Allyson Roy | Memories

Have you ever been caught by the scent of something that takes you immediately back to a particular time or place in your memory?

Roasted marshmallows. Zing! You’re ten years old at summer camp. Did you know that baby powder is one of the all-time favorite scents, which is why it’s been made into a perfume? Our sense of smell is the only one of our senses that bypasses the conscious part of our brain and connects directly with our primitive emotional region.

The place where our sexual feelings emerge.

And our sense of danger.

This is a key issue in APHRODISIAC, the first book in our romantic suspense series featuring Brooklyn sex therapist, Saylor Oz. Along with the idea that most people have a deep down secret wish to experience what it is like to be irresistible to the opposite sex.

None of us is perfect, and in a society inundated with super-gorgeous media celebrities, that idea can plague even the most sensible, intelligent men and women (especially if you add in some major disses form high school).

Enter our height-challenged heroine, Saylor Oz, who grew up with the revolting nickname, “the munchkin.” She may be small, but don’t let that fool you. When it comes to nerve and determination, Saylor will stop at nothing to get to the truth. Especially for a friend. In APHRODISIAC, a post mortem message from a childhood pal has her pulling out the stops, while leaving Saylor the target of a killer.

But we provided a little backup for her -- roommate and best bud, Benita “Binnie The Bitch” Morales. A former professional boxer, Benita’s always good for that much needed scene where it’s nice to see a beautiful woman deck a big, mean, disgusting dude who’s putting the hurt on somebody.

Guess it was kind of inevitable that friendship would be a theme that runs through our series because, in addition to being a husband and wife, we also happen to be best friends. And as debut authors, it’s great to have a chance to talk to readers about APHRODISIAC.

If you like sassy, sexy suspense, come read the first chapter here.

Allyson Roy
(Alice & Roy)
http://allysonroy.com/
www.myspace.com/allysonroy

Angela Benson | Siblings

I've been thinking a lot about siblings these days. I only have one -- a brother -- though there were many times growing up when I thought there were six of him. The boy was a holy terror, sometimes without the holy.

I have the funniest memories of him growing up. Though he's three years younger than I am, when he was around five or six, he used to beat me up. He did it because I'd never hit him back. Well, I woke up to that pretty quickly, and accidentally socked him one day. Guess what? My brother's love of hitting his big sister suddenly faded.

My brother used to torture me with dessert. Like a normal person, I would eat my dessert immediately after the meal. Not my brother. He'd save his for later that night when I had none. Then he'd sit in front of me eating his, waiting for me to ask for a bite so he could deny me. I wish I could say I never asked, but I always did.

As we grew older, I seemed to get the upper hand on my little brother. My mom worked two jobs when we were kids, so when I was old enough, she gave me cooking chores. My first dish was fried chicken. How hard could it be? I'd seen my mother cook it often. So I fried this chicken. It looked golden brown on the outside but I wondered about the inside. I didn't know but I knew how to find out. I served my good-looking chicken to my brother. As I watched him take his first bite and saw the streams of blood flowing out, I concluded the chicken wasn't quite done yet. Guess what? I never had to cook again. Why? Because my brother refused to eat anything else I cooked. That bloody chicken ended it for him.

To be honest, I didn't lose any sleep about not cooking. What kid wants to cook? What kid wants to do any chores around the house? Not me. I soon figured out how to evade all chores: pretend I was reading or doing homework. You see, my mom was a strong proponent of getting a good education. Unfortunately for my brother, he never figured this out so he did a LOT of chores. Sometimes I felt sorry for him and wanted to clue him in on my chore evasion strategy, but I couldn't trust him not to tell mom. So I watched him cook (yes, he cooks), clean, and iron, while I pretended to study.

As we grew older, things got a bit more serious. I remember an incident that occurred when I was off at college and my brother was still home. He called me to share a secret about a problem he was facing. He made me promise not to tell our mother. Of course, I promised. Unfortunately, as soon as we hung up the phone, I dialed my mom and told her the secret. Now I love my brother, but there was no way I could keep that secret. To this day, I don't remember what the secret was, I just remember feeling that it was too big for me too handle. It took my brother a while to get over this one and share another secret with me, but he did.

One of the dearest memories I have about my brother is the day I realized he'd become an adult with insights to help me with my problems. I remember pulling the phone away from my ear and looking it, while thinking, "When did my little brother become a man?" A very precious moment indeed.

I cherish my relationship with my brother, as you can probably tell from these stories. Because we live 13 hours apart, we don't see each other often, but we talk several times a week. There's a richness to our relationship because it has its ups and downs and because it seems to grow stronger and deeper through those ups and downs.

I like to read about relationships that remind me of me and my brother. I love to read about people caring for each other, through the good times and the bad. The bumps on the relationship road only make the relationship more cherished. I like to think that I'm a relationship writer.

My latest book, Up Pops the Devil, has two very different brother-sister relationships. There's the relationship between the main character, Preacher Winters, and his sister, Loretta. Though they spent much of their childhood in separate foster homes, their sibling bond remained strong. As adults, they became partners in an illegal business activity. Their relationship and their love is challenged when Preacher decides to get on the straight-and-narrow and leave the illegal activities behind.

The other sibling relationship in Up Pops the Devil is between Barnard Jenkins and his sister, Natalie. Barnard and Natalie's sibling bond is more like mine and my brother's. They tell each other hard truths that sometimes lead to uneasy moments between them. You know the moments I'm talking about when your sibling says something you need to hear, but you don't want to hear it at that particular time.

Siblings. Mine's a keeper. I hope you know yours are, too.

Angela Benson is the author of Up Pops the Devil ($13.95, Avon A). You can find her on the web at www.angelabenson.com/, where she blogs regularly.

Angela Benson

Jennifer Banash | Summer Lovin’

I had my first kiss at summer camp when I was twelve. 



He was tall, with amazing green eyes, deeply tanned, and had the kind of white blond hair you usually only see on toddlers and the body of a swimmer—lithe, sinewy, and ever so faintly muscled. His hair had a slightly green tinge from the excessive chlorine in the pool, which I now think is kind of gross, but back then I just thought it made him even sexier. I had drooled over him all summer long, looking away and staring at my feet whenever his green eyes moved in my direction, So when I noticed he was staring at me one night at dinner in the crowded mess hall, my heart jumped through my faded red polo shirt, and I thought I'd fall face first into the tasteless plate of mystery mush in front of me as he slowly smiled, then winked.

He showed up at my bunk a few nights later and suggested that we take a "walk"--which we all knew was code for lets-go-to-the-darkest-place-we-can-find-and-make-out-until-lights-out. I remember walking with him through the darkness behind my bunk, the smell of the freshly cut grass, the sound of laughter rippling through the air as my bunkmates nervously giggled in our wake, the scent of suntan oil rising up from my skin in the oppressive humidity, the fireflies that dotted the hillside like tiny Christmas lights glowing in the distance. I was excited—and scared. I didn't know if I was ready for my first kiss—I wasn't even exactly sure what making out really was. He was a whole year older than me, and therefore way more experienced in my eyes. Back then I was very much like Casey, one of the main characters in my new Young Adult series THE ELITE, and I wasn’t at all sure of myself. In fact, I was always worried that whatever I did, it would somehow be the wrong thing. What if I did it wrong? Could you kiss wrong? What if he thought I was a bad kisser? Why wouldn't my palms stop sweating? Thoughts raced through my head at a million miles per hour as he leaned toward me, time slowing down to a crawl as his lips brushed my own in the lightest of kisses—a sensation that immediately caused a swarm of butterflies to rise up in my chest, flapping their wings with happiness and relief as his hands grasped my own, and our lips parted.

In spite of the fact that many years have passed--or maybe because of it--this remains one of my favorite summer memories, even though I cannot, for the life of me, remember his name! (I know, I know. It's shameful :)

What are your favorite summer memories so far?

Michelle Monkou | Sauntering Down Memory Lane

A friend recently celebrated her wedding on the beach of Cayman Islands. The bright blue sky, turquoise water, and white sandy beach provided a romantic setting for the couple in love. The photos from her wedding remind me of my April release – No One But You – that beautifully highlights a bride standing on a beach ready and waiting for her perfect match.

No One But You, Harlequin Kimani Romance, introduces the first in the Ladies of Distinction series about sorority sisters who pledged together and now face life after university. Basically after college, Jackson Thomas chose his family business over Sarafina Lovell. Now Jackson is back, and Sara plans to give him one sultry goodbye kiss to prove she’s moved on. His sizzling kiss awakens memories of passion too hot to ignore.…

I am happy to have Essence Bestseller Francis Ray share her thoughts about my book: No One But You . . . is romance at its best - fun, sexy, memorable.

Although I write romances, I am an avid romance reader. From 13 or 14 years old, I read romances that had lush settings in Australia, Argentina, English countryside, and so on. Yes, I could have easily enjoyed reading my book in a quiet corner, but I derived great pleasure in discussing the book.

In high school, way before there was such a thing as bookclubs, my friends and I read the book and then conducted major discussions. At first, it was only my friend and me. Then as others heard about our lively conversation, they wanted to join. We didn’t have rules. However, if a person wasn’t an avid reader and, heaven forbid, not an avid romance reader, then she wouldn’t be a good fit with the group. We read almost a book a day and probably two or three books over a weekend. Granted we didn’t have video games and the multitude of TV channels to tempt us.

This connection between romance books and friends has not diminished over time. Being a member of Romance Writers of America places a person in the middle of active, supportive writers, but more importantly readers, of romance. I’m convinced that a writer cannot be a good writer if she does not read.

I won’t pretend that our discussions were always intellectual and thought provoking. Sometimes it simply was sharing common appreciation like when we talked about heroes -- their motivations and conflicts -- never gets dull. And yes, a full discourse about which celebrities match the hero would make the discussion complete. At 15 years old, sharing page numbers of fabulous bodies described in Johanna Lindsey’s books reduced us to a group of giggling girls. Now several decades later, I can still enjoy a few minutes of frivolity with my girlfriends over a romantic, sensual, handsome hero.

I am grateful for the ties between romance books and friendships. Each served to strengthen the enjoyment of the other. I look forward to continuing my deep relish of the latest romance books and the new friends that will come my way.

Introduce a friend to a romance book.

Michelle Monkou
http://www.michellemonkou.com/

Deborah MacGillivray | A stroll down memory lane…with a small detour through the Twilight Zone…

Inspiration for most writers comes straight from their lives. So it’s not surprising my works all begin with those core pieces. Things I love, people I have met, or the places that have been a part of my life become building blocks of the foundations for my novels and short stories.

Living on both sides of the Pond has given me a diversity of inspiration to tap. I used Scotland for the setting of The Invasion of Falgannon Isle, the first book in the Sisters of Colford Hall series (Dorchester Love Spell, December 2006). However, with Riding the Thunder the second book in the series (October 2007), I drew heavily on a small part of my childhood and early teens to conjure the setting and people for my offbeat world of The Windmill.

People reading the book continually comment that the setting is so strong they almost expect the place really to exist. Well, it did once. Long time ago, before urban sprawl took away the quirkiness of the odd spot on Nicholasville Pike, a halfway point between Lexington and Nicholasville, Kentucky, and turned the area into shopping centers and apartments, there was actually a restaurant called The Windmill.

Mysteriously, the place wasn’t special. Most people who ever ate there would likely have relegated it to labels of ‘quaint’, ‘truck stop’, or even ‘greasy spoon’; just a rundown diner that seemed forevermore stuck in the 1950s. There was also a motel, swim club and drive-in smack in the middle of horse country, as odd as that may seem. Fact stranger than fiction! And The Windmill’s jukebox had tunes years out-of-date, and it either was possessed or created with a mind of its own. Press the buttons on one song and often you’d end up with “Surfin’ Bird”, or “Tell Laura I Love Her” instead of the Beach Boys’ “Help me, Rhonda”.

On Friday and Saturday nights during the summer, the drive-in would run dusk-to-dawn specials, one price for a carload and you were treated to all the B-movies you could want. Generally, the marquee touted titles such as Vincent Price’s The Haunted Palace, Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee’s epic battle in Dracula, Prince of Darkness, or the ‘low-rent’ Roger Corman’s The Undead, all following the Woody Woodpecker cartoons.

Some of the people were also real once. There truly was an Oo-it, a funny young man who used to get too excited, though memories of him have since become mixed with images of actor Steve Bercemi,. Sam the cook was based on a janitor in my school. All the kids adored Henry. Laura and Tommy were patterned on a young couple who died very tragically in a car accident. None of these people touched my life in a profound way, other than giving a passing smile, yet they, too, are burned into my memory so deeply that they took root and slowly filled my muse with the story of Jago and Asha, and the weird place called The Windmill.

I only spent a couple weeks each year in the area, thus I am not sure why my brief visits there remain shining in my memories, so special. That they have for decades has been a puzzle to me. The riddle has led me to ponder if the oddball place was on some leyline, that there was some magical force, which made the very mundane very enchanting to me. But then again, perhaps that is what makes a writer a writer. They can look at the ordinary, a place in the middle of nowhere, a small dot on the map that thousands of other people passed through and then quickly forgot, and instead see the beauty and wonder in the sights, the sounds, the smells of a place so out-of-step with time. And dream...





Riding the Thunder with "Lost for Words" by Mike Duncan (mike-duncan.org) used with permission

A big thank you to Fresh Fiction for allowing me to take a trip down the side roads of Memory Lane!