I’m in the middle of writing a new novel/novella to give to readers who sign up for my Love Notes. I realize that hose of you who already have subscribed have received my short story, One Stormy Day. Though technology isn’t my first language (or second or third), I will figure out a way to get this new free book to you. My plan is to have it ready to share in July, 2022!
Let me tell you about it. We could call this a teaser. The working title is An HonorableMan. (I’m trying to decide if that will change or not). Set in 1792, this is a prequel to Amelia’s book, The Lies We Tell. I tell the story of Amelia’s mother, Cecily and how she meets and falls in love with Mr. Hatton. It is also, and I don’t think this is a spoiler, a little bit of a reverse Pygmalion story. Who doesn’t love a makeover?
I also have another stand-along spin-off novella percolating in the back of my mind. I told myself I had the final novel, The Masks We Wear and this Prequel, and that would be the last of the Illusions Series, but in The Masks We Wear, I met Madeleine. She has a story. What happens to bring a young French woman to work with the British against Napoleon’s government?
I also have two or three more short stories (Mercy, Patience, Caroline) that want to be born. So watch for lots of free romance in the next few months. Because Love Is The Key.
Chance will not do the work—Chance sends the breeze; But if the pilot slumber at the helm, The very wind that wafts us towards the port May dash us on the shelves.—The steersman’s part is vigilance, Blow it or rough or smooth
Walter Scott, Fortunes of Nigel
Joie
I will apologize later. If I must. But if I do nothing, Meggie will be old, maybe even twenty-five, before Mr. Gerow gathers courage to act or Meggie lets him know she cares.
How do the English continue to populate this island?
I am only her maid, but I must help. So, I search Meggie’s papers until I find one with Mr. Gerow’s name inside a heart. On the back is a sketch of his face. Also, a poem.
Sun shines in his hair of gold,
The sky in eyes so blue.
Heart yearns to speak the words so bold,
But fear holds sway anew..
It’s a bad poem, but I must work with what I have.
Billy is in the stable. I don’t share my plans with him. I only say, “Meggie must go to town this afternoon, but first you are to deliver this packet to Mr. Gerow—into his own hands. Make sure you say to him that Meggie is going to the lending library this afternoon.”
He narrows his eyes. “Are you meddling again?”
My face warms, but I lift my chin. “How can you ask?”
He mumbles, “. . . stupid plots always get me in trouble.”
“Bah! My plots are never stupide. And it’s not a plot, just a little ruse, quite harmless.”
I ignore his shaking head and insist. “The packet goes to Mr. Gerow. Then you will drive us to the library. While we look, take the cart and pick up the order at the grocer’s. It is easy. You won’t get in trouble.”
Billy grumbles but does as I ask.
How will I convince Meggie to go to the lending library? I cannot search Mr. Gerow’s room, so I write a note myself.
Miss Margaret,
It has been so long since we’ve spoken, my heart is as gray as the skies. Reading is the best balm for dreary days. I will visit the lending library this afternoon. If you were there, I would choose a book for you. You could choose one for me.
Your Servant,
Perry Gerow
Trop sucré? Yes, too sweet, but Meggie reads it and does not suspect. She sighs and decides that she needs a book. I curtsy and tell her I will make everything ready.
We arrive first as I planned. When we climb down, Meggie says to Billy, “We won’t be long.”
I wave behind Meggie’s back and point down the street.
Billy shakes his head. I fold my arms and stare. He will be sorry if he doesn’t go. He scowls and leaves.
In the library, I settle in the darkest corner next to the history books. I can watch unnoticed.
Moments later, Mr. Gerow enters and bows.
Meggie curtsies. “Mr. Gerow. I think I know of a book for you. I wonder which you will choose for me.”
Mr. Gerow blinks, confused, but he inclines his head. “A fine rainy-day game. Let me think of the perfect book.”
Meggie’s brow furrows, but he smiles. Her face clears. Her eyes light up.
I let out a relieved breath.
They wander the shelves, meeting often, sharing small, secret smiles.
At one meeting, Mr. Gerow murmurs, “Meggie, I have missed you.”
My heart leaps, but I make no sound.
“I thought you must be scandalized, because of what I . . . before.”
“No! I have the greatest respect for you. But you might think I am like those men who—”
She grasps his arm. “Never. You are nothing like them.”
His hand lifts to her cheek. “If I am welcome—”
She smiles. “You’re most welcome.”
The shopkeeper drops a box. Meggie and Mr. Gerow jump apart. I close my eyes in frustration.
After another turn around the library, Mr. Gerow offers his choice.
“Oh,” Meggie exclaims. “Mr. Wordsworth’s poems.”
He whispers, “They are not as sweet as your poem, but you might enjoy—”
“My poem?” Her jaw drops, but she automatically reaches to take the book he holds. “What—” Their hands meet. She stops speaking and looks into his eyes.
The bell rings. Another customer enters. Blushing, Meggie pulls back.
I think of some French curses.
But Mr. Gerow does not look at the newcomer. “What have you chosen for me?” He asks.
Meggie lifts a book, bound in blue moiré with leather spine.
“Life Of Cowper.” He reads.
I roll my eyes. What is she thinking?
Meggie looks up through her lashes. “One day at Amelia’s, you said—”
His smile is blinding. “You remembered?”
“I think about it often.” She sighs.
“As do I.”
I let out a relieved breath.
Moments later they have checked out their books. They walk out into the rain, both flushed with pleasure.
I follow in their wake, satisfied with myself and my ruse.
“I’ll see you to your carriage.” He offers his arm.
“Thank you. Billy is—” Meggie starts then looks around. “He was right here.”
“I would be honored to drive you home.”
“You are very generous.” She takes his arm then shivers.
Mr. Gerow removes his coat and wraps it around her. Carriages rumble past, but they don’t hear. They remain motionless in that half-embrace.
He lowers his head. She lifts hers.
I hold my breath.
A large carriage pulls up. The coachman yells. “Move along.”
I groan in disgust. Can’t he see what is right in front of him? The British, they have no romance.
But when I look back, Mr. Gerow and Meggie are still gazing at each other.
One of the things about writing a novel, at least if you are a ‘pantser’ like I am, is that get to know unexpected characters. I have become quite fond of some of the minor characters in my novels.
After writing the first novel in the Illusions series, (The Secrets We Keep) I found that I really liked Liza’s best friend. So I decided to explore Maris Davies’ life. I planed to write a short story, one I could give away for free here on my site. To my surprise, Maris didn’t seem satisfied to be the main character in a short story. Her romance grew and grew until it became a novella–Smoke and Shadows, available on Amazon (only .99 Kindle download or free on Kindle Unlimited).
I finished Maris story, fell in love with Philip. Then I went back to writing The Lies We Tell, the second Illusions novel, (now available on Amazon). I really enjoyed writing Amelia and Mr. Michael Jones’ story. The writing just flowed. It felt good. (And once again I met some interesting minor characters).
To my surprise, one of those characters again demanded her own story. I just couldn’t leave Lady Helen disgraced and discouraged. So, another Illusions novella came to be. This is Veiled In Mist. Now available on Amazon.
Certainly now it was time for me to buckle down and finish the third and final (full length) novel in the Illusions series, The Masks We Wear (planned May 2022 release.). This is the story of Sidonie and Lieutenant Alexander James. I’m loving her personality and her adventures. I can’t wait to share them with you.
Except we can’t forget Susan, Liza’s faithful and resourceful maid from the first book. Liza couldn’t have found her answers and her happily ever after without Susan’s help. she sat at the back of my mind begging for some respect, time, and a little romance. Surely servants deserve a some romance. I know I’m not the only one who was charmed by Anna Smith and John Bates’ romance in Downton Abby? (Not Regency era, but still).
I thought about and wondered what would Regency England would look like for Susan. I had to write One Stormy Day, which is free when you subscribe.
Even though I’m editing like crazy this week, I couldn’t stop thinking about Joie and her meddling. She had a little role in getting Helen and Mr. David Jones together. I think she liked it. So, watch this week for a very short (experimental first time with flash fiction–1000 words or less) story where Joie creates another plot.
If you haven’t yet, sign up for my newsletter! I’ll be sending out a note this week to tell you where to get my experimental flash. This is also where you’ll receive notification of the release of my new books, appearances, and the free stories (some characters demand it), deleted scenes, cover art, or drawings.
Hint: I’m not trying to hide–I write romance novels
I am named after my paternal grandmother. She was Gaylie—Gaylie Belle. My parents, I can only suppose, wanting to update or personalize the name, changed it to Gayelynn. With an “e” in the middle. It’s my name. My everyday name. It was a tribute to my grandmother, whom I do not remember, but who is an integral part of my life.
However, never once, in all of my life, has anyone who is not in my family been able to spell it. At least not the first half dozen tries. Commonly, people struggle to pronounce it and often to remember it. When I embarked on this author’s journey, it didn’t seem ideal to use my name that readers can’t spell, say, or remember easily.
So, my decision to use a pen name. Now, as much as I love to find names for my characters, I didn’t want to just choose a pen name at random. I needed to feel comfortable thinking of myself as and answering to my pen name. So, I thought back on my childhood and remembered. For years, my mother called me Gigi.
It really was that easy. I am Gayelynn. I am also Gigi. I am comfortable being both.
My hope is that you can say it, spell it, remember it. Hi I’m Gigi Lynn. I’m a romance author.
Do you read the directions before you begin putting together the furniture or toy?
Someone wrote those patterns or instructions. And chances are good, they knew more than I about that process. So, I always plan to follow the directions.
But then a random thought intrudes. An idea takes root. This costume might look better with a different sleeve and maybe a different neckline. Could I meld these two patterns?
This quilt is lovely. I am going make it, but what if I put a Dresden Plate in the center, you know, make it a medallion quilt?
This recipe looks delicious, but I don’t have (or don’t like) this ingredient. What if I added this instead?
I seem innately unable to follow the directions.
In story writing there is a pattern. Story beats or plot points. There is pacing, three act structure—the list goes on, and on. These things make sense. People who know more than I have researched, noted, and written instructions about how to effectively tell a story. And publishers and agents have long experience to tell them what will sell—what people like to read.
But I have this character who appears in my mind. She (or he) begins her journey. She doesn’t care about plot points or story beats. She just wants what she wants or finds herself in the middle of a mess. As an author I know I need to create that character arc. I need to have a beginning, a middle and an end, but then a random thought intrudes. An idea takes root.
My dad likes to watch British mysteries. On my last trip to Idaho, I wrote during the day. In the evening we watched old episodes of Poirot, based on Agatha Christie’s novels. I had never read any of Agatha Christie’s works. I was intrigued.
From 1920 through 1973, Agatha Christie wrote 66 mystery novels, 14 short story collections, and plays, one of which is The Mousetrap, which is the world’s longest-running play. The Mousetrap has been performed continuously (except for Covid) since 1952. She also wrote six novels under the pseudonym Mary Westmacott.
Many of her works have been adapted for television, film (30 of them), radio, and the stage. She holds the honor of having the most translated works by a single author.
Okay, she is a big deal.
Veiled In Mist–a romance, but also a mystery
Veiled In Mist, my newest novella, is my Regency Romance nod of respect to the extraordinary Agatha Christie.
It didn’t start out that way. When I finished The Lies We Tell, the second full-length novel in the Illusions Series, I started right in on the third novel–The Masks We Wear, but I couldn’t get Lady Helen Ramsgate out of my mind. He father had been caught working with the local smuggling gang. Their family was in disgrace. She retreated to the Phoenix House to live in seclusion.
How could I just leave her there? So, I started writing a little romance for Helen.
For years, I have heard other writers talk about how their characters take over and want something different than they planned. I always thought those stories were flights of fancy, told for marketing purposes. It so happens that those stories are true. At least it has been true for me—every single time.
The girls of the Phoenix House, a school for reforming girls, wanted to tell scary stories on a stormy night. And the former occupants of the house—when it used to be The Hydra House, a gambling hell and brothel weren’t finished with their business there. Poor Lady Helen got pulled into their plots.
Suddenly my little romance novella took on elements of a mystery. I had to research closed circle or locked room mysteries and found Agatha Christie’s name again.
I don’t claim to be anything near the mystery writer that Christie was. However, I did sometimes feel her shade leaning over my shoulder as I tried my hand at weaving a little mystery into my romance.
I hope you enjoy reading my romance/mystery novella as much as I enjoyed writing it. Veiled In Mist, releases on Amazon (and Kindle Unlimited) this week.
Brain Candy? What is that? Some people call it light reading, some genre fiction. These are stories and novels that have a greater mainstream appeal than traditional literature. They are more accessible and easier to read.
Don’t get me wrong. I love “Literature” with the capital L. The poetry, short stories and novels that have endured over time have changed the way I see the world and myself. Some of my most powerful moments have come through reading the beautiful words of great authors and poets.
So, why do I advocate for Brain Candy? I’ll list a few of my top reasons.
There is nothing like reading lighter fiction to relieve stress. Sometimes I just have to let go of all the problems and worries of my life. For some reason reading a good book (one that doesn’t require a more active study) is better for stress relief than watching a movie or playing a game.
I sleep better if I separate at the end of the day for a little while. I’m not thinking about what I did or didn’t do. I’m not planning for tomorrow. My heartbeat slows down. I breathe easier. I relax. I can’t understate the importance of better sleep.
I believe, I hope that fiction, stories about other people, help me to be more empathetic. I can walk in another person’s shoes for awhile. Reading also creates a safe place to explore difficult emotions and difficult situations. It allows me to step out of myself and experience different viewpoints and different experiences.
I’m very hopeful that all reading, including brain candy, is going to help me keep more brain power. The old adage “use it or lose it” resonates with me more and more each day.
One last reason I believe that reading Brain Candy is valuable is that it is a pleasure. I am happier when I read.
It might be better even than the finest chocolate. What have you read recently just for fun?
My Starting a Business Class, challenged me to do the paperclip trade. This is where you take an item of very little value and ask people to trade something better for your item. Then you trade again, and again. (The first man who did this traded fourteen times, over more than a year, eventually ending up with a house).
I’m not trying to get a house, although if you want to give me one, I won’t turn it down. I would like to get some more followers on my social media. I’m trying to learn more about marketing and networking. And I want to spread a little love and romance.
I do write romance novels.
I started my trade by offering a bookmark. For fun, I put the bookmark in my first novel and put it up on my social media and the local online classifieds and Craigslist.
After three days, I now have a $20 gift card from Crumbl to trade.
One of my classmates took the challenge and started with a mechanical pencil. Then he went door to door in his neighborhood and asked people what they would trade. A week later, he has a TV. It didn’t even occur to me to ask the neighbors. Why not?
And this is what I’ve discovered so far in this challenge. I don’t like to ask people to give to me. This isn’t really a strength for writing or for business. I can’t write books in a vacuum. I need other writers and readers. I need to build a community. Luckily, I have also found that the writing world is a generous and supportive culture. and my readers have been AMAZING!
Writing books and learning how to run the business of getting them out there to be read, all of this is outside my comfort zone, but outside your comfort zone is where most of the good stuff is. So, I will start asking. How about you? Is this your challenge, or do you feel comfortable asking for help or for what you need? I’d love to hear your story.
I’m writing my 5th book this year. From April 2021 to now, I’ve finished two full length novels and two novellas. At some point in every novel or novella that I have written so far, I have found myself in an uncomfortable, paralyzing moment. I’m there now in my third full length novel.
Sometimes the moment lasts a few days or a week. Sometimes it lasts a month or more. During the writing of one novel, I paused (clutched) long enough that I wrote an entire separate novella before getting back into the groove with the novel.
During that time, even though I was writing daily, I experienced incredible angst about that half-finished work. Those characters loomed over me during the day and haunted my sleep at night.
I don’t know if my experience is universal or specific to me. I don’t know if this is a process that only happens with writing or if it is common in other artistic endeavors as well. (And I don’t know if it is wise for an author/creator to admit that she experiences this). But I thought maybe talking about it will help someone else. It never hurts to remind myself that, thus far, I have finished every novel or novella I’ve started. I will finish this one too.
I’ve read books on writing. I’ve listened to podcasts and read blogs on writing. Some advice is helpful, but I believe every writer, every artist, every creator is different. We all have to find the rhythm and process that works for us. I’m also beginning to believe that what works on one work, in one time, may need to change for the next. I am trying to learn to be comfortable with that. The creative process is just that–a process (changing, growing, moving) and creative (varied, fluid, surprising, challenging). It is by nature a non-linear, non-traditional undertaking.
My questions today are: Are those moments of temporary suspension, of blockage always negative? Could there be a useful purpose to the pause, the questions, the pushing through? Are they perhaps a necessary part of the process? What do you think?
Do you have a song? One particular song that represents the beginning or flowering of your romance. How did it become your song? Do you play it on special occasions? Or do you just remember vividly when you chance to hear it?
What is it about music that speaks to us so powerfully?
I don’t understand it, but that power isn’t new. Archeologists have found flutes made of bones and mammoth ivory that are over 40,000 years old. But instruments and song may be older than that. Charles Darwin, in The Descent of Man, suggested that our language abilities may have started with singing–a long and deep foundation for our pleasure in music.
Scientist say that making music aids in the development of reasoning and language, improves coordination and creative thinking among other things. And most of us began learning reading skills by singing the ABCs. We tend to remember what we learn through song.
Who hasn’t experienced that vivid, sensual (in the context of senses) memory brought through music? Do you remember tastes, colors, smells associated with certain music?
