Bevan Revealed in the German cover…

If you’ve ever wondered what the rest of Her Irish Warrior looked like, and the cover model for Bevan, here he is! This is the German translation of Her Irish Warrior, and as soon as I see the back cover copy, I can translate it since I speak German. I’m so excited about this one. One of the ways I worked on my language skills was to buy romance novels and other favorite books when I was over in Germany. I own “The Mists of Avalon” in German (”Der Nebel von Avalon”) also, and let me tell you, it’s such a fun way to work on your foreign language skills. If you already know the plot, it’s much easier to get the new vocabulary. I tend to mark them up, writing the English words over the German words in order to improve. I’ve read Nora Roberts in German and also Susan Elizabeth Phillips. Such fun.

So what do you think of my Irish warrior? Did he look the way you imagined him? I’ll admit I was a little more than shocked because I just didn’t expect to see his full face. But now he’s starting to grow on me…

Adventures in Writing

So, Sweet, Savage Sven (aka my Irish-Viking book) is coming along and I’ve nearly finished the first chapter. I keep telling myself that the pace will pick up, once I know the characters better. I actually went online and pretended I was the hero and took a Myers Briggs test for him last night. I think my question-answering skills may need work. I was going for the loner, the hurting warrior type who needs a good woman.

Um, Myers Briggs pegged him as an accountant.

Huh. A Viking accountant. Who knew?

I’m thinking that probably won’t fly with my editor. I also worked a bit on some Regency fluff. I don’t know what it is with me and Regencies, but I get a little skippy when I write them. They are such fun and such a change from the deep, dark, sexy stuff I write…I think my heroine sounds like she’s tripping out on helium. Must fix that.

I also had an exciting moment this weekend. It’s probably already over, but I enjoyed it while it was around. Her Warrior King not only hit #1 on the bestselling Harlequin Historicals list, but it also hit #65 out of all historical romances listed on Amazon. Yes, I know that Amazon figures cannot be trusted, since they can be manipulated if Dear Aunt Tilly suddenly orders 50 copies. But hey, if that was the case, THANK YOU AUNT TILLY! I enjoyed my little moment, and pretended for one sweet second that I can compete with authors like LaVyrle Spencer (shhh…let me enjoy my happy dream).

On a completely unrelated note, I am considering cooking fish for the first time in my life. I grew up absolutely hating the smell and taste. But apparently I never really had *good* fish. I’m considering trying something for this Lenten Friday. Does anyone have a good fish suggestion or recipe, that I might be able to pull off? Something that doesn’t taste, well, too fishy? Thanks!

Sleep? Who Needs Sleep?

I’ve been down with the flu for the past two days, which was really bad since I have no leave left. But we will not think about the days without pay, no no. Happy thoughts.

Last night was rather interesting. The baby slept six hours straight. Woo hoo! Praise God for rice cereal!

And then he proceeded to stay up from 2:30 a.m. until 4:30 a.m. Oh. Sweet. God. Every single time I tried to put him back down in his crib, he worked his little legs and fussed. And cried. And squalled. And moaned until I picked him up, worked out a burp, rocked him a bit.

Rinse, repeat.

Finally, I gave up and nursed him again at which point the dear child let out gas that would make a man proud. There’s something disconcerting about this. Here you have this maternal, sweet moment when you’re bonding with your baby . . . and he rips out noises one after the other. I think I timed one that was seven seconds. Not kidding. It was like nursing a Whoopee Cushion.

At 4:00 a.m., I prayed to all the gods in existence that he would JUST GO BACK TO SLEEP. Especially when I had to get up an hour and a half later.

Yeah, so not happening. He fussed some more and the pacifier didn’t work either. Fine. Be that way. So, I picked him up and let him sleep the rest of the time in my arms.

I imagine that some time next year, this will all be a distant memory. And I hold fast to the hope that he will be like my son and sleep ten hours when he’s five months old. We will not think about the fact that my daughter was ten months old before she slept that amount of time.

Happy thoughts. Find the special place.

In other news, I need a working title for my Viking book. Any ideas? The Viking’s Vengeance sounds like a bad Hardy Boys novel. Sexiest Viking Man Ever doesn’t really cut it either. Hopefully tonight I’ll manage to crank out a few more pages. But with massive sleep deprivation and flu recuperation, I’m slightly concerned about what in the world I’ll be putting down on paper. Could be interesting!

Book Winner

The winner of the book drawing is Robyn L. I thought your Valentine story was very touching, so e-mail me your mailing address, and tell me which book you’d like. I’ll drop it in the mail.

We had a relaxing Valentines Day at home, complete with take-out dinner and chocolates. It was nice and low-key. I’ve been working on my new stories, and got a few pages in tonight. I seem to have attention problems when I start new books. I waffle around from story to story until I settle on one for the duration. None of the pages are ever wasted, and I have a few chapters on various manuscripts that will eventually have their time. My mind works like a stove and I have several pots simmering at once. Sometimes a story isn’t done cooking yet, and it isn’t ready for me to write it. I got about 7 pages into Ewan’s story, and it wasn’t right. So he went back on the burner, and I’m thinking about him some more. I have a wonderful heroine picked out for him, but I didn’t start the book in the right place.

I’ve been working on my Irish-Viking story and after starting that book also in the wrong place, I found the correct story opening the other day. It was like opening a window, and the words started flowing. And wow, is that hero something else. To quote a Southern phrase, I could sop him up with a biscuit. Mmm…

But don’t worry. Ewan will get his book one day. But he’s such a special character to me, I want to be sure I give him the best possible story.

Have a wonderful weekend!

Valentines Day

Happy Valentines Day! Here’s hoping your sweetie makes your day very special.

This morning my darling baby slept for 6 1/2 hours, which was my Valentines Day gift. Problem was, he awoke at three a.m., chirpy and ready to play. But I’ll take what I can get. God bless rice cereal.

When I think back to other Valentines Days, what comes to mind are high school and middle school days when secret admirers would send candy grams or roses. I received two secret candy grams in 7th grade, and a rose during my senior year of high school. I remember being absolutely floored that some boy had sent ME something. And then there was the gleeful speculation of who it could possibly be. Thankfully, I was a master at handwriting interpretation–CSI had nothing on me! By golly, I was going to find out who that boy was and hunt him down thank him. Sadly, both times, it was a boy I wasn’t at all interested in.

But now that I’m happily married to my own sweetie, my ideas of romance have changed. While I will always love flowers and chocolate , my husband has done some truly romantic things. He has surprised me when I’ve come home from out of town and the house was sparkling clean. Or when he stayed up all night with the baby and let me sleep. Or the times when he stayed up most of the night reading a draft of one of my books, just to help me with my revisions. He’s a good man, and I appreciate that.

Tonight since we’re in baby jail (I can’t trust a high-schooler with a three month old), we’re going to order in dinner. Maybe afterwards, we’ll hang out and watch tv, possibly with a glass of wine. When you’ve been married nine years, romance changes. And for me, it’s knowing that there’s somebody who will be there for me, no matter what. Someone who loves me when I’ve been existing on four hours of sleep per night, when I’m bedraggled and forgetting things, and who is a true helpmate with the kids. Now that’s romance.

I also received another happy surprise. This March, Her Irish Warrior will not only be out in Italy, but it’s also being released in Germany. This is exciting since I can read German. Can’t wait!

Since it’s Valentines Day, I’d like to give a reader a gift. Just post a comment telling me what your favorite Valentines gift would be, and I’ll send you an autographed book of your choice!

Fostering in Ireland

Many of you have asked me about the fostering system in medieval Ireland, so I’ll give you my notes on what I’ve read.

All children in Ireland were sent off to be fostered. Girls were fostered until the age of thirteen or fourteen, after which time they would marry. Boys were fostered until the age of seventeen, and likewise, they would be married. And incidentally, marriage laws in Ireland were much closer to our modern laws, with couples being able to go their separate ways at will. Women could take back exactly what they brought with them to the marriage, if they divorced. Couples could also handfast for a year and a day, in a temporary marriage that they could dissolve at the end of that time period with no recourse. It was as if the marriage never happened, if the couple chose to part.

Fostering was a way of bringing families together and uniting clans. It created alliances, and parents typically didn’t mind fostering so much, because they would often foster the children of another family in return. Often children were fostered by their maternal uncle or another tribe member. They could also visit their children and see them any time they wanted, as long as they were fostered nearby. It’s said that children were often closer to their foster parents than to their birth parents.

Children were also raised in the manner of their social class, and this was reinforced by the food they ate. A farmer’s son would be raised on plain porridge, while a chieftain’s son would have porridge with milk and butter. A king’s son would have porridge with cream and honey. Each child was sent to his/her fosterage with gifts such as cattle or other belongings that were given to provide for their care. I’ve seen different references on how old the child would be, everything from children being fostered once they were weaned, or at the age of seven. My guess is that it was a parent’s choice. Keep in mind that most people in the medieval era only lived to the age of thirty-five or so, and you can imagine that a teenager was really a mini-adult. That means that a seven-year-old was much more capable back then, than today.

Hopefully this give you an idea of the social structure. Any other questions you’d like me to answer?

International Editions

My little heart went pitter pat when a friend, Michelle Styles, sent me a link to this cover. I knew that Her Irish Warrior was going on sale this month in Australia, but I knew nothing about my first foreign translation. How cool is this? Wish I’d taken Italian in school…

Here’s a link to the site. Anyone here speak Italian who could tell me what the back cover copy and author bio say?

Courtney asked if I could blog about fostering in Ireland, and I’d be happy to. I’ll try to do that this weekend when I get a chance. It’s been a busy week, and don’t tell anyone, but I’ve secretly been working on Ewan’s book. And oh, do I have a heroine for him…poor man.