Aphrodisia Authors :: Blog

Um, what we writers do for the love of our stories anyway. I was thinking about that today when I finished marking up my latest Amazon.com purchase with yellow highlighter and Post-It flags. Never take a book from me because it would make you nuts looking at my notes in the margins.

My latest phase is leaving my bank account a little light. Half a dozen books, tons of herbs, candles, incense and crystals. Guessed yet? Yeah, I’m researching witchcraft and that means I have to drown in it for a while…try it on for size. Being the anal person I am, I have the moon phases posted on my calendar and know exactly when I have to consecrate my space, cast my spell circle, draw down the moon, and only then can I try out a couple of spells I’ve chosen.

I don’t just try things out, I have to work with them, believe in them, and then see what happens to me. I’m a very “believing” kind of person. Daddy told me to look into the sky because Santa was pulling his sleigh right over our rooftop and I swear I saw him. I walked two miles along railroad tracks to find the “Gurdon Lights” and I know for a fact I saw them swaying in arcs just like a railroad foreman’s lantern might (his ghost carries that lantern). So, if I cast a spell, I know I’m going to discover something new.

Having excuses to do research is the most exciting part of the process of creating stories–for me, at least. I love cold-calling funeral directors and asking them what a body looks like after it’s been carved up for an autopsy and delivered for burial. I ask about the equipment, the smells, their emotions—and you know what? They tell me.

I called a firestation and asked for someone who knew something about cave rescues and found the expert. We spent an hour with him telling me about his experiences. And then I spent hours surfing on the webs for articles about spelunking, websites selling climbing equipment, etc.

And don’t get me started on what websites I’ve visited or the people in the lifestyle I’ve hunted down for some of my sexier research. Some of it I have to try out for myself, but I’m not telling you what in particular. Some things are better left to the imagination.

Delilah Devlin

I feel like Ado Annie from the musical Oklahoma who can never say no.

The realization struck me yesterday that I have the backbone of an invertebrate. There I was, working toward a deadline on my next book, with the month already filled with time-management minefields, and I get a call from the local high school asking if I could substitute teach. The woman on the other end of the line sounds flustered and desperate, and I’m feeling sympathy pains for her dilemma as she describes the number of teachers who’ve called in sick because of colds, the number taking days to Christmas shop, and could I please fill in for Mr. X tomorrow? It would be such a help.

I’m making faces at the phone, wriggling in my chair because I want to scream, “Not just no—hell, no!” Instead, I hear myself meekly agreeing to show up at 8:30 AM to face a classroom of 14-year-olds. Mind you, I’m a certified teacher, but it only took me two years on the job to know I haven’t the temperment to deal with hormonal youths.

I twitch when they smirk. My first instinct when one talks back is to wrestle him or her to the ground in a chokehold until the little shit cries uncle. I survived those two years, but only because I saw light at the end of the tunnel. I knew I was going to be a full-time writer, and then I would have my revenge on anyone who’d ever caused me grief.

So think about me today. I’ll be in a classroom instead of spending time here with you. And if one of your children comes home with stories about a very strange substitute whose face turned beet red and twitched whenever Johnny blew spitballs—well, you’ll know it was just me.

And in case you didn’t know it, I have a new book out. It’s getting rave reviews and was featured in the Doubleday and Rhapsody bookclubs (I’m sure they only bought it for the studly cowboy on the cover!).

If you’d like to take a peek inside, follow the link: Down in Texas

If you post a comment today, I’ll be sure to respond when I get home later. Just don’t expect me to be coherent or sober.

Pssst! Don’t forget! Aphrodisia Authors will be doing a live chat tonight at Writerspace at 9 PM EST!

Yes, it’s finally here, and I couldn’t be more excited! It’s getting some fabulous reviews, which is a relief (I’ll share them below!). Mostly, because it’s the first in a series about men who live in a little town in Texas called Honkytonk. If I get my wish, I’ll be writing about those sexy cowboys for a long, long time.

“…HOT! HOT! HOT!…All I wanted was more, so I read DOWN IN TEXAS again, enjoying it for a second time…DOWN IN TEXAS is now a book in my permanent re-read pile…”
Recommended Read, Emmy, Joyfully Reviewed

“Delilah Devlin’s DOWN IN TEXAS is a fabulous anthology that kept my attention throughout each and every story…The stories are all special in their own right but together they’re truly spectacular…Ms. Devlin has proved herself a capable storyteller before but with DOWN IN TEXAS she’s cemented a place on my ‘most watched authors’ list.”
5 Blue Ribbons, Chrissy Dionne, Romance Junkies

“…one of the most decadent reads of the year for me…Delilah never fails to deliver on any front, and this is just another testament to an extraordinary writer. As always, I look forward to more of her extraordinary novels…”
5 Angels and Recommended Read, Darksnite, Fallen Angels Reviews

“Devlin delivers in this anthology of love in the Lone Star State… This is a good, hot and sexy read.”
4 Stars, Devon Paige, RT BOOKReviews

But you don’t even have to take their word for it. Check out the first chapter on my website before you make up your mind.

I’ve been gone a year from my adopted home state, and I’m still pining for wide open skies where you can see a billion stars on most any cloudless night. I miss good Tex-Mex food—fried strips of cabrito wrapped in a freshly made corn tortilla, menudo with lemon squeezed over it, and chorizo and egg breakfast tacos. I miss the herds of deer that grazed on the long grass across the creek just off my front porch, the roadrunners that would race along my long driveway, the raccoon family that found my dogs food bowl every night, the Mexican bluejays, armadilloes and even the Turkey buzzards. Yeah, I’m plenty homesick.

Know what I miss most?

Yeah, the cowboys. The sight of a rounded, muscled backside in a snug pair of wranglers, bronzed skin that doesn’t have a thing to do with a tanning bed, a slow smile, and polite tip of a hat…sigh…

Must be why I’m so content to revisit Texas in my mind with every story I’ve penned lately for Kensington. My next release is Down in Texas, and it comes out October 28th. Here’s a bit about the three heroes you’ll meet and a glimpse inside the pages.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Down in Texas, there’s a little town called Honkytonk, where the women get exactly what they want…and the men know just how to give it to them.

Wearing His Brand

Lyssa McDonough just got tangled up in a coil of barbed wire, and her clothes are ripped to shreds. Rancher Brandon Tynan to the rescue—but why is she so ornery? Could it be the whole state of Texas isn’t big enough for the two of them? Hell, they’ll still have to share one horse to get home. Lyssa better hang on tight—she’s in for the wildest ride of her life…

Slow Ride

Maggie McDermott doesn’t know the first thing about horses and Daniel Tynan is more than willing to show her the ropes. His gentle ways melt her heart and his sensual passion burns away her inhibitions. Daniel takes the time to love her right.

Straight Up Soldier

Suki Reece needs protection and she can see that Mac McDonough has the muscle. Too bad he can’t stand taking orders from a woman. The rugged ex-Marine won’t listen to a word she says until Suki distracts him with a sexy striptease. That gets his attention. Suki may have gotten the upper hand, but Mac is going to be on top…

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Mac McDonough’s body ached with the need to sink into soft, wet woman.

An escape, no matter how brief, from the constant, throbbing in his shattered leg.

Like an answer to his prayer, a familiar SUV crawled up the rough gravel road. His body tightened. Tara Toomey had offered the last time she paid him a visit, for old time’s sake, but he’d turned her down because he’d still had just enough pride and just enough affection for his old friend not to want to use her like that.

Today, she wouldn’t make it past the door. The thought of her blond flyaway curls wrapped around his dick made him throb with anticipation.

As she slowly made her way up the winding, rutted road, Mac McDonough closed his eyes and turned his face into the gusting, humid air and inhaled the fresh scent of the coming rain—a fierce reminder of just how far he’d come.

Over seven thousand miles and another lifetime.
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Before Hurricane Gustav made landfall a carload of relatives from Cajun country arrived at the Devlin home. Last name, Benoit. Not Be-know-it, but Ben-wah, like the balls, ya know? My father’s family is huge—19 children (from two wives, bless them both), so it isn’t any wonder that I’d never met this batch. They’re a loud, boisterous family with dark hair and skin and lovely Cajun accents.

Still, they arrived night before last and I had a book to wrap up. The draft of Texas Men was complete, but I wasn’t satisfied with the end. And with company tromping through the house and 3 rambunctious boys screaming through the rooms as they fought over game machines and who was going to sleep where, I was praying for someone to just shoot me.

I finished the book this morning and shipped it to my editor. An hour later the power went out and stayed out. Eight people filling up a space where three could comfortably ignore each other and remain sane became a bit crowded. Add the no AC factor, THREE musky boys (ages 8-11), and I didn’t care that it was raining cats and dogs because Gustav had followed them here, they had to go outside.

I donned my swimsuit and led them to the pool in the lashing rain, promising it was going to be great fun and that the pool water would be so much warmer than the temperature outside. I ignored their chattering teeth and pushed them all in.

And you know what? It was fun. We dove for colored rings at the bottom of the pool. Waved at cars driving by with their windshielf wipers flashing as they slowed down to see what kind of nutjobs were swimming in this weather. We cannonballed into the water to build choppy waves and pretended that we had fallen overboard at sea.

Now, I’m sure when they all head home to start the cleanup (they lost siding, fences, trees, but TG that was all!), they will have tales to tell about their crazy aunt who writes porn and swims in the middle of a monsoon, but I have an open invitation to spend time in bayou country. I wonder what kind of craziness they will show me.

You are Hera

You are closest in personality to Hera, the queen of the goddesses. Hera was lovely, elegant, regal and grand - in short, she was a true lady. Hera was also the protector of married women and Hera types tend to be somewhat traditional in love and value marriage, family, children and fidelity very highly. You are also practical and show good common sense.

Okay, so it’s Sunday and I’m bored. I’m at page 75 of a 100-page novella, and oh my god, surprise!–the hero and heroine are about to have sex again. Actually, I love writing sex, but not today. Yesterday, I got to write about a lusty kidnapping with some really rough sex, so this sweet-after-the-big-battle lovemaking is a little tame.

So, what am I doing instead of writing? Looking for quizilla games to play. Maybe you saw this one, “Which goddess are you?” Have to say, I tried it and it’s absolutely spot-on (*snort*–I am sooooo not HERA)! How’d it work for you?  Anybody who knows me, knows the “traditional, practical and good sense” parts don’t match. If I had my choice, I’d jump into Persephone’s shoes for six months a year of hot lovin’ from Hades!

Delilah Devlin
Down in Texas — coming November 2008
www.DelilahDevlin.com 

 

What’s the appeal of the cowboy?

I wonder about that. As a reader, I love a variety of the archetypal heroes. I love the vampire–who wouldn’t love a man who needs you for more than company. So, he’s got to take a little blood and offers a trade of sensual pleasure while he fills both his appetites. Sexy, right?

There’s the wealthy business man who can provide a woman all the luxuries she’d ever want, who can be selective of a mate, but chooses you over all the women fawning over his wealth and handsome face. I could dig living in the lap of luxury with a man willing to shower me with gifts.

What does the cowboy offer in exchange for the pleasure he provides? As a woman, I like the idea that’s he’s self-sufficient, that he really doesn’t need me to survive. Then his interest, his needs become all about what that one particular woman gives him to fill a void in his life that he didn’t know was there until he met her.

A cowboy leads a very physical life. Fixing fences, delivering hay to the herd, wrestling a calf to the ground to brand it–you know that takes some muscle. Am I being shallow if I admit I love me some muscle?

I love the idea he’s prepared to risk his own neck to protect his interests–his cattle, his woman, his homestead. He’s worked damn hard to build his life, so he’s not letting snakes, or weather, or rustlers take it from him. And he knows how to fight, knows how to use a gun–he can protect what’s his, and if I’m his (at least, I’m the heroine in all my stories!), I appreciate that he makes me feel safe and cherished because his constant watch over all the things he owns (and don’t let a cowboy tell you he doesn’t feel possessive of a woman!) fills a void in me that loves the thought of a man who’s willing to put himself at risk to protect me.

I lived in south Texas for nine years, surrounded by ranches and men in Wranglers, and they don’t act like city boys. They’re respectful of a woman’s strength and polite (I melted into a gooey puddle whenever they tipped their hats in passing). Most of them aren’t big talkers. They don’t waste words and prefer to show you rather than tell you what they feel. I’m okay with that.

And I’ll admit to being shallow when I say I love a cowboy’s body–all wiry muscles, filling a pair of jeans with chaps emphasizing the size of their thick thighs, the mystery of their glances hidden in the shadow of their cowboy hats–all those external qualities give me a thrill.

What do cowboys do for you?

Get in bed with Delilah… Everyone else has!
www.DelilahDevlin.com