I write both Historical Romance and Young Adult, though I am seeking a critiquing partner to help with the Historical Romance I am currently working on. I write the kinds of stories that I also like to read.
As far as non-writing hobbies, I’m an herbalist and homesteader. I have a love for animals, plants, nature, music and art, especially fiber arts.
Large families in stories draw me in. I love to garden. I love herbs and animals. I love plants. I love a good ghost story, too. So anything with these elements draw me in as well. I won’t say “no” to an element of magic or supernatural either (think Twilight or Harry Potter, or Nora Roberts).
I’m a bit of a prude. Though I love Celeste De Blasis and Nora Roberts, I can do without the soft-core pornography of bedroom scenes both include in their stories–tastefully, which is why I still read them but it’s one of the reasons that I’ve turned to Young Adult to read, as well as write. Also, gory details are a hard no.
When Ivy Sparrow, a former courtesan and suspected witch, must send two of her children away to live with their father, the Earl of Clovelly, to protect her family from witch hunters, she never suspects that the real danger lies within the very walls of Clovelly Manor. It is the year 1683. Infant mortality for single births is high, yet Ivy keeps birthing healthy twins, and even a set of quadruplets. As the town’s midwife, could it be some sort of witchcraft that keeps her children alive when so many others must lose theirs? Add to their suspicions the impious interest the new pastor has in Ivy, and the Earl’s wife has all the fuel her jealousy needs to set the winds of change aflame. However, she doesn’t reckon on the arrival of John Whittaker, a Quaker widower, whose own heart is rescued even as he saves Ivy and her brood from the threat of witch hysteria that follows them across the Atlantic to Connecticut Colony.
Clovelly, Devon, England, 1683
Ivy Sparrow inhaled deeply and tasted the salty-fishy-seaweed stench of low tide. For the last half hour or so she had been gathering mussels and other shellfish washed up on the beach as the water receded. But now she paused, gathering courage, as she contemplated the chilly, gray waters before her. The gentle whisper of the waves rolling back and forth over the beach was a deception. The October morning was crisp and cool and the water looked anything but inviting. However, the choicest seafood lay just off shore and she was determined to get the best. A breeze freshened, sending tendrils of icy air creeping under the folds of her work gown. She shivered and drew a shaky breath. Images of a warm bed and soft blankets, enveloping her for another hour or two, swept before her eyes and she longed to turn coward to crawl back under them. Exhaustion hung about her like a familiar but cruel friend. Late nights of worry and stress, followed by long days of managing a farm and preparing for the long winter ahead, had taken their toll. It was honest work—and necessary—but she was tired of the struggle, tired of struggling alone, and feeling the underlying anxiety of “what if” she failed. So much rested upon her shoulders and there was so little room for error.
Or self-pity.
Huffing out a breath of impatience, Ivy kicked off her shoes, lifted her skirts and waded into the surf.
Gooseflesh shivered over her arms and legs and up her spine. She ignored it and shrugged off the half-filled bucket of sea water she’d slung over her shoulder then set the bucket down beside her in the surf and dug her heel into the sand beneath the waves. She did this a time or two before she finally felt the smooth roundness of a shell beneath her heel and felt a moment’s triumph as she bent to gather her new find.
I have another novel on a back burner. This one is a Young Adult novel set in modern times.
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- Introduce yourself a little, and say what appealed to you about their listing.
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- Offer to swap a small sample of your works, so you can see if you're really compatible. First chapters are a good starting place.
- If one party no longer wants to continue the interaction, it's nobody's fault. Sometimes finding the right CP takes time.
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