Under My Skin by Jenny Gilliam

I just started Jenny Gilliam's THE TRUTH ABOUT ROXY today on my *brandspankingnew* Kindle. So far, it's a fab read. While you visit The Wild Rose Press to check it out, stop by and see her newest release: UNDER MY SKIN.

Even though Jenny's titles aren't in the Sony eReader Giveaway this time around, I asked her the questions I've been asking my feature authors this month. Here are Jenny's thoughts:

When did you know you were a writer/that writing is what you wanted to do?

I was about 10 when I swiped my mom's mini-recorder and began weaving oral tales of love and romance. I wrote all throughout high school, took and breather when I got married, and started up again. Only to quit when I got pregnant, stop, start, stop, start. LOL. Right now is the longest I've been writing and sticking to it! Apparently, that way works.

What is the best part of being a writer?

The best part of being a writer is having the ability to craft stories that make readers laugh, cry, and inspired. The money doesn't mean much to me. Having my name out there--having fans who want to read MY work makes it worthwhile.

What is the worst part of being a writer?

When you have too much to do and too little time to do it in. That and having to sit down at the computer/laptop and come up with the next scene. I've been through both.

What is your typical writing routine?

I've been getting up at 5:30am (before the WeeBeasts to write for a couple of hours, get my daughter off to the bus, play with my son, write some more, go to work, write some more, go home, write until I'm drooling on the couch and my laptop. Trust me, the drool? NOT a good thing.

Are you a pantser or a plotter?

Definitely a panster. I have a vague idea of what's happening, but the characters lead the story, surprising me at different turns. I tried planning once and ended up with a half-finished novel I had no desire to finish.

Do you have a secret to busting writer's block?

Write. It's the only thing I can suggest. Having just recovered from a year-long bout of it, I understand. Make weekly goals. I started out at 3-5 pages a week, now I'm up to 10, but writing 30. Keep on truckin'!


UNDER MY SKIN by Jenny Gilliam
BLURB:

When coffee shop owner Rachel Crowe overhears her neighbor being murdered, she doesn't think her life can get any more complicated. But when the detective on the case turns out to be the very man she kicked out of her store the night before, she realizes she's wrong.

From the moment Detective Alex Williams laid eyes on the raven-haired owner of his favorite coffee shop, he's been drawn to her. When she becomes the key witness in his homicide investigation, he takes it upon himself to protect her at all costs.

As the killer closes in on Rachel, the couple are thrown into very intimate and
dangerous situations. Can Alex convince her to trust him before the killer catches
up with them?

EXCERPT:

The pounding on the door startled a scream out of Rachel, who’d just begun to calm down. Realizing it was likely Alex, she grabbed her full wine glass and rushed to the door. With one hand on the Slugger, she checked the peephole.

Rachel slid the locks open. “You didn’t have to come.”

Alex barreled past her into the apartment. She shut the door and locked it, laying the Slugger back against the wall.

“You were coming apart. I had to do something.”

“I was just scared and acted impulsively. I don’t even know why I called you.”
“Because you were scared.”

“Which we’ve established.” She held up her wine and took a deep breath. “I’m fine now.”

“Bullshit.”

“Alex…don’t make this out to be something it’s not. Really, it’s nothing more than the hysterical theatrics of a female. I’m a Pisces. We tend to dramatize everything.”

He blinked. “What?”

“I’m a Pisces.”

“Are you into all that astrology crap?”

“It’s not crap for your information, and yes, I am. My best friend’s an astrologer.”

Alex rolled his eyes. “Let me guess: ‘text 4820 to 825 to receive your latest love match.’”

“Oh, shut up.”

“The aliens obviously forgot to remove your probe when they dropped you back on earth.”

Rachel’s lips twitched despite herself. “Really. I’m fine. Better than fine.”

He looked so innately masculine standing in her feminine apartment. His big, wide shoulders were covered in a black T-shirt that stretched across his muscular, well-defined chest and was tucked into a pair of faded jeans. She wondered if they were the same jeans he’d worn when he’d knocked her on her ass. If so, she wanted him to turn around so she could get a look at his caboose. The man had the finest ass she’d ever seen.

O-kay. Time to sip the wine.

Alex stalked around her tiny apartment like a massive, untamed tiger. He walked to the baker’s rack where her TV and DVD player sat, tested its sturdiness. He eyed her collection of movies; a lot of murder/mystery, episodes of Cold Case Files and Forensic Files, and thrillers with several chick flicks scattered in between. Rachel sipped her wine and watched his big body move with animal grace as he prowled.
Alex stopped at her large book case and scanned the titles. He looked over at her. “Do you have an obsession with death?”

She frowned. “No. I just like forensics and mysteries. Lots of people do.” Mine just started after my husband tried to murder me.

Alex made a noncommittal noise and approached her where she stood against the glass veranda door. She smelled the sandalwood on him and her blood warmed.

He grabbed the wine from her hand and took a sip. “Aren’t you on duty?” she asked.

“Nope.” He sucked wine from the bottom of his lip. Rachel stared at those lips, mesmerized. So mesmerized, she didn’t realize he’d closed in on her until she felt his body heat against her.

“What is it about you, Rachel Crowe?” he whispered.

“What do you mean?”

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since I knocked you off that ladder.”
“Maybe you have brain damage from chasing too many murderers.”

He shook his head. “I don’t think so.” He leaned forward, his lips brushing her ear, her neck. “You smell good.”

It had been so long since she’d felt this kind of passion. Too long. Hell, had she ever felt like this? “We shouldn’t be doing this. I’m a witness. And you don’t trust me.”

He placed one large, warm hand on her collarbone. “Trust doesn’t have anything to do with it, Rachel. It rarely does.”

Rachel felt sorry for him even while she wanted to leap into his arms and rip his clothes off. He held such little regard for emotions. Each time she’d seen him, the first time notwithstanding, he’d been as aloof as the lone tiger she’d imagined just moments ago.

His fingers wrapped around the back of her neck and he drew her face to his. “You’re right,” he said, his lips a breath away from hers, “we shouldn’t be doing this.”

Then why did it feel so right? Never had she felt so safe, and she reveled in the sensation. He closed the gap and captured her lips with his own.

Oh, Lord.

BIO:

Jenny began writing at the age of twelve, when she realized the voices talking in her head were characters, not a result of pre-teen induced psychosis. She’s been writing on and off for almost twenty years, but actively pursuing publication for the last three. She lives in Oregon with her husband and two children. She is the author of four novels.

Jenny loves to hear from her readers. You can visit her at www.jennygilliam.com

Beth's Book Club: The Truth About Roxy by Jenny Gilliam

So I'm no Oprah and folks won't flock to read something new because I recommend it. And your point is...?!

Inside scoop: I love romance fiction with teacher or librarian heroines, most likely because I am one (teacher!). I also love, love, LOVE small town stories, again, because that was my life for my first 18 years.

Jenny Gilliam mixes both together in The Truth About Roxy, a new release from my favorite people, The Wild Rose Press. Check out the blurb, the excerpt and Jenny's bio...then download the book!

Happy Writing (and reading),

Beth

======

The Truth About Roxy by Jenny Gilliam

BLURB:

Roxy Palmer is a walking, breathing cliché. And darned tired of it.
Working as the assistant librarian in her small, Southern home town, Roxy also anonymously pens the local love column, Ask Paula Rockwell—Thorton, Georgia's answer to Dear Abby.

But when the door leading to Roxy's lifetime dream is slammed in her face by one of the good ol' boys, Roxy brings out the big guns--and turns the genteel town upside down with her racier, feminist, home-wrecking new format.

Paula Rockwell is making Sheriff Noah Kennedy's life crazy. He's got angry husbands lined around the block, demanding the cancellation of the column, fights breaking out and women catching their boyfriends' trucks on fire. If he ever gets his hands on that woman…

But he's got his hands full of Roxy at the moment, and if he ever discovers the truth about Roxy, all hell will break loose.


EXCERPT:

As they loaded the heavy bags into the back of the Honda, a shout rent the air. Roxy looked up, her eyes tracking the sound. Next door, Merle Granger stood in his Saturday golfing best, hands on his hips while articles of clothing rained down on him and the lawn.

“Now, Charlene, honey, be reasonable.”

“I’ll show you reasonable, you controlling bastard!” From the second-floor window, a golf club went sailing, missing Merle’s head by mere inches.

“Damnation, woman!” Merle shouted. “That’s my best nine iron!”

“You can take your nine-iron and shove it up your ass!”

“Oh, my,” Mary Lou breathed, coming around the back of the Honda. She stood next to Roxy. “Looks like that rumor is true.”

“What rumor?” Roxy asked, mesmerized by the sight of Charlene Granger tossing a stuffed fish out the window. It bounced off the hood of Merle’s brand new Expedition and caused the banker to spew another litany of curses.

“You know,” Mary Lou said, “that Charlene is Restless in Primrose Valley.”

Oh. That rumor.

At the time, Roxy had written it off as grist for the mill. After all of the publicity her article had generated, she figured any married couple within the city limits had the potential to be used as fodder. But, now, as Charlene sent a package of golf balls raining down the street, Roxy wondered if the universe could really be that kind.

“Is this about that silly little column?” Merle shouted to his wife.

This seemed to throw Charlene into a rage, since items began sailing from the window with increasing speed, each punctuated by fierce words from Mrs. Granger.

“That.” A shoe landed out in the street. “Article.” Here came its mate. “Was.” Antlers. Antlers? “Not.” Picture frame. “Silly.” A vase came crashing down, clipping Merle in the shoulder. He howled in pain. “Or.” A dozen roses rained down. “Little!” This last statement was followed by the obvious coup de grace: the mounted head of a buck.

Roxy didn’t know how Charlene managed to wrestle the large animal’s head out of the window, but apparently rage gave people all kinds of strange powers. Roxy slapped a hand over her mouth as the buck landed on the hood of the Expedition with a crash. The windshield buckled inward from the impact.

“I wonder what the insurance company will have to say about that,” Mary Lou commented.

A crowd had gathered across the street to watch the display. Old men stood next to their wives, whispering behind their hands. Kids in the middle of summer play stopped to stare, awestruck by the screaming and destruction.

In the distance, Roxy heard the sharp song of a police siren. “Uh, oh. Here comes the heat.” She hoped Noah wasn’t the one behind the wheel. One altercation with the police a day was enough for her. “Maybe we should go.”

Mary Lou stared at her like she’d gone batty. “Are you nuts? This is like an episode of Cops.”
As the police cruise pulled up—not Noah, thank goodness—Mary Lou started singing, “Bad boys, bad boys; whatcha gonna do? Whatcha gonna do when they come for you…”

“You know what you can do with your fancy dinner parties, Merle?” Charlene shouted. “You can stick ‘em! I am done with you! You hear me? I was not put on this earth to play housewife to some man!”

O-kay. She’d just paraphrased the Paula response. Definitely Restless in Primrose Valley. Roxy eyed the mounted head on the hood of the Expedition and the pile of clothes on the front lawn. Well, she’s not restless anymore.

“I’m calling the shots now!” Charlene leaned out the second-story window and did the unthinkable. Well, the unthinkable for a society wife in Thorton, Georgia, that is. She climbed up on the windowsill and dropped her slacks, baring her behind for the world to see. She twisted her head around and yelled, “You can kiss my ass, Merle Granger!”

Who would have known one little article would incite such bedlam?


BIO:



Jenny began writing at the age of twelve, when she realized the voices talking in her head were characters, not a result of pre-teen induced psychosis. She’s been writing on and off for almost twenty years, but actively pursuing publication for the last three. She lives in Oregon with her husband and two children. She is the author of four novels.

Jenny loves to hear from her readers. You can visit her at www.jennygilliam.com

Jenny Gilliam ~ Spicy Romance with a Dash of Humor

THE TRUTH ABOUT ROXY, Coming November 7, 2008 from The Wild Rose Press!
UNDER MY SKIN, Coming Soon from Amira Press!
LETTING LUCE, Now Available from Amira Press!
THE WEDDING WAR, Now Available in digital AND print from The Wild Rose Press!