Welcome to the blog Shelley! Are you ready for you first question?
What is the title of your most recent published book?
I’ve had two releases this month. The Spurned Viscountess (historical) came out from Carina Press at the end of September and Resisting Tamaki (sci-fi romance) came out from Ellora’s Cave.
Where were you when you got your first book contract? Who did you tell?
I sold my first book in 2004 to New Concepts Publishing. I received an email on 2 Jan telling me they wanted to publish my book. I was so excited I could hardly speak. My husband was the first person I told. He’s traveled the entire writing journey with me so he gets to hear all the good news first.
What genre do you write?
I tend to write more contemporary and paranormal stories, but I write most genres. I like to swap around, according to my mood. I think this helps keep my writing fresh because I don’t get tired of writing the same thing all the time.
Do you publish in both print and e-book?
I have four e-pubs, writing for Ellora’s Cave, Samhain Publishing, Carina Press and Liquid Silver Books. Some of my books with Ellora’s Cave and Samhain Publishing are available in print format but I write primarily for the e-pub market.
What are the advantages of e-books?
They’re easily portable and don’t take as much room as physical books. There’s a wide range of genres and books available in e-format. If you’re looking for something a little bit different you’ll probably find it in e-format.
From an author’s point of view, the process from sale to published is a lot quicker, and ideas that are a bit different or quirky have a better chance of publication since publishing costs are less in the e-pub world.
Do you have any tips for new writers?
My best tip for new writers is to write every day and treat your writing like a job. Also, it’s important to read as much as you can and learn what is out there on the shelves. Think of it as market research and analyze what you like and dislike about each book. Use each book as a text book to help you learn.
What is your guilty pleasure?
That’s an easy question – I like chocolate and also a glass of wine with my dinner.
Where can your readers reach you?
Readers can visit my website at www.shelleymunro.com or chat with me at my blog http://www.shelleymunro.com/blog or on Facebook or Twitter.
Readers can also contact me via the contact form on my website http://www.shelleymunro.com/blog or on Facebook or Twitter
or join my newsletter at - http://www.janusportal.com/lists/?p=subscribe&id=9/
Are you working on another book?
Well, since you asked…I’m working on more than one book at present.
I’m working on book 11 (the final book) in my paranormal Middlemarch Mates series about a feline shapeshifter community living in a small New Zealand country town.
I’m working on a follow up to Fancy Free (a story about a woman who inherits a condom factory)
I’m working on a follow up story to The Bottom Line – this story is about one of the secondary characters from The Bottom Line.
And finally, I have another gothic romance in the planning stages.
Do you have an excerpt you’d like to share?
“Whoa, there!” the coachman bellowed. A horse snorted. A harness jangled, and a piercing screech rent the air as the coachman hauled on the brake to halt the ponderous carriage.
The door flew open, and a footman dressed in green livery placed a step down for them to alight. Rosalind pushed aside her apprehension, swept up her skirts and placed her hand into the footman’s to descend. She relinquished his aid almost instantly and stepped aside. Seconds later, Mary exited and stood beside her, blinking in the early afternoon sun.
The earl, much older than she recalled, bowed before her. Tall and thin with stooped shoulders, his clothing hung loosely while his powdered wig drew attention to his extreme pallor. “Rosalind, my dear, it is good to see you again.”
Rosalind sank into a deep curtsey, her eyes modestly lowered to hide her sudden nervousness. Her betrothed was here, standing right behind his father, but she was too frightened to look. Her cousin’s hysterical words rang through her mind. Viscount Hastings was an ogre. A beast.
The earl interrupted her panic. “Child, let me look at you.” Rosalind straightened and met the frank gaze of the elderly earl. “You have the look of your grandmother.”
She smiled. “Thank you, my lord. I count that a compliment indeed.”
Certainly, her grandmother had been the one person who understood how she felt, since she suffered from the same family affliction. Rosalind had found the past three years since her grandmother’s death both difficult and lonely.
The earl urged her forward. “Let me introduce you to my son and nephew. You will meet my sister, Lady Augusta, later.”
A chill swept through Rosalind and her lashes lowered to screen her fears. The moment she had both anticipated and dreaded—the first meeting with her betrothed.
“Rosalind Chandler, may I present my son, Viscount Hastings, and my nephew, Charles Soulden?”
Viscount Hastings thrust out a hand, and Rosalind placed her trembling one in his, wishing she had remembered to pull on her gloves. It was too late to worry now. She sank into another curtsey, too nervous to meet his gaze. She registered his size first and then a number of erratic pictures flickered through her mind. She shoved them away, concentrating on the tangible man. He towered above her by a good ten inches, making her acutely aware of her own lack in that area.
The callused hand holding hers tightened, and Rosalind looked up, startled. Her breath caught when she saw her betrothed clearly. Clad in a somber black jacket and breeches, and as dark as she imagined the devil to be, he disdained the fashionable wigs and powder the other men wore. Instead, his hair tumbled in loose, disheveled curls about his head. His face was tanned, as if he spent many hours outside under the sun. But what really caught her attention was the angry scar that slashed his face, running from just below his left eye to his jaw. Puckered and red, it drew the eye.
Rosalind swallowed and looked away, but her gaze clashed with that of her betrothed before she could politely withdraw. His eyes were a mahogany brown, so dark they were almost black, and they openly mocked her nervous reaction.
Confusion and embarrassment fought within her. She tensed under his sardonic look. She’d known the viscount had suffered an injury while on a Grand Tour in Italy. The gossip about his miraculous return from the dead had spread rapidly through the ballrooms of London. Her stomach churned uneasily, and she averted her eyes to the weathered gray wall surrounding the courtyard.
“Rosalind, enchanted I’m sure.” Hastings’s low, gravely voice sent a surge of alarm through her veins.
She inclined her head and valiantly tried to hide her agitation, but she suspected few fooled Hastings.
“Thank you, my lord.”
Sensations bombarded her mind, fragments of pictures, pieces of a larger puzzle. They were faint at the moment, but she knew from experience more details would come with time. A frustrated scream lodged in her throat. She tugged to free her hand, but he held fast. Why now? Why her betrothed? She’d thought—hoped—he would be one of the people for whom her accursed gift didn’t work. She’d felt nothing when she touched the Earl of St. Clare.
The picture of a woman formed in her mind. Dressed in a flowing white gown with a tumble of dark curls about her shoulders, she walked arm in arm with a man. The man was her betrothed, and the woman with him was heavy with child. Rosalind gasped. Her left hand clutched her skirt, and she yanked her right from his grasp. She fanned her face vigorously, fighting for control. “It is hot today.”
“Come inside,” the earl said. “You must be tired after your long journey.”
“Yes,” she said, still aware of the viscount’s mocking countenance. Her chin rose. “I am a little weary.”
“Allow me.” Hastings offered his arm. Rosalind caught the beaming smile on the earl’s face as he and Charles Soulden turned toward a flight of stairs leading inside the castle.
“It’s not too late to call off the wedding,” the viscount murmured.
Rosalind went cold inside at the rejection on his face. The gravel in the courtyard crunched underfoot—the only sound breaking the sudden hush between them.
If she backed out of this wedding, she’d be a laughingstock. A failure, and she’d have no home or chubby, laughing babies. She would end up on the shelf, a charity case depending on her uncle’s largesse. A shudder swept her at the thought of being prey to her waspish aunt again. No, she didn’t want that, which meant the wedding must go ahead.
Despite the fact that the man walking at her side was in love with another woman.
Thanks for joining us today Shelley!
My paranormal romance NIGHTWALKER by Rhonda L. Print is available at www.LiquidSilverBooks.com