Happy Birthday, Montana!

It’s our favorite feisty redhead’s birthday today, and in honor of that (and submitting the final manuscript of Chased!) I wanted to gift you a sneak peek of her story. Keep reading for an Indy x Montana scene…

Montana

"What are we watching, Red?" Indy asks, plopping down on the couch beside me. His arms are loaded down with snacks, and he drops them onto the coffee table. Whenever Ronin's out, Indy's become my movie buddy. This is our new routine, and I kinda love it. He's like my favorite girlfriend, except he has a penis and a male perspective if I ever need or want advice.

Sometimes he even gives his opinion without me asking, and it's times like that—even if I don't want to admit it—that I usually need to hear it most.

"Lost Boys or Karate Kid," I gesture at the screen, giving him the final choice.

"Eighties tonight? Love it. Daniel-san is going to have to wait because the grandpa in Lost Boys is my hero. That guy is a fucking legend. Cue it up."

Laughing, I start the movie and then look over his snack choices. Nothing seems particularly appealing until he pulls a package out of his pocket. He's got so much junk food spread out in front of us, I'm not sure how he managed to carry it all in one trip.

"Are those gummy worms?" I ask, leaning forward to snag the bag he just tossed on the table.

"Hell, yes, and not the ones with that sour crap all over them. These are the real deal." 

I tear into the bag, and Indy reaches in and plucks one out for himself. I snatch the bag away before he can take more, fully prepared to bite his hand if he tries. These are mine, and he's going to have to fight me for them if he wants them. My mouth is watering when I finally bite the head off of a green one. The burst of lime sweetness on my tongue is everything I've ever wanted until I chew some more, and it feels like something's missing.

Frowning, I forget about the movie for a minute and study the offerings before me. I lean forward and shove away a bag of tortilla chips to find a jar of queso underneath. It's the grocery store shit, the artificial and processed trash that's way more orange than it probably should be, but something about it keeps you coming back for more. 

Truthfully, I think that something is typically called alcohol or weed—you know, those nights where you go out and get drunk or smoke a joint and have the munchies? This is the perfect fake cheese for those situations.

Indy is fully invested in the movie, throwing a handful of popcorn at the screen when the mom asks for a job at the video store, but I'm focused on opening the damn jar. When the lid finally pops off, Indy notices and tosses me the chips, which I lift with my foot and kick away. "Keep your fucking chips on your side."

He raises his eyebrow and laughs. "What the hell are you planning to eat your queso with if you don't want chips?" Indy surveys the collection of snacks and then grabs a bag of pretzels and holds them up. I shake my head, and he grins. "Challenge accepted."

Then he really starts to dig, holding up everything from cookies to the bowl of popcorn propped between his legs. 

"Actually, I think I'll try this." I snag a gummy worm—strawberry this time—out of the package and dunk it into the jar of cheese until the tips of my fingers touch the room-temperature surface. If I thought my mouth was watering before, now it's a damn fountain as I hungrily eye the concoction I made. Indy's watching me with an expression filled with more horror than he had when he was paying attention to the movie.

"You're not going to actually eat that shit, are you?" He looks a little green, but I don't know what the problem is. I bet it'll taste amazing, and I'm proven right when I tilt my head back and drop the entire cheese-covered worm into my mouth, letting the salty-sweet combination paint my tongue in a kaleidoscope of flavor. It's creamy and kind of spicy, too. 

I moan and hurriedly reach in for another worm. Now that my snacks are sorted out, I'm happy to pay attention to the movie again, so I lean against the cushions and pull a throw blanket over my lap, careful to lift my snacks out of the way. Indy scoots closer and takes the other half of the blanket, so our shoulders are touching.

"You know that's disgusting, right?" He says, nodding toward my snacks, but I grumble and tell him to fuck off. It's not my fault he has shitty taste in sustenance, and I tell him as much.

Later, when the movie's over, and I've fallen asleep with my head leaning against Indy's shoulder, I wake up with cheese spilled in my lap, and I can't regret a single thing.

You can pre-order Chased here.

Two-Timing

Well, it’s official: I’ve lost my mind.

Yup, I’m about to dive into writing two books at the same time.

I mentioned it in one of my recent blog posts, but even then I wasn’t 100% sure I was going to do it. Now, it’s official because I’ve fully plotted both stories and have the set up all finished.

I’ve talked before about how I plot my stories, but the part that comes after plotting is what I’m going to talk about today. Once I do my general plot, I dig down into the details—both of which I’ve gone into before. I do that part by hand so once that’s done, I enter it all back into my plotting program.

Finally, I go into Google Drive. This is where I store everything for writing my books. I create a Google Docs file for every chapter and then I name them and format them for my editor (this is a new development since I started with her for Captive, but she’s amazing!). So, everything’s written in Times New Roman because that’s just how I roll.

(Quick side note: I read a study once that said people who write in Comic Sans are more productive, but fuuuuck that. Comic Sans makes me want to rip my eyeballs out of my skull).

After the files are all formatted, I copy over all my scene details from my plotting program into the appropriate chapter. It looks like this when it’s all done and ready for me to write:

Once that’s done, I’m all set to write and I don’t stop until I’m done. I set myself daily goals (I’ve talked about it before, but in case you missed it, I aim to write 4,000 words a day in 500-word blocks) and I have a writing partner who keeps me accountable.

So, now that you’ve had a peek behind the curtain, I’m gonna change the subject real quick. See, I’m honestly HORRIBLE at keeping writing news to myself. I don’t want to get ahead of myself and promise books that end up not working out, but now that I’ve got everything set up and am ready to actually dive into these stories later today, I feel confident sharing just a little hint of what’s coming in that top secret project I’ve been talking about.

So, now you have a title for book one: Crossed Souls.

It’s not up for pre-order, but here’s a sneak peek of the story aesthetic and maybe a couple of plot hints.

There’s no release date or pre-order or anything yet, but do you have any guesses what the story might be about? Leave ‘em in the comments!

Chased Sneak Peek

Read on for a sneak peek of Chased.

Montana

Two months ago…

“You guys fucking smashed it,” I yell, raising up my glass of champagne, and the guys of Shadow Phoenix and their wives lift theirs to clink them together. I don’t give two fucks about this place being classy and upscale as hell. Despite being the manager for one of the biggest bands in the world for more than a goddamn decade—yes, that makes me feel old as fuck, by the way—I’m still not used to all the glitz and glamour of Hollywood.

So, I’ll rock the hell out of my sparkly green gown that hugs every curve and shows off way more leg than is decent, but even my attention-grabbing dress can’t make up for my mouth. Ah, well. I consider it one of my many positive attributes. You know, the ones you’re sure someone will love you for someday if you can just find the right person.

Who wouldn’t love a wife who tells her phone to fuck off regularly when it rings at inopportune times? Or who likes to occasionally drink her beer through a Twizzler like a straw? Hey, don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it, Judgy McJudgerson. 

My eyes flick across the room to my own personal fantasy—all six feet two of him in his black-on-black suit. I know he’s got a sleeve of tattoos underneath the pressed jacket that’s straining against his biceps. If I let my imagination run away with me, I’d guess others were hidden away in less obvious places I’d like to hunt down with my tongue.

His dark hair is swept neatly to the side, but I’ve seen him often enough to know it’s usually sticking up messy in that way that the hot as fuck guys do that makes it look like they don’t give a shit about how they look when you know it probably took them longer to get ready than you. I let my eyes drop and look my fill, not caring even a little if he catches me eye-fucking him.

Maybe if he does, I’ll get laid.

And with that thought, I give myself the mental smackdown. Not only is Ronin Desai someone I have to work with regularly, but I am so beyond the point of casual hookups it’s not even funny. Sure, there are probably cobwebs in the dark corners of my vagina at this point, but I’m determined, damn it.

I finally tear my eyes off of Ronin, disappointed his dark eyes didn’t find me across the room, and tune back into my clients. They’re so much more than that, though, and their wives are my besties. I’d be lost without them, but I’m also jealous as hell. They’re all married or on their way to that with kids of their own.

Honestly, I never thought I’d be the girl who even wanted that shit. In the past, if someone handed me a baby, I wanted to throw it across the room to get it away from me lest I catch some baby-making dust somehow. Obviously, I would never throw a baby. What am I, new?

Still, somewhere along the way, what I wanted changed. Maybe it’s that stupid biological clock bullshit you always hear about, but whatever it is, I’m done trying to deny that now when I look at my friends and their kids, my stomach twists with jealousy, and there’s this weird empty aching feeling in my chest.

Damn, now that I think about it, I should probably get that looked at just in case.

I pluck my phone out of my bra and send my assistant a text to schedule me a doctor’s appointment. Better safe than sorry or whatever. 

Once that’s done, I tuck it back inside and do a quick spin to see if anyone needs anything. Everyone appears to be occupied, and with the new Shadow Phoenix album blasting over the speakers and the chatter over top of it, my ears are at that point after a concert where they’re simultaneously buzzing and sort of feel like they’re bleeding. I figure it’s a good time to head to the bathroom.

Champagne goes right through me, so I’m practically dancing my way back to the bathroom. Even though this is technically a work function, it’s also my most favorite clients and best friends, so I say fuck doing the stuffy thing I should do and barely sip one drink. I’m well on my way to drunk. At least I’m not the only one dancing, so I don’t look like a schmuck, though I’m the only one doing a pee-pee dance on my way to the bathroom.

Hey, I never said I was classy.

After I do my business and shimmy my dress back into place—seriously, who makes floor-length formal gowns without some sort of plan for when a girl has to pee?—I decide to check my lipstick in the mirror. 

Okay, so tonight, I might’ve gone all out knowing that Connor and his security guys would be here as guests instead of security for once. Ronin’s been my secret crush for way too long. While I’m not usually one of those girls who’s shy, I’m also not exactly excited to do my own version of the walk of shame every time I see him. That doesn’t mean I don’t want to make a lasting impression and maybe leave him wanting more. A girl can plot and plan, right?

Sure enough, my lipstick looks like I just finished blowing the entire Seattle Coyotes football team. Like, how the fuck does that even happen? I was just drinking my champagne, and yet there’s red smeared all over the place. Jesus.

I grab a paper towel—no wait, that’s cloth, fancy bathroom-having motherfuckers—and wipe off the mess, grabbing my lipstick out of my bra to reapply. 

Yes, my bra is basically the female equivalent of a tool belt, but since my dress doesn’t have pockets, I resort to this bullshit whenever I’m forced to forgo my usual badass boss bitch wear and class it up.

The door creaks open, but I don’t bother looking at whoever’s just coming into the bathroom. That’s not exactly a comfortable thing when you need to pee, and every chick in the place turns to look at you squeezing your legs together and hurrying toward the stall. 

My lips are sufficiently painted in red again, and I grin, checking my teeth for rogue lipstick. Once I’m sure I don’t look like a clown, I pop the lid on and slip it back into the side of my bra, wiggling the girls a bit to make sure everything’s even in there and my cleavage is on point. 

A statuesque brunette saunters up beside me in that way that screams old money—you know, like she’s actually floating across the ground rather than daring to step foot down onto the floor like some fucking peasant—and looks down her nose at me, sneering like she’s smelled something bad.

Though, maybe that’s just her face. Her admittedly stunningly gorgeous face. 

Bitch.

“Can I help you with something?” I ask in my sweetest voice that’s also super snotty. I really hope it’s coming through how much I want to tell her to go ram her vibrator up her desert-dry cooch and relax. Hopefully, it’s the kind that has the rabbit ears because I’m not a heathen and even bitchy girls deserve clit stimulation sometimes.

“Yeah, you can stop staring at my date.” Her voice is nice and icy, and I almost want to high-five her for how well she’s pulling off this whole Cruella de Ville vibe right now. 

I make a whole show of looking around the entire bathroom, noting we’re the only two in here. “Did you happen to take yourself to this little soiree or…?”

She rolls her eyes like I’m dense, and I’m seriously tempted to kick her shin with my Louboutin’s. That four-inch heel is quite the weapon when pissed off enough to wield it. “I came here with Ronin. I saw you practically undressing him with your eyes.”

Oh, honey. If she only knew I was also imagining using my tongue to explore all the uncharted territory of his muscular physique, her head might actually fly off her body. 

“Yeah, and?” I tap my fingernails on the marble counter beyond over this conversation. 

She grits her teeth, the perfect pearly white expanse of them showing too much, so her smile comes off just a touch psychotic. Really, it fits her perfectly. “Considering he’s my boyfriend, I’m going to go ahead and say he’s not interested. Stay away.”

Without giving me a chance to claw her eyes out or anything, she spins, and I curse as I have to duck out of the way of her epic hair flip as she exits the room. I’m not going to acknowledge the way my stomach dropped at her words or the way I want to punch the wall or, you know, her stupid face.

Nope. I’m not going to admit that shit is disappointing, even though I’m definitely not looking for a hookup and also definitely not trying to get underneath—or on top of—a guy I have to regularly see at work. Doesn’t matter that he’s perfect and sinfully hot, the kind that has me drenched and panting the second I’m in his presence. 

Does. Not. Matter.

Because it’s gotta be easy to find more than one of those, right? They say there’s one person out there for everyone, but who’s they that they get to be in charge of something like that? Whoever they are, fuck them, and I refuse to buy into that because if it’s true…

What am I supposed to do now?

Plotting... to Take Over the World?

…cue maniacal laughter.

I’ve probably talked about it before, but there are two types of writers (and potentially more in the form of hybrids of the two types but we’ll ignore them for now): Plotters and Pantsers.

Now, “Pantsers” are the type of people who fly by the seat of their pants. Get it? Ha. Ha.

Anyway, they don’t plot. They just sit down and write and basically magic comes out (if it works like it’s supposed to).

While I’m pretty scattered and disorganized in every other aspect of my life, I can’t stand being that way when it comes to my writing. I have to plot until there’s nothing left to do but write or I feel like I’m going to go crazy.

Or sit in a corner and cry… not that that’s ever happened or anything.

Ahem.

So, with every book in the Shadow Phoenix series, I did my plotting a little bit differently trying to figure out what worked best for me and what level of planning I actually needed to do in order to pull off the story.

As it turns out, I didn’t find the answer until I wrote “Captive,” and the answer is I need to plot EVERYTHING.

Every. Damn. Thing.

But it worked so well, that when I slacked off on my writing for Captive after telling myself I got off to a fast start and could take a few weeks off there in the middle, I was able to write, like, sixty thousand words in two weeks because of my plotting skillz.

Now that I’m about to dive into Chased, I’m not even trying to change up my plotting style at all (which is a relief to not have to think about what needs tweaking), and as of yesterday, the first step of the full plot is done. Behold:

This is a glimpse into what my plotting looks like for the book. (For those of you who also write, I use Plottr in dark mode because dark mode is liiiife). I separate the characters by color, and then I use one keyword to describe whatever scene is going to happen. I always aim for 4 scenes per chapter, but as I write, if a scene runs long I occasionally have to cut a future one down the line or expand it out into a whole new chapter.

Thankfully, that only happened twice during Captive and I was able to just cut the scenes rather than expand. Once I’m done with the keywords and a few minor details to describe each scene, I print it out and go through it scene by scene adding as much detail as I possibly can so that when I write, I can transfer over the scene notes and go from there.

It may sound complicated, but ideally it takes me less than a week (Captive took me three solid days) to do all the prep work on a book and then I can dive in and start writing. I’m really excited to give you Chased, and now that this step is finished, I can move on to the final plotting (details!) and then get writing. Let me tell you, this book is going to get your heart racing in more ways than one and I can’t wait to get started.