal, Fun Stuff:
- Tell us one unusual thing about yourself – not related to writing! I need to arrange the covers on the bed every night before I get in it. This little quirk amuses (thank goodness) my husband no end, who can never understand why I don’t make the bed in the morning after I get up.
- Who was your first love and what age were you? I crushed hard on TV and movie stars when I was a tween—Randy Mantooth (Emergency), Richard Hatch (Battlestar Galactica), Mark Hamill (Star Wars, of course), and Shaun Cassidy (Hardy Boys) were the memorable ones—I think Randy came first. (Peggy here: OMG!! Ilovedlovedloved Randy Mantooth!! Still do!)
- If you could relive one day, which one would it be? Think GROUNDHOG DAY, the movie for this one – you’ll have to live it over and over and…. Honestly, I can’t remember one day I’d like to repeat. I’ve had plenty of wonderful days, and plenty of awful ones. I like living each one as it comes.
- Do you like a guy in boxers, briefs, or commando? Boxers.
- If you had to give up one necessary-can’t-live-without-it beauty item, what would it be? Probably mascara. I definitely can’t live without concealer!
- If you could sing a song with Jimmy Fallon, what would it be? No way!
I love the Actor’s Studio show on Bravo, so this is my version of it:
- Favorite sound — A little kid’s belly laugh
- Least favorite sound – The telephone. Not too fond of my dog’s incessant barking, either!
- Best song every written – No way I can pick.
- Worst song ever written – It’s probably not really the worst song ever, but I absolutely hate Lovin’ You by Minnie Riperton.
- Who would you want to be for 1 day and why? ( It can be anyone living or dead) Jane Austen
- Give me the worst 5 words ever heard on a first date (here’s mine: “Is that your real hair?”) LOL. I honestly can’t remember—I’ve been married for twenty years.
- What’s your version of a perfect day? Sleeping in on a cool fall day, leisurely breakfast, some reading, some writing, a relaxing and tasty dinner out.
Falsely imprisoned as a blockade-runner during the American Civil War, Edward Mason yearns to go home. But when after seven years he finally returns to England, the life he expected is gone. His parents are dead, his home destroyed, his father’s legacy stolen, and his girl—his girl is now the single mother of a child Edward never knew.
Abandoned by the man she loved and disowned by her family, Anna Templeton has learned to stand on her own two feet and make a home for her son. Now the successful owner of The Silver Gull tavern, she’s not about to put their happiness in the hands of the one man who let her down so badly.
Edward is determined to regain Anna’s love and be a father to his son. But when a series of suspicious accidents threaten him and those he loves, he must stop the man responsible, or lose everything.
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“Good day, sir. What can I get you? We have a very good cottage pie today.”
Edward frowned. “Aren’t you a bit young to be working in a public house?”
“Oh, I don’t work here,” the boy said. “Me mam’s the owner, and Molly didn’t come to work today.”
“The barmaid, of course.” His tone held a hint of derision, as if he thought Edward an idiot for failing to know who Molly was.
“Of course.” Edward was amused. “Well, then, I suppose I shall have the cottage pie, and an ale. And perhaps I could have a word with your mother, when she has a moment?”
“What do you want her for?” The boy’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“I used to live here, many years ago, and would like to speak to someone about…” Edward broke off as a woman emerged from the kitchen, carrying two plates piled with food. She had fiery red hair and a lithe figure, and moved easily through the tables. After setting one of the plates before a man sitting near the bar, she turned and scanned the room. Her gaze alit on the boy first, and she smiled. Then she spotted Edward. All color drained from her face, and the remaining plate slid from her hand, shattering on the stone floor.
“Mam!” The boy raced to the woman and clutched at her skirts, but Edward was unable to move.
“Anna,” he whispered.
She meandered back to the bar through the now empty room, scooting chairs under tables, watching Edward, who now sat slumped over his untouched drink. Lightly squeezing his shoulder, she leaned against the bar at his side.
“What’s the matter? Other than the obvious, of course.”
Edward snorted with little humor and did not look at her. “The obvious. Shouldn’t that be enough to make me cry into my bitter?”
“A different man, maybe. Not you.” She thought for a minute as she gazed at him. He was older, certainly; they both were. He was harder, more…careworn, she supposed, although the scar added an air of devilishness she had to admit was really quite appealing.
She reached out and traced the mark with her index finger before she could stop herself, feeling the warm flush of his skin. Edward barely stirred, just eyed her from beneath his impossibly long, dark lashes.
“But you’re not the same man you were when you left, are you?”
“No. And you aren’t the same woman, I imagine.” He grabbed her hand to keep it still. She could feel the beat of his heart racing through her fingertips. Hers was not far behind.
She pulled her hand away before she rushed headlong into something she wasn’t sure she was ready to do, and changed the subject. “You never did tell me how you got that scar.”
Edward rose from his stool, tossed a coin onto the bar. “No, I didn’t.” In a single movement, he pulled her to him, pressing his lips to hers. She closed her eyes, tasting. He was the same as he had been on the cliff top, or at least the way she remembered him. Salty, sweet, the slightest bit sour from his last drink, all mixed together with something that was uniquely Edward. She wanted to crawl inside him, become part of him again, just as she had seven years before.
She moaned, grasping him tighter, even as he pulled away. Her eyelids fluttered as her brain tried to understand the absence of him. He rubbed a finger along her bottom lip, his gaze burning through hers.
“Not yet, Anna. You aren’t ready to take me back. But you will.” He kissed her again, hard, then was gone. Her legs were jelly as she slumped against the bar.
“No, not yet,” she breathed into the empty room. “But bloody close.”
Clevelanders are tough, a bit cynical, and just a little crazy, and Marin McGinnis is no exception. When she’s not chasing after big dogs or watching tweens skate around hockey rinks, she is immersing herself in romantic tales of years gone by. She lives in a suburb of Cleveland, Ohio, with her husband, son, and two standard poodles.
You can find her hanging out at marinmcginnis.com, on her group blog at throughheartshapedglasses.com, on Twitter @MarinMcGinnis, Facebook at facebook.com/MarinMcG, Goodreads at https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/12256384.Marin_McGinnis, or Pinterest at https://www.pinterest.com/marinmcginnis/