Welcome One of My Favorite People in the World: Melissa Fox
It’s no secret; I adore her. With her paranormal romance debut set to release RIGHTNOW, Melissa agreed to stop by and tell a quick story. She cracks me up daily. I know she’ll make you laugh, too. Without further babbling, here’s Melissa.
The people in my head don’t listen to me. Yeah, that sounds alarming, and believe me, it is. I’m a pantser, not a plotter, but I do usually sit down in front of my computer with some sort of plan in mind, whether a scene popped into my head in the shower, while walking the dogs, or I actually map out what I want to write and how events will unfold. I grab a drink, settle the dogs, flex the old fingers, and…start arguing.
Me: No, no, no. You’re supposed to be doing this. Remember, we talked about it? Decided this was what you’re supposed to be doing today?
And off we go.
My naughty, really bad boy hero who is supposed to get redeemed in the end is embarrassed by the actions I have all planned out and insists he’d never do that. Uh-uh, no way. Digs his heels in, shakes his head, sets his mouth in that pretty but stubborn line, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
C’mon, I wheedle. I promise I’ll make it all better in the end.
You’re out of your mind, he responds. This will go much better if I’m nice. Then it makes what that nasty villain is planning all the more awful—what did you eat last night, by the way, to come up with that?
Sometimes I wonder.
Or my clever, sweet hero, who is supposed to be charming and amusing the heroine with witty dialog and silly antics, says: You know, I’m really in the mood to get laid. Let’s write me some sexy times.
Me: Oh, noooooo.
Him (with a wicked and completely irresistible grin): Oh, yes.
Occasionally, it’s not just scenes or events, but an entire personality and plot—and on one memorable occasion, an entire genre—they cheerfully kick to the curb. What do you mean, you want to be a demon slayer and not an investigator? Are you kidding me? A Royal Canadian Mounted Police Officer, not an FBI agent? What do I know about Mounties, for crying out loud?
Sometimes, there’s just no reasoning with them.
More from Melissa
An author’s greatest resource is their support system. Without Jen, Conor and Merry’s story might have seen the light of publication eventually, but the road would not have been anywhere near as much fun. When it came to doing a blog on release day, there’s no where else I’d rather be than with my dear friend, critique partner, cheerleader, reality checker, and talker-downer from more ledges than I care to count. Thank you to everyone who has supported and encouraged me, and thank you Jen for all the good times. Here’s to many more! Sláinte!
About Melissa Fox
After being rationed books by my parents like most kids get rationed candy, I turned to writing to tide me over between fixes. Having lived in the suburbs of the Mid-West, desert of the Southwest, foothills of the Rocky Mountains, I’m now on an island in the Puget Sound with my husband and dogs.
My debut paranormal romance, WRAITH REDEEMED, is now available in print and all e-formats from The Wild Rose Press.
Wraith Redeemed Excerpt
(This is a new one that no one else has, because I’m special.)
“God, Conor. Yes. I’ll go to dinner with you on Saturday.” He knew how his lilting brogue affected her, the bastard. “Where are we going?”
“Well, now.” He kicked back, crossing his legs at the ankles and his hands over his stomach as he regarded her with satisfaction. She fought a scowl. Somehow, he’d wrestled back control of the situation. How did he do that? “That’s a decision needing some thought now, isn’t it? Seeing as how I haven’t had time to do that as yet.”
He lifted a brow, reminding her she’d surprised him by telling him to ask her out on a date.
“I need to know what to wear.” Striving to imitate his casual insouciance, she leaned back in her chair and forced herself to leave the bottle cap on the table. He grinned, and her heart leapt into a heavy, rapid rhythm.
“As soon as I figure it out, I’ll let you know. I promise,” he added when she opened her mouth to protest. “I’ll give you plenty of time to plan your campaign, darlin’.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she muttered, not looking at him, because of course she did.
“You’re planning on making me crawl.” His smile faded and turned wry. Her gaze shot to his as an automatic protest formed on her lips, but he shook his head and sat forward. “Yes, you are, and you deserve it. I deserve it, Merry. I owe you that at least. And I’ll dance to your tune, my girl, until enough is enough, until you’ve had your due and then some, but then we’ll have our reckoning.”
“I don’t want…” Good manners and a desire to keep her plan a secret prompted the half-hearted beginning of the protest, but her innate honesty and inability to fool him won out. She chuckled. “Yes, you’re right. Seeing you crawl will do my wounded feelings some good, O’Shea.”
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