Hey gang, thanks for taking time out of your busy day to hang with me here at M.J. Schiller, Author!!! A big thanks also to M.J. for hosting me on my debut tour for COME HELL OR HIGH DESIRE!
Today I thought I’d do something a little different and peel back the curtain on where I spend most of my time writing. I love this space because it’s my private little domain. In fact, it’s probably my fav room in the whole house.
When I plot, I do so at our dining room table with big sheets of butcher block paper so I can lay the sequence of scenes out in a timeline format. Then I input this information into Scrivener in a rough outline, and I roll from there.
Yes, I’m a super organized person. But I pretty much blow at this video business. So, here goes: (if you want to skip any of it, may I suggest the beginning when I talk about the bookcase. Good God, I drone on there (stupid nerves), but I thought if I started over take two would suck worse.)
So that’s where all this shit goes down. You deserve a medal for sitting through all that! Now, I’d love to know, what’s YOUR favorite room? And/or…what do you think I should put on my blank wall?
At the end of my blog tour we’ll be drawing the name of two commenters from all of the blogs to gift not one, but two fantastic prize winners. See below for details, and thanks for being here! xo, misty ;)
Torn between dangerous desires…
Framed for a series of brutal murders, rebel-turned-CEO Zack Goldman must go to ground. When he discovers that sexy boutique owner Sloane Swift has a shocking gift—terrifying visions that connect her to his mentor’s missing daughter—he can’t believe her refusal to help him. Nor can he believe he’s actually falling for the frustrating woman.
Their chemistry will either find its perfect equation…
Helping an accused killer ranks low on Sloane’s to-do list, no matter how hot the attraction burns between them. But putting to rest her overwhelming guilt over the missing girl’s fate proves more difficult than she ever imagined…that is, until her heart and conscience begin to align.
…or detonate everything in its path.
As the real killer locks in on Sloane, Zack will stop at nothing to keep her safe. And as they earn each other’s trust—with danger in hot pursuit—they may just lose their hearts in the process…
Her fingernails suddenly raked at her skull. “Lord! I almost forgot. We have to go back to Ann’s. She has a diary!”
He swerved into an empty parking lot and swiveled to face her, blood pounding in his ears. “What are you talking about?”
“Ann keeps a diary. We have to find it.”
“You’re just telling me this now? You should have goddamn said something right away!”
“Don’t you dare curse at me like that, you seismic jackass!”
He had to get out. He flung the truck door open and strode onto the cracked asphalt. Her door slammed shut moments later, and within seconds she was wagging a finger in his face. “And don’t you walk away from me, either!”
“Then don’t be such a damn shrew.”
Color flooded over her cheekbones seconds before she punched him in the gut. Hard. An ancient fire lit up his nerve circuits and adrenaline had him widening his stance. His heart gunned.
His groin tightened.
And she was still shrill.
“I’m not a shrew! How am I supposed to act in a situation like this? You think I’m enjoying this? I hate it! But unfortunately I have a conscience which would haunt me for the rest of my life if I don’t follow this through until we have some answers. You came to me and wanted to rule out the church first. Then with everything that happened, I forgot about the diary until right now. That clear enough for you, you—”
Clear enough, honey.
He vised her head between his palms and kissed her. He hadn’t meant to, but the moment her mouth opened to his, he was lost. Not breaking contact with her mouth, he wrapped one arm around her, his hand splaying across her ass, locking her hips against him. Her hands were in his hair, her hips grinding, driving him crazy. They feasted on each other’s mouth, tongues dueling, daring, seeking. He felt her fingers between their bodies, slipping underneath the waistband of his jeans, pulling at the hem of his shirt. Her fingernail scraped his abs and he groaned. She leaned away from his mouth, her eyes dead sexy. Liquid brown. He was gonna—
A car horn blew, jerking him back to life. Back to the parking lot. He looked over to see a man in a black minivan at a stoplight giving them the thumbs up. He honked twice more, waved, and drove on.
Sloane burst into a fit of laughter that quickly dissolved into tears.
And that clinched it. He’d woken up this morning in some creepy-assed Twilight Zone.
About Misty Dietz