Anne Hope

 

Julie: How long have you been writing? What inspired you to pick the pen up one day and create characters that capture the imagination?

 

Anne: I've been a storyteller for as long as I can remember, but I started writing around eight years old (as soon as I learned how to spell). Movies have always been a great inspiration for me. They showed me that imagination can take on a life of its own. As for the characters I create, like most writers, I hear voices. Characters slowly come to life in my mind and nag me until I tell their story.

 

Julie: What makes your characters so vulnerable yet strong? Can you describe them to us? What do you do when characters stop talking to you when writing?

 

Anne: I believe the more vulnerable a character, the greater the potential for growth. Nothing is more inspiring than a person who turns weakness into strength and fear into courage. I like to write about characters who discover something about themselves—an inner strength, a quiet confidence, the courage to change.

 

When my characters stop talking to me, I'm probably tired of hearing them and need a break. I'll spend a day away from my computer and give myself a chance to recharge. Then I'll read everything I've written so far. Quite often, that jumpstarts my brain. If it doesn't, it usually means I've taken a wrong turn somewhere and need to do a little plotting. Once I know where I'm going, my characters are more than willing to take over and lead the way.

 

Julie: Who are you favorite authors to read?

 

Anne: I'm an avid reader and enjoy books from a wide range of authors, but if I have to choose I'd say Nora Roberts, Stephenie Meyer (I loved the Twilight saga), and Dean Koontz. These authors excel in both character development and plot. They give me a story I can really sink my teeth into (no pun intended) and characters that jump off the page. In my opinion, that's what a good book is all about.

 

Julie: Is music a factor for you while you are writing? Do certain songs put you in the right frame of mind to write certain stories?

 

Anne: Yes, music definitely inspires me. When I'm brainstorming, I'll often listen to songs that convey the mood or feel of the book. Right now, Beyonce's "Halo" seems to be triggering ideas for a paranormal series that is percolating in the back of my mind.

 

Julie: What is your writing process? Do you outline, fly by the seat of your pants or a combination of both?

 

Anne: I'm a combination of both. I like to set up my GMC and plot the major turning points, but everything in between is a creative process. I love to let my characters take over. They're so much more interesting than I am and take me places I'd never think to go. Still, some plotting is essential to avoid major rewrites and writer's block.

 

Julie: Any advice for aspiring authors?

 

Anne: Never give up on your dreams. Keep writing, learning and growing. Success is a function of skill, persistence and opportunity. It's a hard business. Writers pour their hearts and souls into each book they write. Rejection stings, and it's difficult not to take it personally. But you shouldn't. Instead, you should view each rejection letter as a stepping stone toward your goal. It gets easier with time. Trust me! Then, one day when you least expect it, that ever-elusive offer comes and makes all the heartache you've endured worthwhile.

 

Julie: What's next for you?

 

Anne: My debut novel, Where Dreams Are Made, is scheduled to be released in print this August. I'll be having my first signing at the RWA Conference in Washington DC—the "Readers for Life" Literacy Autographing. I've recently submitted another manuscript to my editor, a romantic suspense. Next on my list are two paranormal series I've been working on. My goal is to keep writing dark, emotional stories with strong elements of suspense. But ultimately, it's all about the romance. I hope readers will join me on this exciting journey, and I promise to do my best to keep them thoroughly entertained along the way!

 

 

Anne Hope is the author of contemporary, emotionally intense romances with a twist--a twist of humor, a twist of suspense, a twist of magic. All her stories, however, have a common thread. Whether they make you laugh or cry or push you to the edge of your seat, they all feature the redeeming power of love and the heart's incredible ability to heal.

 

Anne's passion for writing began at the age of eight. After penning countless stories about enchanted houses, alien girls with supernatural powers, and children constantly getting lost in the woods, she decided to try her hand at romance. Her Golden Heart finalist, Where Dreams are Made, is her debut novel. She lives in Montreal, Canada with her husband, her two inexhaustible kids, her cat, and a school of shamelessly multiplying guppies.

 

Backlist:

Where Dreams Are Made, Samhain Publishing

 

Coming soon:

Where Dreams Are Made in print, Samhain Publishing

 

Links:

Website

 

Word Count: 99931
Heat Index

Available in: Adobe Acrobat, Microsoft Reader, HTML, Mobipocket, Rocket

An excerpt from the book

An Excerpt From: PITCH DARK

Copyright © BROOKE LONDON, 2009

All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.

Connor had been waiting for Alyssa to arrive. He was surprised, to say the least. None of the technical people, or techies, that worked for him looked like she did. Well, first of all, most of them were men, and second, she was about five-foot-five, with a well-proportioned and shapely hourglass figure.

He didn’t like bony women. He wanted a woman to look like a woman and this one definitely fit the description. He’d actually had to remind himself to go and greet her. One look at her had been enough to make every male neuron in his brain spontaneously combust.

At any other time and place, he would not have thought that the woman standing beside his house would have had anything to do with computers, let alone be a top notch technology security expert. The word “geek” and this woman did not compute.

Appearances are deceiving, he reminded himself as he approached. He got about ten feet from her when their eyes locked. He saw her eyes widen fractionally before she broke eye contact and looked down momentarily before suddenly looking back up again, her hazel-green eyes neutral.

“Ms. Tiernan, I’m Connor Donnelly, you can call me Connor. It’s a pleasure to have you here.” Connor held out his hand and smiled.

Connor noticed that Alyssa hesitated for a split second before extending her hand to grasp his and her hand trembled almost imperceptibly, her face a polite mask. “Mr. Donnelly, uh, Connor, it’s a pleasure to be here. You have a lovely home. But it wasn’t really necessary to put me up here. I would have been quite comfortable in a hotel.”

“Nonsense. I promised your grandfather I would take care of you and that’s what I intend to do.” He looked at William and smiled. “Could you take Ms. Tiernan’s luggage and put it into her cottage? I’ll take it from here. Thank you, William.”

William nodded at Connor, smiled at Alyssa and climbed back into the car. He drove around them and headed for one of the smaller chalets. Connor came up beside Alyssa and, with a light hand guiding her elbow, walked toward the front of the main house.

“You … you can call me Alyssa,” she said breathlessly, the words spilling out as she twisted her hands together into a knot.

Connor gave her a sidelong glance and narrowly avoided raising a quizzical eyebrow at her. Hmmm, something’s wrong with this picture—gorgeous woman who looks like she wants to be anywhere but here with me. He shrugged it off. Any number of things could be the problem—fatigue, hereditary insanity, who knew? “Alyssa, then,” he said gently. “You must be tired after your flight. It’s nearly eight. It’s too bad you couldn’t make it until late in the day. Why was it that you couldn’t come earlier?”

“I was in rehearsal until late afternoon.”

“That’s right, your grandfather mentioned that to me yesterday,” he said. It hadn’t slipped his mind—he had been casting about for a topic to ease the tension vibrating around her. “Your grandfather tells me that you’re quite talented.”

“My grandfather is overly enthusiastic,” she said with a lopsided grin. “I could dance down the streets of Calgary with a bucket over my head and he’d still say it was wonderful.” Taking a deep breath, she added, “I hope that you don’t mind my being here to look at your systems. Grand is extremely cautious about anything that comes into contact with his stuff.”

“No, of course not. I hope our security will stand up to whatever you can throw at it. We have some very good people,” Connor said with pride. “But I guess we’ll see tomorrow when we go down to headquarters. I understand you have specialized experience with security systems.”

“Well, I do what I can,” Alyssa said breezily as they trekked up the gravel path to the guest chalet nearest the main house. Connor released Alyssa’s elbow and stepped up to the front door of the cottage. “Here we are. I hope you’ll be comfortable.” Opening the door, he reached around the door frame and flicked the light switch on. He stepped back and motioned for her to enter the cottage.

Alyssa stepped into the house and Connor followed closely behind. Her luggage already stood beside the door. Connor watched Alyssa as her eyes scanned the open-concept living area, pausing at the view of the lake framed in the floor-to-ceiling windows before sliding to the stone fireplace.

The softly burnished pine plank flooring glowed in the dwindling sunlight. Rustically furnished, the chalet was a warm, inviting retreat. At the far end of the cottage was a gleaming, black, baby grand piano. He smiled when he heard her gasp—her eyes had found the instrument.

“Do you always have a piano in here?” she asked, her eyes wide.

“No, but I thought that you might enjoy playing while you’re here. One of my younger brothers plays a little piano, but mostly we only use it when we have dinner parties and hire a pianist to play. I’ve just had it tuned. Do you like it?” Connor asked.

Alyssa stared at the instrument, as if unsure how to react. “It’s beautiful,” she said finally before giving him a sidelong glance, biting one edge of her full bottom lip. Connor felt himself slip a little emotionally—she was absolutely adorable. “Do you mind if I give it a whirl?”

“Go ahead.” Connor felt some of the tension drain away from her. Definitely the right thing to put her at ease. He gave himself a mental pat on the back.

Alyssa walked with fluid grace across the polished wood floors toward the piano while Connor watched in appreciation as her hips swayed. An hourglass figure—his mouth almost watered, pulled into the orbit of her femininity. She ran her long fingers lovingly along the piano’s curved black side and drew out the bench. Sliding onto it, she shook her hands out and placed her fingers lightly on the keys. Closing her eyes, she took a breath and slowly released it.

Alyssa began to play the haunting strains of the adagio from Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata. As her head tipped slowly from side to side in time with the music, Connor saw the tension in her body release as she drifted into the music, note by note. She swayed faintly in time with the waves of poetry emanating from the taut strings of the instrument.

She ended the piece with a sigh, her head tipped back, eyes closed. She took a deep breath and slowly opened her eyes, pupils dilated. She almost seemed surprised to see Connor still there, staring at her.

“It’s a lovely instrument,” Alyssa said in a husky voice. She flushed slightly before she cleared her throat and said in a more normal tone of voice, “It was very nice of you to arrange for it to be here.”

“That was amazing,” Connor responded in a level tone of voice as he stared at her, unsure that the woman in front of him now was the same person he’d met not fifteen minutes earlier. His fingers itched to grab her and stroke her lovely body.

His gaze flicked to the slim digits that had so recently caressed the piano keys. Connor managed to tear his eyes away from her graceful fingers. He could only imagine what it would feel like to have those hands play him like an instrument. He could feel himself harden. Stupid, get your mind off your dick already. He had the feeling that if she knew about the detour his mind and body had followed, she would turn tail and run. And he couldn’t afford for that to happen.