Category: fantasy romance

Tuesday Teaser 6/19/2012

Tmonique Stephens

Here’s a teaser from Eternity coming soon from Soulmate Publishing.

The Villain has a heart too. Enjoy.

I failed. Stella Walker lived.

Alamut—so named by his god Anubis—balled his hands at his sides. His gut twisted. A simple woman survived his harvesting when all others succumbed. Heart suspended in his chest, he leaned close to the dresser mirror and stared into his blue irises, searching. There, swirling in the depth were writhing tendrils. Anubis hadn’t abandoned him. The god’s power still coursed through him. Dark, intoxicating threads granted him the power to supplant the will of mortals and lead them to their slaughter, all in the name of his master. Like water to a stranded man, only this quenched his thirst. Not the bonds of his false family or the duty and loyalty they demanded. Nothing mattered, but what the god promised. For his servitude, the power to rule would be his.

But Stella Walker still breathed

Six Sentence Sunday 6/3/12

Tmonique Stephens

This is a snippet from my WIP the sequel to Eternity which is coming soon from Soulmate Publishing. A little set up: Alexis is at her parents anniversary party and see Reign across the room after she has asked him to stay away from the celebration. Hope you enjoy it.

Reign stalked her, moving smoothly between the tables and the dance floor until he stopped inches from her. The tuxedo didn’t hide the perfection of his body. Clean shaven, his chiseled face held no softness except for his newly cropped, wavy hair curling around his ears and nap, tempting her. Different clothes, different hair, same eyes. They were still deep, ocean blue. Those orbs drained her will and left her remembering their only night together.

Sweet Saturday Sample May 5, 2012. Cinco De Mayo

Tmonique Stephens

Four days had grinded by since Stella saw Roman and everyday was a little worse than the last. Memories of her past lives tormented her. Stella as a brown-haired girl in a Victorian gown, then a stooped old woman with hair the color of steel or a curly-headed flapper in a beaded dress downing watered whiskey in a Chicago nightclub, in the middle of the night these images came to her. Different women, different periods, all with one constant  …  Roman. In the background, beside her, lifting her up, standing behind her, holding her hand, Roman was there. Always.

Hungry for his presence, she second-guessed every decision she’d made and regretted some of the harsh, hasty words she said. Regretted the day she met him, but prayed for his safety every night.

Was he still in jail? He couldn’t be. Wealthy men didn’t stay in jail and if he wasn’t in jail, why hadn’t he come for her? That was an easy question to answer. With Daniel dead, she no longer needed a bodyguard. With a fiancée on his arm, he no longer needed her.

She should be glad it was over. And she was. Her life would return to normal. Yeah, normal. Pre-Roman normal. She refused to question whether that was a life at all.

“Stella! Stop dragging your ass and pick up.”   Joe slapped a plate down in the window and rang the bell. Whether he took pity on her or he wanted to cash in on her infamy, Joe rehired her when she walked into the diner and asked for her old job back. Before the attack, her daily schedule didn’t cause her to fall asleep dead to the world.  Now, after two days of work, she wanted nothing more than to sleep and never wake up. If she could do that, maybe her misery would be over.

Two Paragraph Tuesday

Tmonique Stephens

Roman stopped at the foot of Stella’s bed and watched the steady rise and fall of her chest. The bandages were off her face, but a square of white gauze still covered her cheek. No longer pasty, a tinge of pink returned to her skin. So much progress in only three short days. Small and helpless, he ached to gather her in his arms. Instead, he fisted his hands at his sides. That one touch of her hand kick started the same torment that followed him from century to century; rising like a tsunami smashing against the shore, leaving nothing but wreckage in its wake. A stabbing pain shot behind his eyes and a grimace twisted his features. God … this time would be no different.

“Why now? How much do I have to suffer … and when will it be enough?” He walked to the door and grabbed the handle. Two steps and he would be on the other side, out of her presence. Leaving would be best for both, yet he turned away from the door and returned to her bedside.

 

Eternity. Coming soon from Soulmate Publishing

Real Love Exists

Tmonique Stephens

 

Yesterday, I met a woman. 85 years olds, she had caramel colored, smooth blemish free skin.  Her silver hair and arthritic hands gave away her age more than her demean or diction. Married for 59 years, she had recently lost her soulmate, her husband, but she wasn’t bowed or broken. As she spoke about the love of her life a smile, not tears, graced her face. She summed up her married succinctly by saying, “Any time I looked to my right, my husband was always there. Whether I was washing dishes, shopping, or just watching TV, he was there helping and sharing.” They did everything together because they were best friends and  they wanted nothing more than to spend time with each other. The passion that had brought joined them never changed just mellowed into a deep union and commitment that never wavered. The love she felt for him the day she said ‘I Do’ still radiated from her with each word she used to describe the man who gave her all of him for  21, 535 days. And I’m sure he wanted more days with his wife, just as she wanted more days with him.

When I said goodbye to that lovely woman, I cried for love lost and opportunities missed. I cried because of the hand fate had dealt me. But later, I was so grateful for meeting her and hearing her story. Though I write romance novels, I needed to hear a story of true love, honor and respect, of how it’s supposed to be between two people who have bound their lives to each other. True love does exist outside the pages of novel or the memory of an E-reader and her story was better than anything I’ve ever read.

Her love story will never die. It will live forever in me and hopefully in those that read this.

Hump Day Hottie!

Tmonique Stephens

 Whew!!! Looking at these abs I really can’t speak. I need a moment to catch my breath! I posted this picture because, well, just look at him. Hottie, hot damn. I just wanna touch ’em. Run my hands along the ripples. Whew! I’m off to write a love scene. What does this picture inspire you to do? Huh?

Brevity

Tmonique Stephens

The past week I’ve been catching up on James Patterson’s Alex Cross series. Somehow, in the past few years, I’ve missed a few books. That’s easy to do when you have a family and a job. I’ve missed Alex Cross and the brilliant James Patterson (when he actually writes). His brevity, the economy of his words, captivates my imagination in a way that no other writer has done. His lack of description allow my imagination to completely fill in the blanks. The Alex Cross I imagine is complete different for the Alex Cross anyone else imagines. The house, Nana Mama, Jenelle, Damon, the entire cast of characters and the setting is alive with my own personal details … with Mr. Patterson’s dialogue completing the story.

Reading James Patterson cleanses my mental palate, and helps me to re-focuses my attention on writing. I find myself wishing I could write like that. Unfortunately, we live for the details in Romance. Every little nuance is characterized, tagged, cued etc. We struggle to find new and inventive way to say the same thing.  He grinned, smiled, smirked, grimaced, etc. I’ve learned to find joy in this process, though I curse every time I’m stuck, searching for that one word that will make an agent, a publisher, a reader fall madly in love with my WIP and with me.

 

Romance and Heartache

Tmonique Stephens

How do you write through heartache? For me, my muse is stronger and more focused when my life is falling apart. Looking back over the course of my life, I can say during my happier period when my love and my life were harmonious, writing was the furthest thing on my mind.
Heartache can strip you bare and leave you with nothing to hold onto except bitterness and despair. But when depression sets in, fueled by betrayal, self-doubt and loneliness, my muse would wrap me in her arms and take me to a place where the happily ever after is dictated by the whims and limits of my imagination. A world where the hero never lies is trustworthy, loyal and completely faithful to the woman he loves. My muse wipes my tears, bolsters my self-esteem and even tells me I’m beautiful and brilliant.
As a writer, I look forward to the escape writing gives me. That imaginary door I open and step into a world I created and populated. I take my characters by the hand, or sometimes they grab me by the throat, and together we go on a journey far, far away.
I look forward to those times, the journey I take inside my private world with characters that not only love and trust me, but look forward to the time I spend with them. Sometimes, reality is just too cold and heartless. The expectations of family, friends and work are harder to climb than Mount Everest and the fall from grace is just as deadly as if you slipped on that treacherous mountain.
Writing gives me hope and makes me laugh. When you’re going through heartache, those two emotions can keep you and me afloat for another minute, and hour, one more day … to write again.

Husbands vs Heroes

Tmonique Stephens

Husbands vs Heroes

Why can’t husbands be more like the heroes we create? As a writer, we spend an enormous amount of time creating the perfect guy for our perfect girl. The question I find myself asking is, did we spend that much time getting to know the men we marry.

Is love instant? Or does being around a person make it blossom or wane? I can answer this one. It depends on the man, the time period in which you meet and the amount of stress both individuals are under. So un-romantic.

I’ve known women that married their husband less than six months after meeting them. On the other hand, I’ve known women that married their husbands six, ten, fifteen years after meeting them. Which marriages last longer? This isn’t a scientific report, so I don’t have the answer.

I will say not all heroes should be perfect . I love The Dark Knight and reference that picticular character often when thinking of a complicated man. When I create my hunky, hero with all the attributes we women desire, I remind myself to include some flaws. Not the ones women despise, the ones we tolerate. The list varies widely, so I won’t go into details.

Much like husbands, no matter how many times we tweak and manipulate our heroes, our heroines fall for the guy that not perfect, very complicated but somehow makes our world a brighter place.

I think of this often when comparing real men to pretend men. Trying to merge the two isn’t for the faint hearted, but we romance writers have the hearts of lions and nimble fingers. Often, we leap tall building-it may take more than one bound-write faster than a speeding bullet-when supplied with enough chocolate-take our characters and plots to the promise land.
And after all of that, sometimes, we get lucky and get published.
What a life.

Tension

Tmonique Stephens

As I write, I have to keep reminding myself to increase the tension. Dialogue can be tense but doesn’t come close to action. You’re hero and heroine running, chasing, fighting, loving, nothing can compare. I love good dialogue and find myself placing my characters in situations where they ‘talk’ through their problems. In real life, that works. Not so much in a romance novel.

The past year I have taken many classes. I can’t remembered all of them but important tidbit float to the surface of my brain. As I struggle with my current work in progress I remembered one. Each scene is a push towards the end. Each scene should increase the tension until the end. And, as you write your scenes ask yourself would you be excited reading this?

Stuck in the sagging middle of my novel, I’m asking myself that question and laughing as I toss out the old and increase the tension.