By Margaret Tanner (Guest Blogger)
Everyone has to pay taxes; no
government on earth is going to let their citizens get away without
paying taxes. Taxes on your salary, business tax, death taxes, you
name it, they will tax it.
In romance novels, we don’t talk
about taxes. I don’t recall ever having read anything about tax
collection.
Sex – yes in all its forms, sweet and
tender, just a kiss or two. Hot and spicy, no shutting the bedroom
door here, and the steamy, red-hot erotic novels that I don’t
write, but I do commend the talented authors who do, and pull it off
so successfully.
Death – In novels, I consider death
to be a great tool in creating emotion and upping the drama. I don’t
mean having the hero and heroine die, but the villains and secondary
characters.
I have been thinking about this in
regards to my stories. I write historical fiction with romantic
elements, so death is probably easier to include in these stories.
Harder to justify in contemporary romance, unless it is some villain
who is hell bent on harming the heroine and to save her life, he has
to go.
In bygone days, death in childbirth was
quite common. People died of snakebite/disease/illness because they
were miles from medical assistance or could not afford to pay for it.
Bank robbers, stage coach robbers, cattle rustlers etc. - the sheriff
could quite legitimately shoot these criminals down without fear of
reprisal from their peers, or condemnation from the public.
In war, on the field of battle,
soldiers die or are wounded, so we happily accept this in historical
romance. We probably shed a tear or two for the gallant warrior and
the staunch heroine who waits in vain for him to return. We wouldn’t
throw the book against the wall because of this. We just sigh with
contentment when another dashing soldier rides into the life of our
heroine and she finally gets her happily ever after ending.
I have to confess that in all my novels
there is some sex of the medium to hot variety and someone must die.
Never a main character, of course, but someone invariably has to go,
usually a baddie, but not always so.
As for taxes, I never mention the word
in my novels unless it is to say – the heat became very taxing.
Margaret Tanner
SAVAGE POSSESSION
3rd in the
2013 International Digital Awards contest hosted by the Oklahoma RWA.
Raw sexual emotion,
revenge and redemption. If you want a sugar-coated romance, Savage
Possession is not for you. In colonial Australia it took hard men
like Martin Mulvaney to tame a harsh land.
A sweeping tale
of love's triumph over tragedy and treachery in frontier Australia.
A mistaken
identity opens the door for Martin Mulvaney to take his revenge on
the granddaughter of his mortal enemy.
An old Scottish
feud, a love that should never have happened, and a series of
extraordinary coincidences traps two lovers in a family vendetta that
threatens to destroy their love, if not their lives.
Amazon UK
Excerpt
What the hell? Martin Mulvaney stirred
himself from the kitchen fire. His head thumped from the numerous
whiskies he had indulged in during a session of whoring at the Black
Stallion bordello. He always paid women to relieve his sexual
hunger,easier and safer for everyone concerned.
God, he hated living in this house. I
ought to burn it to the ground and rid myself of its
terrible aura once and for all. The wind shrieked and moaned
outside, rekindling memories of Emily Parsons and what had happened
to her here. Taking another swig from the whisky bottle, he tried to
blot out the guilt that had tortured him for more than twenty years.
I could have saved her but I didn’t.
He
rubbed his hand across the bristles on his chin. The sound of the
front door knocker being slammed against the wooden door thudded into
his fogged up brain. He would have ignored the noise, except the
continual banging made his headache worse. God Almighty, how the hell
had he found his way home? If he didn’t stop this kind of behaviour
it would end up killing him. And good riddance many would say. “Stop
that damn noise. I can't come any faster.”
Wrenching the door open he peered out
into the blackness. Something made him glance down, and on the step
lay a dark shape. The soft object moved when he prodded it with his
foot, so he turned the lamp up and took a closer look.
A girl knelt on his doorstep. A damp
curtain of silver blonde hair tumbled over her shoulders. Glancing
up, he half expected to see a hole in the sky where this angel had
fallen through. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. God, he
must be drunker than he thought.
“Help me. Please. Have mercy.” Her
desperate plea pierced the fog swirling around in his brain. When he
lifted her up she swayed and almost fell. Swinging her up into his
arms he kicked the door shut, and strode back inside.
“Who the hell are you?” He dumped
her on a chair in the kitchen, grabbed the whisky bottle he had
slugged out of minutes earlier and forced some of the liquid down her
throat. She coughed and spluttered before turning her head away. “I’m
Martin Mulvaney. Who are you?” he persisted, mesmerized by the
bewilderment in her blue eyes.
“I…I don’t know.”
“What!”
“I…I can’t remember.”
He took a long slug out of the whisky
bottle.
Her rain-washed skin glistened like
white marble, and a graze on her forehead oozed blood. He lifted her
chair up closer to the fire and watched her trembling hands reach
towards the flames. Small and dainty, a little work roughened, but no
rings adorned her fingers.
His anger turned to pity. “You’ll
have to change out of those wet clothes.” He inwardly cursed the
fact his housekeeper was away tending her sick sister. Of course, he
had planned to spend most of his time enjoying the whores at the
Black Stallion. Pure chance found him home tonight.
Forced by the howling wind, rain lashed
the window panes drowning out the girl’s whimpers. He strode
towards the stove to lift the kettle off the hob.
“I’ll make you a cup of tea.” He
tried to sound kind as he sloshed boiling water into the teapot, but
it was hard when he hadn’t shown concern for a woman in years. He
used them for sex, was never physically abusive and always paid them
handsomely for their services. Not like his father who used to
delight in punishing and humiliating women. He clamped down on the
bitter memories and the fear dogging him for years that he would one
day turn into a woman beater like his father “I could do with
some myself. Might clear my head.”
He stared into the girl’s face as he
handed her the tea. “Come on, drink this, it will help warm you
up.” Her eyes seemed enormous and he could have drowned in their
haunted, pain filled depths.
Fear contorted her pretty face. “Who
am I?” Frail and ethereal, like an angel in a religious picture,
she looked the epitome of everything beautiful in a woman. Untouched,
untainted, the perfect bride for a man who wanted marriage, which he
didn’t. He tried travelling down that road once before and it had
cost him dearly.
About Margaret
Margaret Tanner is a multi-published
Australian author. She loves delving into the pages of history as she
carries out research for her historical romance novels, and prides
herself on being historically accurate. No book is too old or
tattered for her to trawl through, no museum too dusty, or cemetery
too overgrown. Many of her novels have been inspired by true events,
with one being written around the hardships and triumphs of her
pioneering ancestors in frontier Australia.
As part of her research she has visited
the World War 1 battlefields in France and Belgium, a truly poignant
experience.
Margaret is a member of the Melbourne
Romance Writers Group (MRWG). She won the 2007 and 2009 Author of
the Year at AussieAuthors.com. Her novel Frontier Wife won the Best
Historical Romance Novel at the 2010 Readers Favorite Award, and
another novel, Wild Oats was a 2011 Finalist in the EPIC awards. In
July 2013, her novel, Savage Possession, came 3rd in
International Digital Awards contest hosted by the Oklahoma RWA.
Margaret is married with three grown up
sons, and two gorgeous little granddaughters.
Outside of her family and friends,
writing is her passion.
Publishers:
