Aphrodisia Authors :: Blog

Just found the Spanish cover for Sins of the Night, which releases April 2010. I’d hoped the cover would be good and from what I can see, it looks sexy. Trying to find a larger one now!

Meanwhile, the promo materials I have ordered for Siren’s Call have begun to arrive and they look fantastic. If anyone wants a postcard or bookmark, just shoot me an addy and they will be sent!

Hi, Readers,

I’ve got a new giveaway going, a one of a kind ARC of my forthcoming Signet Eclipse release, Siren’s Call. (Betcha thought I was going to say Sexy Beast 8, which arrives in stores at the end of March–Fooled ya!!)

As you can see by the photo, I have a printed & bound copy of the manuscript, which the publisher created and sent out to collect cover “quotes” for the final, finished book. Siren’s Call is the first title in my “Dark Tides” mermaid series, and is slated for release in August 2010.

Kate Douglas, author the new Demonslayers series, is one of the authors who read and agreed to quote Siren’s Call. Kate has graciously written her blurb and signed the manuscript she received. In addition, I will also add a personal autograph to the winner.

How to enter? Details are here:

http://www.devynquinn.com/

To give readers a tease, I’m posting a little excerpt:

The fool. The damn fool.

Binoculars pressed to her eyes, Tessa Lonike frowned as she watched the man standing on shore strip off his clothing. What was it about these extreme athletes that made them think a swim in the bay during a severe thunderstorm would be a good idea? Given the temperature of the water, it would take only minutes for hypothermia to set in.

She sighed. Humans should know they weren’t made for the water. Leaning into the rail circling the deck of the thirty-foot high lighthouse, Tessa adjusted the focus on her high-powered binoculars, zooming in for a closer view.

Even from a distance she could tell he was tall, at least six feet, thin, definitely a swimmer’s physique. Though his features were indefinable, the long dark hair whipping around his face and shoulders gave him a sexy, bad-boy appeal. If he thought he could take on the water and win, more power to him.

Her breath caught in her throat when he unbuttoned his jeans and pushed them off his hips. At this point she was expecting to see a pair of those lycra-jammer swim trunks so popular with the local male swimmers.

A gasp rolled past her lips when he revealed himself to be one hundred percent bare-ass naked. Stepping out of his jeans, he stood proud and unashamed at the water’s edge. He didn’t flinch when a roll of thunder released a torrent of rain, the heavy drops slashing at his pale skin with brutal intent. The man was obviously an exhibitionist.

As the keeper of the Little Mer Island lighthouse and one of the area’s search-and-rescue volunteers, it was her job to keep an eye on the bay. With a storm about to make landfall, most people knew to get the hell off—or out of—the water. Summer had passed without a single incident. Soon fall would settle in, and then the freezing snows of winter. She’d be locked on this frickin’ island with little more to do than twiddle her thumbs until spring’s thaw.

Wiping the water off her lenses, Tessa lifted her binoculars for another look. Surely now that the rain had arrived, he’d give up his insane idea and go home. Thunderstorms blowing in off the North Atlantic had a tendency to get dangerous. High winds and crashing waves were sure to drive boats and bodies alike against the rocky shoreline. Not to mention the powerful undertows that could drag you under in the blink of an eye.

As if to second her concerns, thunder clapped around her, shaking the lighthouse. Lightning streaked to earth, striking the tower’s aluminum rod designed to take its charge safely into the ground.

“Get out of the water, idiot,” she murmured.

Instead of abandoning shore, the naked man entered the sea. Making slow progress against the waves, he began to swim, traveling through the water with strong determined strokes. Within seconds it became clear he wasn’t heading toward the lighthouse, the usual destination of endurance swimmers. Though the isle was privately owned by her family, it didn’t stop stragglers from coming ashore.

The man unexpectedly stopped, treading water. Then he dove. Disappeared.

A long minute stretched into two.

Nothing.

The water grew choppier. Waves crashed harder against the shores. Rain fell in sheets, obscuring her view. The wind howled, a banshee singing the doom of another soul taken under by the unforgiving bay.

“Aw, shit,” she cursed lightly under her breath. The damn fool was a suicidal fool. And my idiot lack of focus could cost the man his life.

Although I had planned to write about music and the way it inspires me in my writing, recent world events have changed the subject of today’s post. If you have been following world news, (and who hasn’t?) you’ve heard of the quake in Haiti and the massive destruction that has taken place. It’s horrible, terrible. Something you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy.

Sitting here in middle America (New Mexico actually) I am horrified by the destruction. But I am also ashamed.

You see, recently I have been going through a major dissatisfaction and disappointment with my life. In short, nothing has been good enough for me lately. Those of you who know me know I live on the poorer side. A bankruptcy and divorce some years ago knocked me on my butt. I guess you could say I’ve never really recovered financially. Since I didn’t want to pay out rent each month and own nothing, I purchased (well, my dad’s credit did) a small RV. It’s not the best or the nicest looking thing, but it is a place to hang my hat. Lately I’ve been looking at it, thinking how shabby it was and wishing I could swing a newer model (not going to happen any time soon). A recent after Christmas flood did some damage, too, and I’ve been pissed that it can’t be immediately repaired for lack of necessary funds. This leads me to my checking account. Like most writers, I work a day job. And while my paychecks cover the bills, there usually isn’t anything left over for a lot of fun stuff. So I’ve been griping about finding a new job and sending out resumes. I’ve also been bitching about, in not any particular order: my crappy hair, my fat hips, the zits on my face, and a host of other stupid things of no consequence to anybody except me.

I could go on and on, too. I could even make you a list. I want this and I want that. I wish this was better and I think I should have. In short it’s all been about me. My wants. My needs. My general unhappiness with my life.

Then the earthquake hit. And my eyes opened.

The Hatians have lost everything in the blink of an eye, and I do mean everything. These people have no resources to recover. They have no way to put a roof over their heads for shelter and food on the table to feed their families. I do. As shabby as I think my RV is, those people would view it as a palace. It has facilities, hot and cold running water, electricity. It has a kitchen, a working fridge and microwave (the stove is used for storage, LOL). There’s food in the cupboards. As I looked around last night after watching the news, I realized my stuff isn’t so shabby after all. I’ll get a hot shower, something to eat. I’ll sleep in a warm bed with reasonably clean bedding. I’ll even have my dog at my feet and my cats curled around me. In short, I’ll be okay. But those people won’t. Not for a long time. Maybe even never again.

Who could face that? Who would want to?

Needless to say, I’ve taken another look at myself. And you know what? My life ain’t so bad. In fact, it’s pretty okedoke. Things I see as bad have a chance for improvement, if I work a little harder and have a little more patience.

It’s easy to get caught up in our own small woes and wants, take the many small blessing we do have for granted.

If you have it, I am urging you to donate. I’m even putting up the link to the American Red Cross: www.redcross.org

I’m also posting a little song to remind us all that maybe an attitude adjustment every once in awhile will make life a little bit better.

I am not a person who looks forward to holidays. In fact, I would be happy if they didn’t exist at all. I don’t like being obligated to celebrate something I don’t believe in, I don’t like having to pretend cheer when I am not feeling it, and I definitely don’t like having to decorate because people say I should. Does it sound like I am a grinch? Well, I am, damn it (and I have a Grinch t-shirt, too, to prove it). From the last Thursday of November to the the first of the New year, I go into hibernation mode. There’s nothing happening I’m interested in, so I just withdraw from the world and wait out the good cheer, bypass the fattening goodies and generally try to ignore life as I know it.

To get through the days, I have a passion I call “movie stalking”. Yes, you read that right. In fact, I’ve been discussing my latest stalking with Kate Douglas, one of the few people able to stand the bull I toss her way.

What is movie stalking, you ask? Well, I will tell you. I look for movies about people who are miserable, twisted and depressed as I am. For the sake of my sanity that is not hard to do. My lastest craze is A Single Man, with Colin Firth. For those of you who haven’t stalked down every review of this flick, it is about a homosexual in the 60’s who has recently lost his lover to an accident. He’s living closeted, miserable and–much to my delight–is plotting his death. No, I haven’t seen the movie. But I love the idea of it. Therefore I have began to follow everything about the flick, reading every tidbit I can in anticipation of the day when I will get to revel in the misery. I’m so thrilled that someone’s life is worse than mine, even if that life is a fictional one.

I’ve done this for 30 some odd years, which may be how I’ve managed to make it to middle age relatively intact. Some movies I’ve stalked include Ordinary People (Timothy Hutton falling to pieces), In Bruges (Colin Farrell disintegrating), Man on Fire (Denzel Washington maginificently broody), Fallen (my man Denzel again), Heathers and Girl Interrupted (ah, magnificent mess Wynona Ryder and in the second Angelina Jolie wonderfully psycho). To round it out, I’ll add Reign Over Me. I think I am the only person I know who liked watching Adam Sandler fall apart on screen and loving every minute of it. My list goes on and on, but I won bore you with the entire run down of suicidal performances. Suffice to say, I need my misery movies the way some people need their Rom Coms or their dramas.

They just make me feel better. Happier.

So I will continue to stalk A Single Man until it lands on DVD, where I can rent it and watch it dozens of time, revelling in Colin Firth’s excellent portrayal (so I have read) of a miserable life. There’s even Oscar buzz around his role. I love that even more. I do so love to see misery earn its due reward.

Because no one wants to read about all misery, I am sure, I’ll toss readers a bone and announce that Possession (along with Kate Douglas’s Wolf Tales VIII) has been nominated for a Romantic Times Reviewer’s Choice Award. You coulda knocked me over with a feather. That book (in my mind) so did not deserve to land anywhere but the nearest trash can. It was the book I liked least and wanted to vanish without a trace. Karma obviously came around and nipped me on the butt. Why. I dunno. Needless to say, I am honored. The nominees are awesome and to be included in their group is just mind boggling. (and my mind isn’t easily boggled, LOL)

If you would like to have a copy of Possession, just leave a comment. I’ll pick a winner on the 20th of Dec and announce it here. If you want to make Devyn happy, take a minute and recommend your own movies and why you love them. Maybe you’ll give me some ideas as to what I could rent during the holidays…

(Note: If you already own Possession and your name is drawn, you can pick another title from my backlist.)

There are two things I hate doing in this world. The first is starting a book. The second is…finishing a book. One of the hardest things in the world for me is to sit down and write page 1. I will literally fiddle for months, allowing time to burn away and deadlines to rush near before I finally sit down and write. Why? The opening scares the living poo out of me. My biggest fear is that I will bore the reader from page 1, and that my book will get tossed into the trashcan by page 2. I struggle for months to get the opening of a book just right, and even then I’m never really satisfied.

The middle of a book is great for me. By time I hit chapter 3, I am in my zone and cruising along. I can see a light at the end of the tunnel and it isn’t the oncoming train.

And then it happens. The end arrives. That happened this weekend on Siren’s Call, the first of my NAL books. That book was hard to start and now that it’s done, I find myself wondering what to do next. It’s gone. It’s over. The characters I’ve invested myself in for months have suddenly moved out, leaving my brainspace all empty and bereft. Yes, I know I was frothing at the mouth to write those two tiny words that signal a job well done. But now that I’ve tacked “the end” onto the first book, I feel a little bit let down. Why am I depressed? The book is FINISHED! But now I’ve got to worry. What if it sucks??? (Yes, it tested well with readers, but still…) Just looking at the massive 504 page behemoth I’ve now got to print and proof is giving me hives!

On another note, I received the page proofs for Soul of the Wildcat. This novella will be in the Sexy Beast 8 anthology, which I am in with Kate Douglas and Kathleen Dante–both writers I admire very much. The book’s out April 2010. Originally Heart of the Wildcat was to appear in SB 6, but a scheduling glitch caused me to miss the anthology–which is why the follow up, Soul of the Wildcat is out first. I’m hoping readers doing Soul of the Wildcat first will still want to read Heart of the Wildcat, which begins my stories about the lost Cherokee tribe of cougar shifters. I have to admit I enjoyed creating this shifter world and hope to revisit it someday.

To get readers started, I’ll post a bit from Heart of the Wildcat. (The entire first chapter of which appears in the back of Soul of the Wildcat):

Chapter One

Kathryn Dayton didn’t like the looks of the men walking into her camp. Sometimes you could tell with a glance that certain people in this world were bad news. She had no doubts about these two.

They definitely weren’t up to any good.

Gaze steady and unflinching, Kathryn stayed down in a crouch, leaning in closer to her campfire, establishing her territory. She didn’t say a word, nor make a reach toward the hunting knife strapped at her hip. She just watched as the men casually ambled into the perimeter she’d staked out as a place to roost after sundown. Other than members of her own crew, she hadn’t expected company this far into the back country.

One of the men stepped boldly up to the fire. “Howdy.” The second man lingered a few steps behind, as if watching his partner’s back. One hand wrapped tightly around the strap of the rifle slung over his back.

Kathryn’s gaze narrowed. “Howdy.” Both wore backpacks and bedrolls and walked with the gait of men who spent a lot of time on foot in treacherous terrain. Hardcore mountain men, right down to their ruddy skin, shaggy beards, faded jeans, flannel shirts, jackets and heavy hiking boots.

But that wasn’t what disturbed her.
The guns did.

Both carried hunting rifles. Both had dangerous looking knives strapped on for ease of access. More horribly, each man carried a set of claw-tooth traps commonly used for large game such as bear. Illegal traps.

A chill scurried down her spine. Shit. She was all too familiar with those vicious creations. Once an animal got a limb in, it didn’t get loose. Men carrying weapons and traps meant only one thing.

Poachers.

They were fairly safe from prosecution because of the remote location. No towns existed in the immediate region, and it had taken a helicopter to get her and four crewmates into the remote area. An isolated remnant branching off the Appalachians and carved out of the Blue Ridge by erosion, much of the South Mountains of North Carolina were almost as pure as the day God created them. Even the rush of gold fever in the eighteenth century hadn’t inflicted much of an impact on the old growth forests.

Still, snakes lingered in paradise.

Kathryn ran a quick mental check of her own supplies. Aside from basic food and water, she carried a few hunting knives, a walkie-talkie, a small tent and sleeping bag. She’d deliberately turned her radio off, detouring away from the rest of the crew to spend the night alone. She’d needed some time to herself. The recent news her team had received hadn’t been encouraging.

Her mouth quirked down. So much for time alone. The knot of automatic distrust settled deep in her guts.

Kathryn had no respect for men who committed brutal crimes against nature. There were plenty of other places to hunt throughout the state. Legal places. Not that she condoned killing wildlife for pleasure. She found nothing sporting in shooting down beautiful animals through the sights of a high-powered scope.
___
So this post won’t be all boring, I’ll give away a copy of Soul of the Wildcat. Just leave a comment to be entered. I’ll draw a winner on Nov 18th and announce it here–as well as inform the winner via email.

It’s been a wild and crazy last week around here. First my mom got a new Pekinese puppy, Honey, which is absolutely adorable. Then my cat Tinker had kittens. Though she had 5, only two lived, a black and a yellow one. I call the boys Wooley and Jay, as they are such a wild and wooley duo when it comes to nursing, LOL. But that’s not all the cats that have shown up around here lately. Two days ago I found a little 5 week old Siamese under the porch! His eyes were badly infected, so he’s getting treatment for that problem. Luckily I have a vet who always keeps me in animal meds for the kittens, so I was able to begin treatment right away. Hope to have that cleared up in a few more days. Luckily Tinker likes him and she is letting him nurse with Wooley and Jay. I need to snap a pix of that trio, as it looks so cute to see one big kitten and two newborns all nursing together.

But that’s not all. Today I got a surprise when dad bought me my very own Pekinese! That’s Peeka, my new dog, on the left and Honey on the right.

You may think my day could not get any better. Well, you’re wrong! My author copies of Soul of the Wildcat arrived today. It’s hard to believe that back in late April I hadn’t even started the book, and now it’s in print!! And I am thrilled with the 4 star review it got from Romantic Times: “Quinn’s tale of a shapeshifting tribe facing extinction and a woman with a rocky past is well paced, with exhilarating suspense and terror, matched with calmer scenes of characters cautiously falling in love. The fine heroine is torn between U.S. law and Native American sovereignty, and readers are sure to empathize with her struggles.”

To celebrate, I’ll be giving away a few signed copies. Just leave a comment to be entered in the drawing. I’ll make a selection in the 18th and announce the winner shortly thereafter.

Meanwhile, with 25 cats, 5 ferrets and 2 dogs, I’m going to be very busy taking care of pets!

The Winner of the drawing for a copy of Possession or Men in Blue (winner’s choice) is:

Estella

Thanks to all who commented on the post.

Cheers, Devyn

After years of managing to keep my right forearm blank, I decided at age of 43 that it was time for a new tattoo. Those of you who know me are already aware I have several, including a nice piece that covers my whole back. I’ve also done up my left arm, and the upper part of my right arm. Out of the blue it hit me that if I were going to have any more work done, I’d better get it finished before 50 set in. The skin changes as we age (ugh) and I’ve heard that tattoos are more difficult to take once you hit a certain age–not that I like being in my forties. (Note: There is no evidence saying that anyone over 50 can’t get a tattoo or shouldn’t. It is my own personal cut off point.)

With that in mind, I drove down to the artist whose been doing my work for the past 20 or so odd years and had a new piece put on my forearm a couple of weeks ago. Once again I decided to stick to my ongoing theme of death, specifically the Grim Reaper. I can’t say why this mythical figure that inspires shivers in most people fascinates me, but it does. I absolutely love the Grim Reaper and there is no better subject for a tattoo than the grand old daddy of doom. The pix in the post is of the tattoo. Forgive that it’s not the best angle. I shot it myself, LOL.

Saner people may wonder why anyone would want to treat their skin as a canvass. I can’t say why tattoos appeal to me. They just do. My mother has told me I’ll be wearing them the rest of my life and may come to have regrets in my older years. So what? It’s not like I’ll carry them for all eternity. Come the day when the reaper really visits me, this skin will be history and the guys in the morgue will have something really cool to look over as they get me ready for my final roasting place… (Oh, stop cringing. It’s a part of life, and the last thing you’ll ever do on this earth.) For those of you who have not guessed it, I’m a dark person. I love things with a dark slant. If it’s gloom and doom, I’m happy.

Speaking of doom… What I’m really here to blog about is that Kensington has so generously sent my author copies of my late August release, Possession, a month early. That means I’ve got some copies to give away. Possession, of course, is dark. Here’s a little blurb:

Enter the midnight world of Devyn Quinn, there passion has no limits and danger rules every desire…

Embrace The Dark Side

Opening a rare book on demons in an occult collection, Kendra Carter trembles before the power she is about to unleash. A man like no other has been awakened, but is he more than human. From his first caress, Remi guves her incredible pleasure she’s never felt before…

Night after night, in his secret chamber, Kendra explores her most intimate and hottest sexual fantasies. His passion for her is a supernatural force. He controls her body. He steals her soul. He is her demon lover…

Stephanie K. at Romantic Times has kindly given me a peek at the review that will appear in the Sept 09 issue: “What makes this story work — other than a surprisingly sweet love story and steamy, thoroughly satisfying sex scenes that span multiple chapters — is a believable and sympathetic heroine struggling to keep it together amid overwhelming forces, both supernatural and grounded in reality. It’s a romance with well-executed elements of suspense and mystery. Altogether, a deliciously hot page-turner. 4.5 Stars!” Romantic Times

If you’d like to be entered in the drawing to win an advance release copy of Possession, just a leave a comment. Winner will be chosen Monday, July 20th, 2009. Please make sure you put in an email address so that you can be contacted!

Meanwhile, I’m off to figure out what my next tattoo should be. That reaper on my arm looks a little lonesome!

It’s not my normal day to post, but Crystal Jordan is under a tight deadline, so I am filling in for her.

One of the things that’s been nagging me lately is that little monster I call “worry”. You know that Weight Watchers commercial with the little Orange creature called “Hungry”? Well, I have one of those, and his (and I am sure it’s a HE) is called Worry. I don’t know when worry moved in, but he’s been around a long time. The thing about Hungry is that he will back off if you feed him enough candy bars. Worry, however, never seems to stop nattering in my ear, nagging about this and that. I do my best to satisfy Worry, but somehow my efforts are never good enough. Worry keeps at me, poking and prodding until I just melt into a puddle of depression and stop responding. Some people are happy go lucky, taking things as they come. I’m not one of those people. I’m just the opposite.

I worry.

So what does Worry harp on about? The first is my writing ability. I am constantly and continually concerned that my books suck rocks and that I am the world’s lousiest writer. I have sat and bawled over a chapter when it seems the right words just won’t come that day. I have bitten my fingernails to the bloody quick, waiting for to hear if my editor liked or hated the most recent manuscript I’ve just sent his way. I always expect to get the email back saying the book I’ve turned over is fit for nothing but the garbage can. Now that has yet to happen, but Worry is nevertheless sitting on my shoulder, prodding at my insecurities. When NAL made the offer of a three book deal for paranormal romance, Worry was yelling in my ear that I was much too talentless to be making the move to mass market. I almost didn’t sign the contracts. And even though I eventually did, Worry still hasn’t shut up. I am now worried the new books will suck as badly as the ones I wrote for Kensington….

Another thing Worry nags me about is my website. It’s never as cool as I want it to look, never as nice and professionally polished as I think it should be. Worry is always jumping my butt, asking me how I expect to compete when other authors have much nicer sites than mine. This drives me to distraction and I am always looking for the next bell and whistle I can toss on my site, the next template I can throw up for design. Of course, Worry reminds me that I am lacking a major talent to be a web designer and that my Photoshop skills are minimal as best. Oh, yes. And don’t forget that problem with being able to visually match color. I can’t tell you the number of time I have exhausted myself, or the hours I have spent in search of the perfect website. No matter how good I think it looks, Worry always finds something to complain about and pick at.

Worry also nags me about the place I live, the car I drive and the clothes I wear. It all seems so shabby, cheap and pathetic. “Why aren’t you doing better at this point in your life?” Worry asks. “You should have more, be more, do more. Own the world.”

Yeah. I wish. Truth is, none of that is probably going to happen. But that’s okay. Worry lets me know that people like me (losers?) just don’t get a big slice of the pie in this world.

As if that wasn’t enough, Worry also pokes at my weight. Am I getting too damn fat sitting in this chair, pounding out books no one wants to read? “Do you really need another glass of high sugar Limeade?” he shouts. His buddy Hungry steps in to control my hand as I pour yet another serving and gulp it down like welcome poison.

Am I worried? You bet. Twenty four hours a day, seven days a week. But since I can’t get rid of my constant companion, I imagine I’ll continue to weep, wail and gnash my teeth for many years to come.

So what’s your weakness, dear reader, that little dark voice that whispers in your ear? What does it say, and how do you fight it?

It’s been a thrilling month for Aphrodisia Authors. First Bonnie got to announce the German sales of her Midnight Confessions books, and now I am getting to announce sale of my Kith & Kynn books to Spain. Since my old editor, Hilary Sares, had left Kensington at the end of February, there was no one to inform me of the sales until my new editor settled in. I was delighted to receive his email letting me know both books had been picked up. What’s more, I got a pleasant surprise to find out the first came out in April 09–bringing my 09 releases up to a total of 6!

An online search revealed the cover of Sins of the Flesh. I absolutely love it, and I can’t wait to see what they do with Sins of the Night!

I’m crossing my fingers more titles sell to foreign countries. I’m absolutely thrilled to be an “internationally” published author.