By Danita
Minnis (Guest Blogger)
Writers, like many other creative
people, come to it from very personal paths. My journey to becoming a
writer was a natural progression in my development. I have always
been a passionate reader. As a child, I entered fascinating worlds in
the books I read - the more imaginative, the better. I remember
adults in my family would always remark on my vivid imagination but I
thought everyone daydreamed and made up stories like I did. I should
have gotten the hint I was a writer when I wrote a short story at the
age of ten about a girl in the Victorian era. The scenes were so
vivid, they kept bombarding me and I just had to write them down.
Next, I was writing poetry, another clue, but life gets in the way
sometimes and you can’t see the forest for the trees. After a
serious push for a singing and song-writing career, I decided it was
time to become just as serious about my story writing.
As I explored the writer in me, I
started analyzing my writing style. I found that creating sketchy
outlines work best for me. I don’t like to be held to an ending or
even a character because things change, and change again, if I need
them to. It’s better for me to remain flexible because I never know
where the characters are going to go. I usually write the ending of
my story first, pages of it, and then bring the characters to that
conclusion. Sound backward? Definitely, but if you understand
writers, you know we have our own way of doing things.
It’s exciting when I am hit with that
first character. Physical characteristics and their location jump out
in a key scene and spur me on. Next, I throw a monkey wrench (usually
paranormal) into whatever outcome this character wants, whether it’s
to have another character or a situation resolved. The supernatural
is one of my strongest inspirations. I love the possibility that
there is more to life and will always explore this theme for a story.
Demons, ancient cults, ghosts and witches are just a few of the
things I gravitate toward. Sometimes they are secondary characters,
which are great vehicles to produce surprises. The mystery lover in
me can’t do without those hidden agendas. When I’m satisfied with
all my conflicts and their resolutions, I tie them all together. If
I’m successful, the results range from murderous obsession to
lustful ghosts - and plenty of romance.
I am steeped in romanticism, which is
great for my historical scenes. I don’t know if it’s due to my
love of history, art and music – being a singer definitely has
something to do with it. I actually have to watch this romantic bent
for my contemporary scenes. Otherwise, they can end up sounding like
a romantic tragedy. But wait, my stories are romantic tragedies most
of the time.
I write about the flawed hunk who can’t
resist the strong-willed beauty. In some way they are enemies,
whether it be through lineage or circumstance. Their being together
means hell for both of them but they do it anyway. Dark fairytales, I
love them. A hero with a painful story the reader can feel. It
creates such a yummy conflict. I hate him, but I understand why he
did it…
Being in love with love, my personal
goal as a writer is for the girl to get the guy in every
lifetime.
Love
Entwined, A Cardiff Novel by
Danita Minnis
Blurb
Amelie’s goal
is the top of the jewelry designing world. Her orderly life comes
undone when jewelry tycoon Roman steals her away on assignment to a
remote English estate. He wants Amelie all to himself but St. Clair
Manor’s ghost has waited for her much longer than he has.
An unseen gunman
takes a shot at Roman and he blames a business rival. But Amelie and
Roman are to blame, for falling in love 200 years before in a time
neither of them remember.
From the
heartbreak of pre-Revolutionary France to modern day corporate wars,
Amelie and Roman uncover a history of blood jewels, lust and demons.
When Amelie
discovers her inner witch she learns the real reason she was summoned
to St. Clair Manor. Il Dragone will kill to get her back. Amelie will
kill if they do.
Excerpt
Later that night,
Amelie passed through the kitchen on her way to the pool.
She went through
the gym, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirrored walls. She was
a mermaid in the incandescent green two-piece with a diaphanous
sarong. She loved it and would have bought it for herself except that
it probably cost as much as one of her business suits. Work attire
and jewelry were the only things she could see spending that kind of
money on.
Roman had guessed
her size. The man was an expert; he knew how to make a woman feel
beautiful.
That was
dangerous.
She was no match
for his subtle prowess and he was too well versed in things she had
not played at long enough to know her own capabilities.
When she opened
the door, he was already in the pool swimming laps. She stood near
one of the benches lining the walls. The underwater lights bathed the
room in a bluish-green glow and illuminated his retreat. His strokes
were long and powerful, breaking the silence and echoing in the
cavernous room.
He swam toward
her and she took off her flip-flops. She was the wallflower while he
was…Godlike, more than a man should be. He climbed out of the water
and stood in a puddle, pushing dark, wet curls out of his face. Her
eyes followed the rivulets running down his chest over sculpted abs
and finally over his feet. Everything about him was oversize.
He walked toward
her in black swim trunks and her skin burned crimson as reality
confirmed what her dreams had already conveyed; the man was superbly
endowed.
“I see you
found your way down.”
She wrapped her
arms around her waist, and managed to stop just short of turning back
the way she’d come. “I was watching you swim,” she said
unnecessarily.
He grabbed a
towel hanging on a hook. “You look beautiful.”
“Thank you for
the swimsuit.”
“I should be
thanking you.”
She stood mute,
but unfolded her arms.
He gestured to
the shower in the corner. “Why don’t you get wet? It will help
you get accustomed to the water.”
Aware he was
watching her while he dried off; she twisted the end of the wrap in
her fingers.
He picked up a
bottle of water and sat down, leaning against the tiled wall. He took
a long drink before saying, “Of course you could always swim in
it.”
“Of course
not.” She took off the wrap and crossed over to the steady stream
of water.
Closing her eyes,
she blocked his eyes out of her mind, but still felt them as she
turned in a slow circle under the stream sluicing her breasts. She
felt his eyes as the water traveled down
her waist, glancing off her hips in droplets that danced in puddles
over her feet.
When she turned
off the water, she felt much calmer.
He held out a
bottle. “Water?”
“No, thank you.
Do you want to get back in?”
“Your wish is
my command, Beauty.”
He kept pace with
her underwater. In a steady rhythm, he glided next to her. He needn’t
have worried; she was a good swimmer.
They reached the
other side and she started back the other way with the butterfly
stroke. They swam together and met at
the deep end, holding on to the side and facing each other.
She waved her
legs in the water, feeling so much better after exercising away her
nervous energy. “This is nice.”
“Where did that
come from?”
“What?”
“That genuine
smile on your face. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen that before.”
She made a face.
He grinned.
“There is nothing like a few laps in the pool before bed. It helps
clear my head.” He followed her line of vision to a beach ball
floating nearby.
Grinning, she
swam off in that direction. She held the ball up over her head and
took aim.
He chuckled. “I
wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
Shaking one
waterlogged lock of hair out of her face, she asked innocently, “And
why is that?” She treaded further away, still brandishing her
weapon.
“I might have
to come after you.” He hadn’t finished his sentence before she
threw the missile. It was close, but she missed. She looked around
for something else to throw.
“Nothing but
pool water left, Beauty.”
She treaded away.
“It didn’t hit you.”
“Ah, but that
was your intention, and now you will pay the price.” He dove
underwater.
She squeaked and
started swimming in earnest to the other side of the pool. By the
time she saw him swimming underneath her it was too late. He rose up
out of the water and grabbed her around the waist. She tried to get
away, but weakened by laughter she stopped struggling and leaned
against him.
He took her to
the side of the pool and they caught their breath as their legs wove
together. The gentle lapping of the water against their bodies broke
the silence.
“Give me a few
days’ practice and I’ll be chasing you.” She laughed up into
his face, looking forward to it.
Roman wasn’t
laughing. He moved closer and his lips brushed hers.
Feeling relaxed
and exhilarated, she didn’t stop him, but parted her lips. He
slipped his tongue into her mouth, rolling it over hers in long, lazy
strokes. She slid gently into bliss as
he deepened the kiss.
She wrapped her
arms around his neck, and her nipples hardened against the hair on
his chest.
When he cupped
her buttocks and moved against her, a languid moan escaped her lips.
About Danita
Danita
Minnis grew up singing and once thought she would do that all her
life. She soon found writing just as fulfilling and writes paranormal
romance. She loves mystery, mysticism, the fantastic and the fey. She
has published The Cardiff Novels, a series about one family’s
trials with vengeful demons, a legacy of ghosts and mysterious blood
jewels. She is currently working on the third novel in the Cardiff
series, which introduces the Cardiffs’ connection to ancient
vampires.
Danita is a
member of Romance Writers of America. She is a lover of chocolate, a
good, scary movie, kittens and pups - especially Siberian Huskies.
When she is not writing, she exercises her lungs at her son's soccer
matches and their favorite theme park, because everyone knows it's
easier on the stomach to scream your way down a roller coaster.
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