Monday, April 13, 2015

Guest Blog with Diane Cox Author of Typewriter from Hell

My name is Diane Cox and I write romance stories with a paranormal twist. Some of my favorite novels involved time travel, although none of my stories have - yet!
Here are two of my favorite characters who crossed the border between the present and the past. They have traits in common - they are strong passionate women and the men they love are the men we all dream about. Reading OUTLANDER was one of the reasons I began to write and to create my own love story in the past.

I plan to publish that novel, which is titled THE HEART SEEKS A HOME, later this year. It's a story of a young girl who loses everyone and everything she cares about, only to find true love and a home of her own in the wilderness of frontier Georgia.
Back to my favorites:

Claire in the OUTLANDER novels by Diana Gabaldon

Like so many readers I fell in love with the feisty Claire twenty years ago when she first stepped through that magical rock into the battleground in Scotland. Though she loved her husband, she also loved handsome and dashing Jamie, the kind of man women want to meet and men want to be like. Not many of us are lucky enough to have two great loves in our lifetime, but what would it be like to be torn between two men? The possibilities of ime travel intrigue us all, especially when the reward is a magical love like the one shared between these two. The best part is that we were able to follow Claire's struggle with her contemporary life and her life in the past through more than one novel as her adventure continued from the old world to the new. Now we can relive the tale all over again through The Outlander TV series.

Carrie in THE WINTER SEA by Susanna Kearsley

Carrie's life as an author who traveled to the location of her novel to write the story was totally intriguing to me. As she writes her novel then discovers that her dreams of what transpires in earlier times are actually true, she becomes in engaged in a wonderful love affair that exists in two dimensions. What’s not to like? Scotland seems to bring out the romantic in all of us. I wait with bated breath for each new novel from Kearsley.

The best thing about both these writers is that their novels are made real to us by beautifully detailed historical descriptions that take us back to the times of our ancestors. Perhaps a memory of those experiences lives in our DNA.

Typewriter from Hell
Diane Cox

Genre: paranormal romance, romance suspense

Publisher: Opal Creative Enterprises, Inc.

Date of Publication: November 2013

ISBN: 978-0-9910982-0-0 ebook,
ISBN: 978-0-9910982-1-7 paperback

Number of pages: 147
Word Count: 20226

Cover Artist: Rebecca Poole

Book Description:

Unemployed librarian Ellen Brinson submits her steamy manuscript to literary agent Henry Morgan. The only thing they have in common is that they are both desperate for money. Henry believes the unfinished piece is his ticket back to the big time. 

His hopes for a winner are thwarted when Ellen falls in love and is offered a cushy job. As her interest in finishing the manuscript wanes, Henry's desire to get it published increases. 

Enter the Typewriter from Hell. Ellen can't stop writing. The old Corona is a magnet and it's wrecking Ellen's new romance. Henry will pull any dirty trick he can think of to win - and he does!

You'll laugh your way through this fast paced suspense story and you'll never guess the ending.

Available at Amazon

Chapter One

Ellen Brinson peered over her half glasses at the messy typewritten page. The ‘e’ on the old Corona was so occluded it looked like a giant dot. She quickly read through the last few paragraphs she’d just pounded out. She had a screaming headache.
Where the Hell was this stuff coming from? It was true she’d always wanted to write. Her MLS in library science was all about Ellen’s belief that she couldn’t write, so being around books was the next best thing. But, this, this stuff she was typing -- she’d never done the things, never even known anyone like the people in this story.
It didn’t matter. Six more weeks and her unemployment was going to run out. The stress of not having a job for two years, of trying to find something else she could do to earn a living and getting nowhere, the sheer desperation, was about to drive her crazy. This book was the only hope she had right now, and she clung to it.
Rubbing her eyes, Ellen stretched and the old afghan that covered her lap slipped to the floor. This damn dump was so drafty; she was always cold. Pushing her chair back, she moved to the other side of the room where a row of cabinets and a miniature stove and fridge masqueraded as a kitchen. She poured a cup of hot water from the kettle warming on the stove and dunked a tea bag in it. Then, she reached under the sink and found a pint of vodka, splashing a liberal shot into the tea mug.
The mug cradled in both hands, she plopped down on the rumpled bed that dominated the small room, and leaned back against the wall. Sometimes she felt like she was someone else. Maybe that explained what happened at the typewriter. Or maybe she was just going nuts. That was probably it.
Ellen took a big gulp of the spiked tea, her mind running in circles like a hamster on a wheel. She had to do something, even if it was wrong. She got up and crossed to the rickety wooden table that held her typewriter. She grabbed the messy pages of the manuscript that had been pouring out of her for the past three weeks. Automatic writing, wasn’t that what they called it? Ellen read a paragraph at random:
Serena slid a glance at the senator next to her. With a twitch of her shoulders, she hit him with a blast of d├ęcolletage, and then sent her tongue on an exploratory tour of her mouth. She could feel the man heat up like a kitchen stove.
 Another sideways glance confirmed that the front of his pants now looked suspiciously like a tent. Turning her head to look directly at him, she lasered him with the 100 Watt Sex Bomb Smile. Tossing her head back, she trailed her long, red fingernails down her arched, white neck toward her bosom. Then she rose and wiggled her way across the room, giggling to herself.

My God, what crap! Where had it come from? All the same, it was so trashy that maybe it had some potential for being published. It reminded her of the stuff written by Isabel Ritter –no, Isabel Rider.
Rider - she got a visual of the author astride a naked man, bucking in unabashed lust. Ellen laughed out loud, then as quickly sobered as the gravity of her situation struck her.
She ran her fingers through her curly hair. What could she do with this stuff? She needed to send it out to somebody, but who?
And, why would they read it? She was nobody, unpublished. She didn’t even have a friend at a publishing house. She knew a few writers, but they were mostly historians. They would be appalled if she asked them to pass this trash on to their agent.
She read through the pages again. What the Hell. It’s worth a try. Taking in a deep breath, Ellen jumped off the sagging bed, pulled her parka on over her sweats, and tugged on some mukluks. Slamming the door to her flat, she descended five floors of walk-up, her mukluks slapping against each step.
A late spring snow was lazily drifting down as she pushed through the front door of her building, cursing as a splinter poked her hand. She hated this dump. She was beginning to hate New York. Ellen had come here with such high hopes, sure she would discover the glamor and excitement that beckoned in so many novels. Instead, the reality was that New York was no fun for the poor.
In spite of her disappointment, the farmhouse in Iowa where she’d grown up still didn’t look good to her. That was something. Her mother would make her life a living Hell if she had to go back home, broke. Only her father had believed in her dream, and he’d been dead five years now.
“Watch where you’re going!” A guy in a plaid wool jacket bumped her as he passed on the busy sidewalk. She turned into the Strand book store, and headed straight for romantic fiction.

About the Author:

Diane Cox lives in Atlanta, Georgia with two dogs and two cats. She loves to garden, snap photos of her flowers, and dine out with friends.  She works hard for her money, so she squeezes in her writing early in the morning.

Some years ago she fell in love with the true story of one of her neighbor's pioneer ancestresses. After seven years of rewrites, she had learned about the craft. Her next tale -"Typewriter from Hell" was a complete departure from the first, incorporating romance, satire and a bit of fantasy. This year she will bring out a third project, and once again writing will be part of the plot.

She has been in love with books and reading all her life and has always wanted to write. Finally it has happened.

Twitter: dianecoxwrites



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