What Kind of Writer Am I? by Dianne Hartsock – Guest Blog and Giveaway

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Dianne Hartsock will be awarding a $20 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

What kind of writer am I?
I’ve often been asked if I’m a plotter or a panster when I write. Do I painstakingly plot out my stories? Write elaborate character bios? Know every step my characters will take to reach their goal?

Or am I a panster? Put my characters on the page and let them run nilly willy through the storyline doing anything they like. Let them take control and herd them like cats to the finish line.

The truth is that I’m somewhere in between. Long before I put a word on the page, I’m daydreaming about my story. Anything may have inspired me: lyrics to a song that touched me, someone’s eyes, a laugh heard across the room. A line from a movie or a flower or sunset. What ever it was, it set my imagination off and running. I begin with my characters. Who would be in this scene or feel this emotion or enjoy this sunset? Who are they with? Who would not want them to find happiness?

I muse on these characters, expanding from this initial scene. How did they get here? Where are they going? What do I want this story to be about? I write in many genres: erotic romance, paranormal, fantasy, crime, psychological thriller. What would be the best storyline for these characters? What would be the best way to tell their story?

I ponder these questions for a day or a week, trying out different ideas as I go about my regular day. And then suddenly it comes to me. I have the perfect plot for them. By this time most of the characters have introduced themselves to me, their backstory, names, etc. I’ll have a rough idea of the beginning, middle, and ending, and also the pivotal scene, the one that brings meaning to the whole thing.

At this point I’ll start to write, and probably spend more time writing the first few paragraphs then the whole rest of the book put together. These paragraphs are crucial as they set the tone for the remainder of the story. And that opening scene is probably the one I rewrite the most. If I don’t catch a reader straight off the bat, they’ll probably put the book down and move on to the next one that catches their interest.

Once I have the opening scene down (and yes, I’ve actually thrown the whole first chapter of a story away, once the story was completed. It happens) I write the story in a linear way. Each scene builds on the one before it. I’ve never been able to skip and scene and go back to it later. No, not even a sexy times scene. And once I start writing, I try not to think of the story too much when I’m busy with other things. There’ve been times when I find the perfect words while at work, but once I’m at the computer they’re gone or I don’t write the scene as well.

Once the story is completed I’ll read through it two or three times, fine tuning and finding all the mistakes I can before I send it out to seek its fortune.

Thanks for stopping in! I’m curious, what kind of writer are you?

Luka makes a desperate wish and the earth shifts to his will. Regretting it immediately, he tries to undue the sorcery, but it is too late. He asked for hope, and to his horror, all the hope in the world is given into his keeping. He desires nothing more than to return this gift to the world.

Aethan wants to get his hands on the Well of Hope in Luka’s keeping. If he can ransom out hope to others at his whim, the world will be at his feet. Where it belongs.

With the aid of his lover, Rhys, Luka stays one step ahead of Aethan. But Rhys has his own enemy in Aethan, his estranged father.

Rescued by Luka, his sweet, gentle witch, Rhys now stands with him against Aethan. They have vowed to return the Well of Hope to the earth despite all odds, or die trying. For what is life worth, for anyone, without hope?

Enjoy an Excerpt

He missed his lover, though he’d been the one to send him away. Luka had wanted him to find a better life than he could offer, a solitary witch bartering his potions. And he had wanted Rhys safe from his enemies. But he may as well have cut out his own heart when Rhys had left.

Luka sipped his tea, enjoyed its comfort, then heat flushed his skin as he recalled his dream last night, the feel of Rhys in his bed. Rhys had been tender and passionate and welcoming. Luka had cried in his arms, overwhelmed with the joy of it. Had wept again on waking to find himself alone on the hearth, Rhys across the room, reading a book in the morning light spilling through a window, as far away as the years that had separated them.

A bird fluttered past, calling his attention, and Luka’s spirit flew with it, soaring into the sky. The rush of air exhilarated him, and he dropped with a smile back into his body. After hastily setting aside his tea, he pulled a crystal from a pocket and held it up to the faint winter sunlight. He marveled at the earth reflected in glass. Focusing his gaze, his essence slipped easily into the encapsulated world and flew along the pathways, flitting between trees and brush. He scampered with a family of squirrels along a branch, leaping with wild glee from limb to limb.

About the Author:Dianne is the author of m/m romance, paranormal suspense, fantasy adventure, the occasional thriller, and anything else that comes to mind. She lives in the beautiful Willamette Valley of Oregon with her incredibly patient husband, who puts up with the endless hours she spends hunched over the keyboard letting her characters play. She says Oregon’s raindrops are the perfect setting in which to write. There’s something about being cooped up in the house with a fire crackling on the hearth and a cup of hot coffee warming her hands, which kindles her imagination.

Currently, Dianne works as a floral designer in a locally-owned gift shop. Which is the perfect job for her. When not writing, she can express herself through the rich colors and textures of flowers and foliage.

Website | Facebook | Facebook Author Page | Twitter | Instagram | Goodreads | Amazon Author Page
Buy the book at Publisher,
Amazon US, Amazon UK, Amazon CA, Amazon DE, Amazon AUS, Google Books, Kobo, or Smashwords.

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The Basement by Dianne Hartsock – Spotlight and Giveaway

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Dianne Hartsock will be awarding a $20 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Alex is haunted by visions of the dying, but now it seems the ghosts he’s seeing are real as well.

In this sequel to ALEX and THE SHED, Alex wonders if he’s seeing ghosts. His friend Justin has bought the Fulton place, a beautiful old mansion on the edge of Oakton. But something’s wrong in the house. Alex has visions of a small boy, trapped in the basement, and a man at the top of the stairs who won’t let him leave.

And Logan Fulton has come to town, Helen Kramer’s cousin, a psychic medium who wants something from Helen, whatever the cost. He and Helen had spent time in the Fulton house as children and Alex suspects Logan has something to do with the spirits now awakening in the old mansion. But whether Logan is calling them forth or if something else is controlling them, Alex can’t be sure.

The child’s spirit calls to Alex, as do others trapped in the house. There is a dark entity holding them there, keeping the child forever in the basement, the others for his amusement. But Alex has never believed in ghosts, so what is really going on? As he strives to learn the boy’s secret, his friends are one by one pulled to the Fulton place and put in danger while Logan works against Alex, having an agenda of his own. Will Alex be able to solve the haunting of the old house, or will he and his friends be taken one by one, doomed to walk the dark hallways forever?

Enjoy an Excerpt

A step creaked, and Alex froze. Was the house settling? Why had he sat with his back to the staircase? Dammit! He hadn’t put up a shield. Another creak, and the fine hair rose on the back of his neck. He shuddered, dread seeping into him as he became aware of a presence behind him. He choked back a cry when a cold breath brushed his skin. What is there? Alex wanted to look, but fear kept him immobile.

“Christopher?” he tried, but the word was snatched from the air before it became sound. Pressure built in Alex’s ears. Oh, God. The thing pressed against his back, a blanket of ice, chilling his blood. The air froze, a sharp knife stabbing his chest with each inhalation.

“Christopher!”

Why couldn’t Christopher hear him? Couldn’t he feel the terrible presence in the room? Alex stared at him, but Christopher continued to gaze at his hands relaxed on his lap. Fingers cold as death ghosted over Alex’s cheek. “Mine.” The whisper was a spike of ice in his head, and Alex watched in horror as a dark tendril of something curled around him and stretched toward Christopher, taking shape as an arm and reaching hand. Christopher’s aura flared, but couldn’t keep out the darkness that spread like a bruise, blocking his light.

“No!” Alex scrambled up, slipping on the smooth floor but managing to keep his feet. Adrenaline pumped through him, and he clenched his hands, stepping closer to Christopher. “Get away from him!”

About the Author:

Dianne grew up in one of the older homes in the middle of Los Angeles, a place of hardwood floors and secret closets and back staircases. A house where ghosts lurk in the basement and the faces in the paintings watch you walk up the front stairs. Rooms where you keep the closet doors closed tight at night. It’s where her love of the mysterious and wonderful came from. Dianne is the author of paranormal/suspense, fantasy adventure, m/m romance, the occasional thriller, and anything else that comes to mind.

She now lives in the beautiful Willamette Valley of Oregon with her incredibly patient husband, who puts up with the endless hours she spends hunched over the keyboard letting her characters play. Dianne says Oregon’s raindrops are the perfect setting in which to write. There’s something about being cooped up in the house with a fire crackling on the hearth and a cup of hot coffee in her hands, which kindles her imagination.

Currently, Dianne works as a floral designer in a locally-owned gift shop. Which is the perfect job for her. When not writing, she can express herself through the rich colors and textures of flowers and foliage.

Blog | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | Amazon Author Page | Facebook Author Page

Buy the book at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, or Solstice Publishing.

a Rafflecopter giveaway
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A Day in the Life of Dianne Hartsock – Guest Blog and Giveaway

 

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Dianne Hartsock will be awarding a $25 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

A DAY IN THE LIFE OF DIANNE HARTSOCK
Okay, I have to admit, I don’t live the most exciting life on the planet, so following me through a day might not be the romantic story you’re expecting. My alarm clock goes off at 7 a.m. I turn it off, then cuddle against my husband for fifteen to twenty minutes before dragging myself out of bed and into the shower.

After that I watch the local news while I have my first cup of coffee. Husband’s off to the gym for his daily workout. Then I warm up the computer, check Facebook of course, then get to writing.

This is my favorite part! I do my best writing in the morning and spend the next hour lost in whatever world I’m creating at the time, drinking another cup of coffee or two and having something for breakfast. It’s always agonizing to drag myself away, leave my characters in whatever predicament I’ve put them in, to get ready for work.

I arrive at work by 9:20 a.m. I’m a floral designer at a locally owned gift shop which smells fantastic! We have a coffee bar, sell candles, books, music, indoor/outdoor plants, house and garden gifts, imported items. A very eclectic selection. And my floral department is right in the heart of the store, smack dab in the middle. I get started on the arrangements due that morning for deliveries. I love designing unique flower arrangements for each customer.

And sometimes, in walks the customer who’ll become the hero in my next book! I’ll hear a laugh across the room and meet the deep blue, gorgeous eyes and bashful smile of a man in search of flowers for his lover. I have to coax and tease the color and types of flowers from the shy man that he wants to send, work with him to create the arrangement that brings that happy look to his attractive face. Oh yeah, he’s definitely in my next book!

I have lunch where I again check Facebook and do whatever promoting I need to, then back to work for the afternoon. I’m home by six, have dinner, spend time with husband/friends/family. But by nine o’clock I’m back on the computer writing on my current WIP.

My days are pretty much like this, broken up by walks downtown for coffee, going to movies with friends, dinners out, time at the beach/mountains/ Portland. Live plays and live music. Zumba and yoga classes for me. Okay, I guess my life isn’t as boring as I made out, but most of it is taken up either writing or planning to write stories. Oh, and reading. I read everything I can get my hands on. So I have to say, my life is pretty full and definitely happy.

For Tracey, life has become a nightmare. Kidnapped from a nightclub in Boulder, Colorado, brutalized and raped by the killer known as Crimson, he’s held captive alongside Kyle, a young man Crimson keeps chained to his bed and is slowly torturing to death. Though Tracey manages to escape with Kyle’s help, he is forced to leave Kyle behind.

Gene has never stopped looking for his brother Kyle, abducted from a nightclub seven months previously. The case breaks open when Tracey comes forward, claiming to have knowledge of the whereabouts of Crimson’s hideout.

A manhunt begins, but Crimson’s birthday has come and gone, and he will kill again.

Read an excerpt:

“I know.” Paige gave him an intense look. “I will find them, Gene.”

 

Gene sighed, scrubbing at his face with his hands. “How many men do we have out here?” he asked, staring into the darkness below them.

“There’s a team two ridges over, working their way toward us, and another sweeping from the west. We have Crimson boxed in, as long as no one gets careless. Another reason I wanted to stop. Can’t risk him doubling back and getting behind us.”

Gene nodded, though his skin crawled with nerves. He let out a long breath and shifted, stretching out on the hard ground.

Paige leaned back on his elbows, his gaze on the dark trees in front of them. He flicked Gene a glance. “You should get some sleep.”

“Fuck that.” Gene saw him flinch. “Can you find Crimson in this?”

“Yes. He’s very good, though. The signs I’ve been finding have been left by Tracey. A footprint here, bent twigs, a button. ”

Gene pictured Tracey as he’d last seen him: beautiful, strong, despite the shadows lurking darkly in his eyes.

“Okay,” Genes said, nerves on edge. “We’ve had Crimson cornered several times and he’s managed to get away every time. And now he has Tracey again.” He rubbed his aching forehead. “How did that happen, exactly? How’d Crimson find us?”

“I have no idea. You, Craig, Klinton, and me were the only ones who knew the location. My money’s on Craig.”

About the Author:

Dianne is the author of paranormal/suspense, fantasy adventure, m/m romance, the occasional thriller, and anything else that comes to mind. She lives in the beautiful Willamette Valley of Oregon with her incredibly patient husband, who puts up with the endless hours she spends hunched over the keyboard letting her characters play. She says Oregon’s raindrops are the perfect setting in which to write. There’s something about being cooped up in the house with a fire crackling on the hearth and a cup of hot coffee warming her hands, which kindles her imagination.

Currently, Dianne works as a floral designer in a locally-owned gift shop. Which is the perfect job for her. When not writing, she can express herself through the rich colors and textures of flowers and foliage.

Blog: http://diannehartsock.wordpress.com/
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/home.php#!/diannehartsock
Twitter: http://twitter.com/#!/diannehartsock
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/user/show/4707011-dianne-hartsock
Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/Dianne-Hartsock/e/B005106SYQ/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1361897239&sr=8-1
Facebook Author Page: https://www.facebook.com/Dianne-Hartsock-Author-107985445959828/

Buy the book at Amazon, Less Than Three Press, or Kobo.

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Halloween Blogfest: Dianne Hartsock

Ghost Stories

Don’t you just love Halloween! All its creepy scariness and delicious spookiness, the ghouls, jack-o-lanterns, witches and ghosts? Oh, especially the ghosts! Nothing’s better than sitting around munching popcorn balls and candy corn, sipping cider and telling ghost stories.

Especially when the ghosts are real. These stories can make me shiver long after Halloween is over. My brother told us a story from the time he lived in Mexico that still fascinates me. He sold Time-Share condominiums there and was at a dinner party in the hills one evening with some potential clients.

Not having his car with him when the party broke up, he called a cab to take him home. It was dusk, the sun having set shortly before. The wind blew up. A storm was coming. The cabdriver picked him up outside the restaurant and they started down the winding, nearly deserted road back into town.

The cabdriver was friendly and they talked about nothing important. That is, until they passed a turn-off on the road and my brother looked back at the gravel driveway leading deeper into the trees.

“I took a young woman home on that road last spring,” the driver said suddenly.

“Did you?” my brother asked. The driver had sounded almost nervous.

“Yeah. It was a night like this, very stormy. I didn’t pass another car for miles, when suddenly I turned a bend and almost ran over the girl walking on the side of the road. I stopped and made sure she was okay. She said her car had broken down and she wanted to go home. I offered her a lift.”

The driver paused for several heart beats. “She didn’t talk as we drove except to give me directions. When we got to the house she said she didn’t have any money with her but if I waited she’d get some from her father to pay me. It was a very nice house so I thought they should have the money to pay.”

“The girl got out and went inside the house. I waited. And waited. After about ten minutes I began to wonder if she hadn’t told her father about me. Angry, I get out and pounded on their front door. A handsome man answered. When I told him that I had given his daughter a ride home and he needed to pay her fair, he gave me a very strange look. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked, getting angry himself.

“Your daughter owes me for the ride home.”

He beckoned me into the hallway and pointed to a picture of the girl on the wall.

“Yes, that’s her.” I tell him.

“Impossible. My daughter was struck by a car last year on the road and was killed.”

True story! My brother has this awed note in his voice when he tells it. Shiver! I’m getting a little creeped out writing this and have the terrible urge to look over my shoulder…but what if she’s standing there? Oh yikes!
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Happy Halloween! To celebrate I’d like to give away an e-copy of any book on my backlist to a commenter who tells me what their favorite holiday tradition is.

TheDarkBokar200THE DARK BOKOR

Breathless Press: http://www.breathlesspress.com/

When it comes to the dark weavings of hoodoo magic, only a few can survive.

Blurb:

It’s started. Bodies have been found in the French Quarter, torn limb from limb. The undead have been seen walking. For Detective Matthew Rieves, this is the worst news he can imagine. Having spent his entire life in Orleans Parish, Matt’s no stranger to the bizarre. Though, despite the growing evidence, he still has a hard time believing in the occult. But when two hoodoo bokors vie for supremacy, it’s the innocent civilians that pay the price.

For Jesse Dalembert, he’d left New Orleans to sever his ties with hoodoo. But when a friend is brutally murdered by the bokor’s zombies, he returns, falling at once into danger and into Detective Rieves’s bed . With their lives on the line, their simmering attraction flares into a passion they can no longer deny.

Working against time, can the lovers find a way to stop the hoodoo war, or will they fall victim to the dark magic, maybe becoming zombies themselves?

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

After growing up in California and spending the first ten years of marriage in Colorado, Dianne now live in the beautiful Willamette Valley of Oregon with her incredibly patient husband, who puts up with the endless hours she spends hunched over the keyboard letting her characters play.

She says Oregon’s raindrops are the perfect setting in which to write. There’s something about being cooped up in the house while it pours rain outside, a fire crackles on the hearth inside, and a cup of hot coffee warms her hands which kindles her imagination.

Currently, Dianne works as a floral designer in a locally-owned gift shop. Which is the perfect job for her. When not writing, she can express herself through the rich colors and textures of flowers and foliage.

Blog: http://diannehartsock.wordpress.com/
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/home.php#!/diannehartsock
Twitter: http://twitter.com/#!/diannehartsock
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/user/show/4707011-dianne-hartsock
Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/Dianne-Hartsock/e/B005106SYQ/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1361897239&sr=8-1