When I started writing science fiction romance, I had no idea what I was doing. No clue about markets or distribution or craft. I didn’t even know that the genre I was writing had a name. One day, I just decided that I wanted to write a book, and since I grew up reading science fiction and romance, the combination worked for me. I was so excited and passionate about every word. Plus, hey, I’d read so many books, how hard could it be to write one?
Cohl slid forward another meter. Instinctively, he whipped the laser pistol sights toward a small black object that sailed silently through the air and landed in a heap ten meters from his feet. He squinted under the dimmed lights. It didn’t move. Looked like cloth.
Then another dark object dropped a few meters from it. Was that a sock? He lowered his weapon. What the hell?
The sock’s mate landed next to the first one. Cohl stepped out from his cover and stared at them. He looked up just in time to snag a pair of pants out of midair aimed at his head.
Tess emerged from behind a nearby container, smiling triumphantly and sporting nothing but a black lace bra and matching panties. It took a while for him to notice her weapon pointed at his chest. His was hanging limp from his hand, much like his jaw.
“Gotcha,” she said smugly.
Her breasts peeked luridly from behind the lace. His gaze skimmed down the slender waist and firm legs in direct proportion to his rising body temperature.
He tossed his laser pistol to the floor. “I surrender.” (Unearthed)
Over the next few years, I learned that writing was the hardest job I’ve ever done, my genre was called SFR, the market is quite small, and the readers are fiercely loyal. I also learned that love is love, no matter what planet you set it on or where your characters are from or what kind of craft they drive/fly.
She raised her chin. “Yes.”
“Just so you can become a Majj?” He took another step toward her, the heat of his anger reaching her.
“Now you’re getting it,” she shot back.
“There’s nothing else to you?”
“You’re wrong,” he charged, his voice steely.
She blinked at him in surprise. Then shook her head. “My work is my life, it’s who I am. It’s all that I am.”
“Wrong,” he repeated, taking another step and backing her to the wall.
“Ask anyone,” she stammered. “If I lose my career, I lose everything I am. I lose myself.”
His mouth closed over hers and if she’d had anything else to say, it was quickly forgotten in the great rush of blood from her brain. (Unraveled)
Love truly is the universal language. It’s why we are here. It’s why we sacrifice, how we connect, and how we keep going when all seems lost. These stories, they are you and me and every soul on this planet. We all tell our love stories in different ways—through music, literature, art, song, food, volunteering, nursing, gardening, and in all the many jobs we hold every day.
Lacey shook her head. That meant “No, I’m not going.” He as an intelligent life form, he should be able to figure that out.
Zain took her clenched fists in his hands. He looked down, frowned and carefully pried open one of her fists. She winced and realized blood creased her palm where her fingernails had dug in.
She heard him say something softly, and hen he pried open her other hand.
Just like Robert.
Instead, he wrapped her fingers in his and gently pulled her toward him.
“Look at me,” he whispered, and she promptly lost herself in his dark eyes. (Unleashed)
The thing about love is that you don’t know what you’re doing. There’s no guide book, no classes, no training. Sometimes, you just have to hold your breath and jump. How hard could it be?
A hard shudder shook Qaade’s body as if her words gave him permission to release. He took a deep breath and held it.
She waited as long seconds passed, almost afraid of what might happen when he finally let go. And then he threw his head back and roared like a wounded animal. The plaintive howl pierced her soul and brought tears to her eyes.
Over and over again he roared, unleashing his anger and grief for his lost people.
She wrapped her arms around his torso and held him tightly, trying to get through to the man beneath the pain.
Steam rose from his skin with each tormented outburst, and her tears soaked the back of his shirt. It was like watching him be torn apart from the inside.
How could she have doubted him even for a moment? (Unmasked)
Here’s to jumping.