An uptight builder. A quirky reality TV travel show host. An explosive passion that surprises them both in this sexy Hamptons romance.Passionate weekends and shared dreams begin to shape the house they start to build together as Jeff begins to realize his dream of becoming an architect. As their relationship deepens, so do the wounds from past hurts, rousing ghosts from Jeff’s traumatic past when his fiancé cheated on him with his brother. When a summer storm rolls in at the nearly complete house, they’re forced to deal with the past before it shakes and cracks the very foundation they’ve built.
Misunderstanding and stubborn personalities threaten to rip apart the fledgling relationship until both Kiley and Jeff learn to trust one another and are given a second chance at love.
Love on the Wind is the first novel in the Montauk Romance series, which feature novels filled with steamy passion, and always, everlasting love.
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How I became an author
I’ve always written and always had a vision of myself as a writer. However, it took me until later in life to admit this secret passion and say, “I’m a writer.” Even though I couldn’t say it, I’ve always written. As a high school English teacher, I was known as the writing teacher. I began earning money as a writer twenty-five years ago, even though I’d been writing for much longer than that. It started with a very small piece in Better Homes and Gardens. I was paid $50 for that tiny piece, but it could have been a million dollars judging by excitement.
Then local newspapers began hiring me to write little pieces on events. Those jobs didn’t pay much, but they paid. At the end of the year, I did my taxes and filed a Schedule C for the first time. While working fulltime as a teacher, I’d still managed to rake in $5,000 as a local correspondent for two newspapers. What could I do if I worked at it full time? I’d lost my passion for teaching. I wrote in every spare moment, and knew I needed to make a change.
I quit teaching. The same month, I won first place in an essay contest named after one of my heroes, Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings of The Yearling and Cross Creek fame. A small publisher in California accepted my first novel for publication. I never looked back from that watershed year of 2001.
My first novel wasn’t what I expected
All I ever wanted to do was write, but I kept that knowledge to myself as I went to college and then became a teacher. Each summer I would pretend to be a writer. I might write a chapter on a novel, or I’d write an essay, but I never continued once I went back to the classroom with teenagers who I attempted to turn into Hemingways.
For a decade that unfinished novel lurked in a file cabinet staring at me reproachfully whenever I reached into the drawer. Like the romantic images of the writer, my novel sat enticing me until a wise man said to me, “It’s time to quit making excuses for not writing, and just do it if that’s what you want to do.”
I pulled out the abandoned novel, stopped making excuses, and I began to write.
Once I started, I couldn’t stop. The words came sometimes painfully, or sometimes faster than my fingers could type. Within two months I had a complete novel, and within the year, a small publisher accepted my book, A Victorian Justice (published under my former name, Patricia C. Behnke).
I never considered the next steps. My publisher told me I needed to get out there and sell my books. No one was knocking on my door to buy them.
I went to Ann Arbor, the largest city near the setting of my novel. I began pounding the city pavement in my high-heeled sandals carrying a large brief case loaded with books and press releases.
“You should have stayed home,” the first bookstore owner said. “If you aren’t famous nationally, you need to be at least well-known in this town. We’re used to famous people here in Ann Arbor. Getting started with your first book is nearly impossible.”
I shifted my briefcase to the other shoulder and entered bookstore number two.
“Who did you say you were again?” the manager asked. “What did you say you wrote?”
“We only book famous authors here. We get quite a few in Ann Arbor. But maybe we’ll order your book for a little local color.” She at least delivered her words with a smile.
My head began to hang just a little lower, my feet ached, and my briefcase became a burden, but I continued on my quest.
“I wouldn’t possibly be able to generate enough publicity before July to have you here for a signing. Now if you were famous. . .”
Why did everyone insist on telling me I wasn’t famous? Would a famous person be walking around a hot city lugging a twenty-pound briefcase and wearing sandals made for a wedding reception?
“Look, there’s someone who’s not famous,” I imagined customers whispering as I dragged my briefcase out the door. I had no strength left to put it on my shoulder.
Somehow, I gathered the strength to continue my quest and arranged for ten book signings in Michigan. I ended up selling 500 copies of my first novel A Victorian Justice. I sold those copies one by one, handshake by handshake and a little bit of my writing soul went with each autograph and each copy.
Do you find yourself tied to the place you’ve grown accustomed to writing? Or can you just pick up and go?
I pick up and go. Sometimes I have to get out of the house. I find I can write in public at coffeehouses, libraries, and bookstores very well. I shut it all out. Now why I can’t listen to music with lyrics while I’m writing at home, I don’t know. About once a week, I go someplace other than my office to write. I also have a couple of spots in my house where I go if I need a change of scenery. I keep a briefcase packed with my writing tools. Usually when I leave the house, I go with my legal pad and about a dozen sharpened pencils. I leave the laptop at home. My purpose in changing scenery is to concentrate and get away from distractions. I like starting my blogs and chapters and scenes in long hand. I might only write a page or two that way, but it gets me started. The rest comes easily.
So that’s how I write. I learned very early in my writing career to follow what works for me and not what works for other writers. However, sometimes by looking at others’ choices, I can find a better way to work.
THE MUSIC BLARED FROM the speakers when Denny entered Last Call. The pulsing beat perked him up and removed any regrets he’d had earlier about showing up. It would be good to see his friends. He needed a break from work and from missing Sara. And it would be nice to go out with friends rather than with a woman who couldn’t carry on a conversation. The date with Barbie lingered, and not in a pleasant way.
“We wondered if you’d make it,” Colt said when Denny joined him and Haley at the bar. “And you beat everyone else. Good job.”
Haley gave him a hug. “How are you, Denny? How did the date go the other night?”
Denny and Colt both groaned as an answer.
“I don’t understand. My cousin recommended her so highly.”
“She just wasn’t my type, Haley. I’m doubtful there’s anyone out there who’s my type, so I’m done.”
“But don’t give up, old man,” Colt patted him on the back. “You just haven’t met the right one yet.”
“I’m taking a break, remember? Even Jeff agreed to back off.”
Colt slapped his forehead. “I forgot, but just in case, I brought you something.” Colt reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out several small square packages. Denny stared at them and wondered why Colt was carrying around condoms.
“Why do you need those?” Denny asked.
“I don’t, but you do.” Colt put them in the pocket of Denny’s blue shirt. “We get these by the caseloads to take with us to the villages. A delivery came today, and I thought of you. No need to thank me.”
Denny laughed. “If I have to wait for my friends to fix me up with a worthwhile woman, I won’t need these for a very long time. And now that I’ve sworn off dating, these are going to rot.”
“Better to be safe,” Colt said. “You never know when something might happen. I’d hate for you to miss an opportunity just because you weren’t prepared.”
Denny turned to look at the woman who now stood next to him. Jill, Kiley’s friend and money handler. They had met only a few times before, but Denny had liked her immediately.
“Jill, I didn’t know you were in town,” Denny said. “Good to see you.”
“Hi there. I just got here today.” Jill greeted them all with a big smile. He’d never noticed what a lovely grin she had. But she looked different.
“Did you do something with your hair?” he asked.
Jill laughed. “You’re very observant. I guess it’s been a few months since we’ve seen one another. I’m letting it go back to my natural color. Platinum was too much. I’m almost thirty after all.”
Again, that smile as the rest of them laughed.
“I like it.” Then he turned to his beer. He hadn’t meant to say that. But she looked so damn sexy in a denim skirt a few inches above her knees and a red stripe top that outlined her breasts and dipped just enough to see her cleavage. He needed to get a grip before he lost his mind completely and kissed her.
“How have you been?” Jill asked quietly when they were settled. “It’s been almost a year, right?”
He nodded. “Next month. I’m surviving. The worst part has been the concern of my friends.” When Jill gave him a puzzled look, he plunged ahead. “They’re all intent on fixing me up on dates. So far, they’ve all been disasters.”
“I can relate to that. To avoid Kiley and my mother pestering me to get out more, I started online dating this past year. After my last date, I’ve sworn off it.”
“That bad? Same thing here. My last date did it for me, too. I didn’t realize there were so many empty-headed women out there. No offense because that certainly doesn’t fit you.”
“None taken, if you don’t mind me saying that there are some pretty lame guys as well. I think I’ve had a date with all of them.”
For the first time in more than a year, Denny felt as if a huge burden had been lifted from his shoulders. It would be all right. And suddenly, the woman next to him with the dark blonde hair curling softly around her jaw aroused in him feelings he hadn’t had since long before Sara died. He tried not to look at her chest as she leaned toward him. She gave his arm a squeeze, which sent a shiver down his spine.
When she rose and headed for the back of the bar, he followed her.
P.C. Zick describes herself as a storyteller no matter what she writes. And she writes in a variety of genres, including romance, contemporary fiction, and creative nonfiction. She's won various awards for her essays, columns, editorials, articles, and novels.Zick offers a variety of nonfiction books, which include a book on vegetable gardening, a compilation of her essays and short stories from her decades-long career as a writer, and a primer for writers on taking an idea and turning it into a published book. She has also published and annotated the journal of her great-grandfather based on his experiences as a Union soldier during the Civil War.
Her novels contain elements of romance with strong female characters, handsome heroes, and descriptive settings. And all of her works express her philosophy of living lightly upon this earth with love, laughter, and passion.
She and her husband live in Tallahassee, Florida, where they enjoy gardening, kayaking, golfing, hiking, and traveling.
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Great excerpt. I'd love to read more.
ReplyDeleteHello Bonnie, I hope you do read the rest of the story! Thanks for reading the excerpt.
ReplyDeleteThe excerpts sound great. I would enjoy reading these books.
ReplyDelete